by Shayne Ford
He likes to kiss, and I do too, so we enjoy each other for a few minutes before I tear away.
Silently, I slide to the floor and kneel between his legs, my fingers moving quickly to undo his pants. Deftly, I cuff the root of his erection and start caressing him. His eyes sparkle with anticipation.
I cup his balls and stroke him with my tongue before I wrap my lips around his crown, and slowly pull him deep into my mouth. He promptly moves his hips. It doesn’t take much longer, and his control begins to slacken.
Breathing heavily, he spreads his legs a little more. His hand comes to my head, pressing me against his groin. I like that.
The second I sense him ready, I rise to my feet.
Teasingly, I slip my panties off. With hooded eyes and parted lips, he watches me, his gaze drifting down my body, his fist closing tightly around his cock, stroking it.
I snatch the condom from a nearby table.
He stretches his hand out. I waggle my finger at him. Expertly, I rip the foil, pull the condom out, and roll it down on him. He twitches in my hand.
I straddle him again and slide onto him, my core hugging him tightly. He leans back against the couch, his eyes getting heavy with pleasure, his breaths becoming shallow.
“This feels good,” I say, getting back into my character.
Not that he doesn’t. He does feel good. And he looks good as well, his face glowing from his arousal. I start to grind. Gliding up and down on him, I spur enough wetness in my core to give us a smooth ride.
I close my eyes for a few minutes, and focus solely on him, increasing the pace when he needs it, and slowing down when he gets closer to the climax.
I like him. I really do, and I wish things could be different, but there’s a wall between us, a line I never crossed, a mystery I never solved.
Following the script, I moan and groan. His balls tighten as his body tenses, the rapid rising and falling of his chest clueing me in.
“I’m coming, baby,” I purr, my hands fisting in his hair.
His hands grip me strongly, his hips pushing up, his cock spearing me while I slam him hard. His eyes start closing, his fingers digging holes in my flesh.
Soft tingles roll between my legs, quickly fading away. He enjoys his orgasm as I quietly observe him.
I’m so worked up right now, I could cry.
It’s nothing but a painful reminder of who I am.
Panting, I slip off and slide to his side, playing my role till the end.
“The dinner...”
“Oh, yes. It was good,” I say.
I snatch an apple, make a short stop in the kitchen, fill a cup of coffee, and amble to the oversized red garnet sofa sitting in the corner of my living room.
I place the coffee on the table, slide onto the couch and plop my laptop on my knees.
“Charity work,” I say mostly to myself.
Harper’s crystalline voice rolls in my ear.
“What was that?”
“Last night was mostly charity work,” I say, unable to stifle a smile.
“Something that you loved at least?”
“Yes, I did love it... but it was still charity. I didn’t get anything back,” I mutter, grinning.
Good thing she can’t see me. She’d figure me out.
“Okay. Let’s get to the business now,” I say, serious this time.
She starts going over the topics with me.
The rest of the day goes by fast. Ten new curated stories hit the website. The traffic gets a spike. I go over the ad campaigns, and then I check the social media accounts. Respond to nothing, ignore the emails, and text Harper.
Me: Clean my Inbox.
The natural light slowly dies out until only the blue glow of my laptop disperses in the room. Fall is already here, and the days are getting shorter.
My stomach growls.
I set the laptop on the table, turn the lights on, saunter across the spacious living room and enter the open kitchen.
It’s a huge house, way bigger than I needed, but it was too tempting not to buy it. It was a good deal, a way to park cash, and also to make some extra money when I sell it. And I will. At one point or another.
I could easily score half a million if I sell it now, let alone if I wait a few more months. I bought it new. It’s a four bedroom, four bathrooms Tuscan-inspired, pool home.
It has a paved driveway, backyard pool, and a wine cellar. The finishes are top quality. Natural stone and wood flooring, arched doorways, plantation shutters, a gourmet Italian style kitchen with granite countertops, and custom made wood cabinets.
Natural light flows through the house all day long, the open plan making the transition between the rooms a breeze. There’s a stone fireplace on the patio. A couple more are carved inside the house.
Stairwells connect the first floor to the second level, where I sometimes choose to sleep. Most of the time I end up on the couch in the living room where I work.
The first floor alone is spacious enough to host a ball.
Relishing the cold feel of the marble against my soles, I pivot and crack the fridge door open. Fruit and juices. And vegetables. Hmm. I’m really hungry, and for the first time in months, I’m itching to go out.
The weather is perfect.
It’s getting close to the point where it’s cold enough to slip on a pair of jeans and even boots if you care for fashion.
But it’s Florida after all. I could wear shorts and flip-flops without getting frostbite.
I jog upstairs and walk into the closet.
Veering away from the fancy clothing, I scoop out a skintight tank top and jeans from a drawer. I put them on, buckle my belt, pull on a pair of scuffed, biker boots, throw on a leather jacket and slip outside.
I make a short stop in the ensuite bathroom, run my fingers through my messy hair, touch up my eyeliner, and pull away.
I pick up the car keys from the counter and swish outside.
A Harley would match my attire, but my bike is in the shop, so the black ’67 Camaro will do. The gates lock swiftly behind me.
