by Ami Snow
Looking out at the horizon I am surprised to feel an arm slip through mine in a proprietary way and looking up at Joshua standing close with his arm in mine I realize what extraordinary changes are happening. I would never have believed my taciturn and businesslike employer would be so demonstrative in public, is there no end to this wonderful man’s intricate character? Directing me with his body he turns us back to the elevator and we descend to his private quarters again. As we walk up the shag pile carpeted corridor to the master’s cabin he almost whispers, “I have had enough of waves and water for the moment, what do you say we trial some other more personal aspects of this ship?” Giggling I respond, “Why Captain Sir, I thought you was never gonna ask.” The master’s suite was without doubt the most updated in design and hi-tech in operation afloat, but I can honestly say that the only clear recollection I have is watching Joshua slowly undress in front of me as I sat in fascinated in riveted attention on the circular bed. Mesmerized by his rising maleness, I walked to him and sinking to my knees in front of him I cupped his full balls in my hands and opened my mouth wide, this time I sucked his huge cock down deep into my throat. I knew what to expect now and controlled my gag reflex a lot better. His moans grew more urgent and louder as my tight throat engulfed his cock, then he lifted me to my feet and again I felt his urgency in his kiss. I stripped quickly and turning back to him naked he put his hands under my arms and lifted me easily. I curled my legs behind his back and wrapped my arms around his neck as he lowered me until his huge cock was touching my swollen pussy. Kissing me he lowered me further and I felt him open me again, this time easily and with almost no pain. I wanted him now too. I moaned as he lowered me all the way and felt him deep in my stomach. I raised myself up, then allowed my body to literally drop onto his rock hard dick. He knelt and laid me on the carpet and entered me again. Long and deep. The need in us both was so compulsive, so urgent, I felt my orgasms begin deep in my stomach as his cock throbbed and vibrated with his own mighty ejaculation. Our satisfied screaming and roaring bounced off the sound proof walls as we surrendered to the primeval dictates of our melding bodies. Drenched in cum and love juices we just lay in each other’s arms quietly and comfortably. “Lisa I need to Call your dad,” Joshua said quietly. “I want to ask him if he is okay with us getting married as soon as possible.” Looking up at this amazing man I can’t help but tease him a little. “Do you think Sir, with all your business acumen and smarts that it might occur to you at some point before you do that, to actually ask me?” Astonished he looked at me in total consternation, “I do, I mean I did. Didn’t we? Didn’t I? Oh fuck Lisa, please, please, please say that will marry me. I can never be without you, I need you in my life fully and completely.” With a last desperate look he asked, “You will won’t you darling?” Pulling him closer I tell him, “You can ring Dad as soon as you like my darling, I am yours and I always have been. It is unimportant to me if we make it legal or not, in every fiber of my being and every atom of my body I belong to you and will never change. We are bound by a true and glorious love that nothing could hurt or damage. You are truly my own soul mate.”
THE END
Distracted By My Dad’s Best Friend
TABOO ROMANCE
By: Amanda Bolton
Distracted by My Dad’s Best Friend
Chapter One –
Camden Reeves wheezed through the mouthpiece of his breathing apparatus, fanning away the daunting, billowy smogs of black smoke, the mustard-yellow sleeves of his turncoat clinging to his sweaty wrists, caked in soot and grime. Numbing tingles slowly prickled up his thighs, the substantial weight of his bunker gear and the open-circuit cylinders of compressed air harnessed to his back, starting to take its toll. He peered through his mask, his eyes darting searchingly around the room, carefully lifting his feet upon the unsteady, brittle floor beneath him, the wooden planks creaking menacingly under his rubber boots. His eyes bulged, detecting a young, fair-haired girl in a grubby, violet nightgown, the dirt-covered faces of the cartoon princesses wrinkled as she curled up next to her bedpost, wailing and hacking violently. He dropped to his knees and began to crawl towards her, his arm outstretched.
“Sweetheart, what's your name?” yelled Camden, his dry, smarting throat wrenching. His eyes foraged through the hazy, dizzying fumes of the stifling room.