I pulled in front of Jill’s around nine o’clock.
It’s a medium-sized bar in a so-so area. A favorite stop for bikers, sketchy characters, late nighters, and hookers. The crowd has gotten a lot younger this year, by younger I mean older than me, but mostly under thirty.
I used to come here frequently, and be one of the established patrons, but when the summer hit and the humidity started to lick my skin, I took a break.
For a few months, I rarely, if ever, went out.
I bring the car to a smooth stop not far from the entrance. The sidewalks are packed, the roaring sound of the exhaustion pipes turning a few heads.
I’m hardly an attention seeker.
I spent a great deal of time and money to keep a low profile, paying the personal price that comes with it as well.
Whether it’s keeping people, I care for, like Adele and Mark, at a distance, or not making new friends and having them over at my house.
Besides Harper, who worked at my place a couple of times, and the people I employ to do work around the house, no one knows who I am, what I do or where I live.
I’m not keen to draw attention here either, but I love this car, the engine noise being one of the reasons, and then the way it rolls onto the open road.
I turn the engine off, collect my phone and slither out.
A couple of SUVs are parked in front of the entrance. Men clad in jeans and tank tops, lean against them. A few feet away, a couple of women smoke and chat. They’re too sober to be customers, and too scantily clad not to be working girls.
Noisy like a bunch of kindergartners, the men shout, laugh and curse, the spectacle meant to draw the women’s attention.
What do I know?
Perhaps, they are the ones pimping the women. I tuck my phone in my jacket and stride across. People come and go, the main doors flipping constantly.
As I draw closer, a voice thunders through
the air.
“Oh.... Look who’s here,” the man drawls, and smacks his lips.
Catcalls follow me like a rash as I near the sidewalk.
“Senna, baby. What happened to you, darling? Found yourself a good cock? Haven’t seen you in ages.”
I shoot the man a glare. Can he talk any louder?
He keeps yapping, his voice annoying like a fucking megaphone. Half of the people on the sidewalk turn their heads and take me in.
Fucking jerk.
The hookers take notice too. I cut my eyes at the idiot, his face familiar somewhat, yet hardly someone I remember talking to.
Without gracing him with another glance, I lift my middle finger and head to the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement.
The thug is hardly the quitter.
Swaying his hips, he makes a beeline for me, grinning. The men behind him are no better, whistling and howling. More males attach to the group.
Great.
“No cock? Oh... I see... Senna likes pussy,” he says loudly, for the whole street to hear.
I spend a couple of seconds studying him, then swing my eyes to the other people, skimming their faces.
Not far from them, a man who doesn’t seem to be part of their group sits on the concrete curb.
He doesn’t look at me.
Holding a cigarette between his fingers, he scans the road, the cars pulling in, and the people walking out. For as long as I stare at him, he doesn’t spare a glance in my direction or the man who keep badgering me.
Just as I step on the sidewalk, the idiot who runs his mouth strides to me and blocks my way. He comes to a halt in front of me, his hands planted on his hips.
I raise my eyes.
“Get out of my way,” I bark, my short fuse coming in handy.
Laughter rocks his chest.
“Oh, someone’s pissed.” He turns to his friends.” It may be that someone hasn’t gotten dick in a long… long time,” he says, throwing a suggestive glance to his buddies while wiggling his eyebrows.
Laughter fills the air.
A stare burns a hole in my face, making me flick my gaze to the side. The man sitting on the sidewalk shifts his eyes away from me, focusing back on the road.
“Isn’t it so, Senna baby?”
The man who harasses me closes the space between us, weaves his fingers in my hair and pulls me into him. My fists shoot straight into his chest. The blow takes him by surprise, making him lose his balance for a moment. He straightens his back, and leans closer, trying to touch me again.
“Get your hands off me!” I snarl, dead fucking serious.
My voice rips into the air as my eyes taser him.
His smile falls from his lips, and for a moment everybody freezes. The man sitting on the pavement rises to his feet.
It takes a few moments before the jerk in front of me backs away, and I almost hear a collective sigh of relief.
I finally walk inside.
The place hasn’t changed much, but the crowd is somewhat different. A few new people work at the bar, along with my old buddy, Scottie. He catches sight of me and greets me with a nod.
I stop at the counter and give him a hug.
He motions me to my favorite table. Tucked-in, sitting next to the window, the spot is perfect to surveil the street while keeping an eye on the inside of the sports bar as well.
He sets my drink on the table and walks away. My gaze shifts to the people outside.
The crowd has thinned out substantially now that the show has come to an end. The rowdy men and the working girls are nowhere in sight.
I crane my neck out and scan the sidewalk looking for the mysterious man. I don’t remember seeing him here before.
I swivel my head, my gaze sweeping the street up and down until my eyes find the line of his broad shoulders. He switched sides, it seems. Abandoning the corner, he moved closer to the entrance.
Feet away from me, he leans against the streetlight pole, his face coming into focus.
He flexes his arms, the flame of a metallic lighter brushing the tip of the cigarette tucked between his lips. He narrows his eyes and takes a quick drag, shooting a glance at the road just as a few cars pull in.