“C – Carrie!” coughed the little girl, her pudding-soft cheeks puffing out, smudged with dirt.
Camden removed his mask, his eyes immediately smarting from the sticky, sweltering heat, fastening it over the little girl's face, whispering, “Carrie, sweetie, you're doing great – bravest little girl I know – you need to stay awake for me, alright?”
Carrie nodded, pouncing onto Camden, fastening her limbs around him firmly, “Yes!”
Camden managed a smile, flashing her a thumbs up, “Good, don't you worry now, everything's gonna be –” The little girl's haunting, petrifying screams shrilled in his ears, glancing up just in time to see the scaffolding beginning to collapse in a quaking, deafening roar, splintered beams and columns slowly closing in on them...
“Cam! Hey, Cam, it's okay – wake up.”
Camden stirred, his head squirming against the chunky pillow, scrunching up his face in irritation as rough, calloused fingers slapped him continuously against his cheek. He opened his eyes slowly, adjusting towards the blinding incandescent bulbs. The cognizant tough, sandy-beige skin of a baldheaded man with a laughing pair of arctic-blue eyes stared down at him, the sleek patch of his peppered goatee twitching. Camden groaned, his neck crackling, rotating it habitually as he rose groggily to his feet, his forehead thumping against the frame of the bunk in the process.
“Woah, easy there,” said the man, poorly stifling a grin, “Sorry, that was pretty hilarious.”
“Shut up, Derrick,” snapped Camden, an amused grin playing on his lips, kneading the nagging spot on his forehead with his fingers.
“You okay, Cam?” said Derrick, his cheery expression regressing, frowning, “Was it the dream?”
“Damn,” muttered Camden gruffly, deflating into his pillow, “Was I mumbling shit in my sleep again? Sorry, Derrick –”
“No,” said Derrick firmly, “Don't apologize. It was unimaginable, what you went through – we're men but we can talk, can't we? For God's sake, we're in our fifties – mid-fifties – I'm pretty sure we shoulda gotten over all that macho bravado bullshit decades ago.”
“Don't worry about it,” grunted Camden, “Melanie couldn't handle the night terrors and she's been with me fifteen years –”
“Cam,” sighed Derrick deeply, leaning against the windowsill, the canary-gold rays of the sunlight bouncing off his clear, gleaming head, “I'm not Melanie, and you might not wanna hear this, but it's time – time to take the first step and move on.”
“I'm fine,” barked Camden, squeezing his eyes shut.
“And that's fine,” said Derrick cautiously, raising his palms, “We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. Whenever you're ready, bud.”
Camden sighed deeply, peering up at his closest friend and colleague of eleven years. Derrick Swanson was one of the most genuinely good-hearted people he had ever met, the type to always seem to pluck out a silver lining, and persisted a permanent, radiant smile and good-natured attitude, undeterred by the daily, constant horrors the job entailed. To Camden, it was one of the most intricate, taxing challenges to being a firefighter, to have to keep your mind clutter-free and focused, your chin held up high, ready at all costs, and Derrick had solidified a profound balance of good humor and attentiveness over the years of his service. These were traits Camden used to find effortless before the disastrous Bowman House fire of 2010. Despite the knowledge of the inevitable possibility of fatalities he would have to confront on the job, Camden couldn't help but feel a gnawing, inexorable guilt in the pit of his stomach. He could never wrap his mind around seemingly pointless deaths, especially those of innocent children, who were only barely on the j
ourney to making their imprints on society, unjustly robbed of a chance at life.
“Cam?”
Camden raised his intense, hard angled eyebrows, breaking out of his trance. He cleared his throat, “Sorry, what?”
Derrick shrugged, repeating, “I said – I just won four tickets to Emerald Bay Water Park at some raffle Joanna must've entered me in a couple'a months ago. Thought it would be a great chance to arrange a little surprise reunion with my daughters – Marissa and Lana haven't spoken in years now.” He shook his head, scratching the nape of his neck, flicking a flake of skin from underneath his fingernails. He smiled, his inspirited, genial blue eyes full of hope, “Would be great if this was the year. Can't stand my baby girls fighting over some douche-bag who doesn't even matter anymore. Anyway, I had an extra ticket – do you wanna come with?”