He briefly scans them as they roll into the parking lot. Men and women climb out and amble to the bar. He gives them a quick glance before he shifts his focus away.
Another hour ticks by, fewer cars pulling in.
Sliding his hands into his low-slung jeans, he restlessly, looks down the street, flicking his cigarette with his tongue.
He brings his long-fingered hand to his lips, tears the cigarette away and blows the smoke out.
A silver ring glints on his right hand.
I take a good look at him as he keeps observing the cars and the patrons.
Tall, he has a chiseled face you can’t easily forget. Sculpted cheekbones, bedroom eyes, and a teasingly drawn mouth. Strong, proportionate jaws and a straight nose.
He sports a gray T-shirt hugging his chest tightly, destroyed jeans, a biker leather jacket, and scuffed, black boots.
I swing my eyes back up. His face looks young. Not young like me. Younger.
A few bangs fall over his eyes, brushing his cheeks. Light brown hair with sun-kissed strands, long enough to brush his neck, get tousled, and look like a sexy mess.
He takes a couple of steps toward the window.
As if aware of my stare and my curious eyes, he threads his fingers through his hair and combs it all back. The slight curving of his lips gives him a slight air of danger.
His eyes narrow again as he glances in my direction. My stomach ties in knots.
Teasingly parting his lips, he lifts an eyebrow and looks away, stretching his corded neck.
His hands rake through his hair again, pulling the jacket up. I make a note of his flat, tight abdomen and his narrow, muscular hips.
Suddenly, he swaggers closer to the window, stopping right in front of me. If it wasn’t for the wall of glass separating us, I could’ve probably touched him.
Swallowing hard, I set my glass on the table, and lean back in my chair, studying him thoroughly.
He can’t possibly see me. The glass is thick and dark.
Tilting his head back, he pulls his eyes half closed and looks down his nose. He pouts around the cigarette, and my heart begins to flutter. His eyes stay on me as if he sees me.
Perhaps he examines his reflection. Whatever he does, I can’t take my eyes off him. It’s been some time since anyone has held my attention for so long. Scratch that. Nobody has ever held my attention. But this has to do with way more than his looks.
His expression hardens, his eyes drilling me from behind the glass. My heart jolts.
Can he really see me?
I am pretty sure he cannot. I tear my eyes away briefly and then shoot them back at him. He’s still there, staring at me, his head tipped to the side, his eyebrow lifted.
I cock my head too. He breaks his stare.
Curling his lips into a smirk, he walks away.
Shit. He actually saw me.
I lose sight of him for a moment. When I find him again, a black car pulls in front of the bar, and he edges to it. The window on the passenger’s side rolls down, the engine still running.
He braces his hands against the top of the car, bends at his waist and starts talking to the driver. His head flicks to the side, his lips curved into a grin.
His smile makes my nipples hard and my neck hot. What the fuck? His lips move, spilling words.
I should be able to make out what he says if my focus weren’t completely shattered.
I notice a stark contrast between his smirk that could easily make a woman come and the turmoil boiling in his eyes.
“You need another one?”
Startled, I shift my eyes back inside.
“Huh?”
Scottie motions to the glass.
“No, I’m good.”
I look around. The bar is half empty. I
whip my eyes to my phone, check the time and raise my eyes to the bartender.
“Listen... Do you know this guy?” I ask, flicking my head to the side and pointing to the window.
“What guy?” he asks, glancing at the street.
I shift my eyes to the window as well.
The sidewalk is empty, only a black car gliding away.
4
SENNA
Blindfolded, hands and ankles tied, I rattle the chair.
He grabs the back of my hair, bends over me and growls in my ear.
“Sit tight for fuck’s sake.”
My hair bristles as the twisted pleasure rams through me.
He straightens his back, the warmth coming from his body rolling over me, the scent of fresh cum drifting to my nostrils.
The chair I’m sitting on is wedged between his legs, his feet planted on the floor on either side of me, his groin positioned in front of my face.
I can smell him and almost taste him.
The silky head of his hard-on brushes my lips, demanding access. I keep my mouth closed. His thumb brushes my lips too.
“Open your fucking mouth,” he says, his voice abrasive, his touch insistent.
I unclench my teeth.
His callous thumb sweeps my tongue first before he slides his cock between my lips and fills my mouth. A hand clutches the back of my head, the other cupping my face.
I swirl my tongue around him, the taste and smell of him hitting me fast, another surge of pleasure spiking through me. I open my mouth wider and take him in deeper before I start bobbing my head, and roll my lips on him.
“See... you fucking like it,” he says, his tone low and husky. “Do it now,” he mutters, his voice gradually losing its raw edge, becoming clearer, even tender.
His moves turn softer too as he gently guides my head. His groan lifts in the air and rolls in my ears, feeding the growing need inside me.
I suck him harder, eager to push him closer to the edge.
He’s right on the cusp of losing control.
“Fuck, Senna,” he growls quietly.
Swiftly, he cuts my ties, freeing me.
He pulls me up and pivots me to the bed. I’m down on all fours, waiting. I hear the metallic sound of his buckle as his jeans hit the floor.