“Me?” Camden's eyes widened, jutting his thumb to his chest, “What about Joanna? This really seems like more of a family –”
“Oh – haven't I told you? She's in Sudan with Doctors Without Borders, she'll be gone for a couple'a months – anyway, what do you think? It's a family friendly resort so there won't be much booze. Three weeks sober, that's a great start, pal. Plus, you'll get your own room – you won't hear a peep from us if you wanna keep it that way.”
“I don't know,” mumbled Camden, the light crumples of his forehead deepening in thought, “I guess –”
“Come on, Cam. It'll be good for you, I promise. I checked with Dixon and we've both got some vacation days to cash out. Besides, what the hell have you got going on this weekend –”
“Alright, alright,” agreed Camden, grumbling under his breath.
“That's my boy,” grinned Derrick, stalking towards the doorway, “Right, go on and get some rest, you look like utter shit, and I say that with love.”
“Thanks,” said Camden, chucking his boot towards the doorway, the boot whirring past Derrick's ear as it missed him by mere centimeters. He smiled, slowly closing his eyes, the trenchant, endless voice in his head tapering off, his eyelids fluttering still, slipping into a dreamless repose.
Chapter Two –
“Welcome to Shoe Haven!”
“Miss, do you have this in a size 8 ½?”
Marissa Reeves whirled around from the polished, rounded wooden shelves, displaying an arresting, variegated array of both classic and modern styles, including clogs, boots, sandals, loafers, brogues, and heels. She peered at the single, ivory, stiletto-heeled mary-jane in the woman's palm, puckering her lips thoughtfully, glazed a sheen of fraise-red. She picked up two different, but similarly styled shoes from the rack with chunkier heels, exhibiting one on each hand.
“I'm so sorry, Ma'am, but we currently don't have any of those in stock – might I recommend a cone or a block heel?” offered Marissa, smiling ruefully, “These are also much better for your feet and they come in all sorts of gorgeous colors.”
The woman wrinkled her forehead in contemplation, taking the cone-heeled mary-jane from Marissa, “Hmm, that's too bad but this one's nice, I kinda like it – do you have this in a cream color, maybe?”
“Definitely – let me get that for you,” beamed Marissa, gesturing for her to take a seat on the stool, “I'll be right back with an 8 ½.”
Marissa checked the sticker underneath the heel and proceeded towards the storage room, stopping short at a light tapping on her shoulder. She craned her neck, blinking at Sheila Gomez, her manager, a svelte, raven-haired woman attired in a sophisticated, coastal-blue pantsuit with benevolent, clay-brown eyes and a bulbous nose. Sheila winked, beckoning over another employee.
“You were great with that customer – why don't you let Daria take over and go get something to eat? Everyone's already back from lunch break.”
“Oh, that's no problem, I –”
“Go,” insisted Sheila, prying the shoe from Marissa's hands, waving her off frivolously.
“Fine,” Marissa conceded, twirling on her heels and heading towards the revolving glass doors of Barnett Plaza.
Marissa tumbled out the revolving door and slipped on her mint-green, cat-eye shades. She ambled down the sidewalk, skirting past multistoried business towers and apartment buildings, into the narrow alley she frequented for her secret smoke breaks. Her eyes bulged, bumbling towards the grimy walls as a wet sewer rat with spiked, swarthy fur, scurried past her peep-toed pumps. She waited until the rodent squeezed itself into a fracture in the wall, advancing towards the dumpster. She glanced at her reflection on the spotty window of the kitchen of a Chinese restaurant, fluffing the smooth, upswept rolls of her glossy, inky hair, and adjusting the oversized, polkadot bow of her headband. She pulled out the slightly squashed, menthol-laced cancer stick from her beaded minaudiere, and lightly inserted it between her clenched teeth, careful not to smear her lipstick. She lit it up and took a long drag, blowing delicately out the corner of her mouth.
