by Tia Louise
Isle of Vin in Croatia. Supposedly the best beach in Europe.
I think about the places I’ve seen. I was in Madagascar. It’s supposedly Eden.
Will we be naked?
I have no objection to that.
Is it legal?
I have no jurisdiction in Africa.
A few seconds pass, and I grin, wondering if I’ve stumped her. She finally replies, I think I’m a bad influence on you.
Just getting to know me better.
Another little pause, then the gray dots appear. Want to see what I’m doing?
My stomach tightens, and I glance at the clock. It’s after ten, and I’m off the bed pulling on my jeans, a tee, putting a ball cap on my head. It doesn’t take long to drive the truck the few miles to her house, especially at this time of night.
I ease the truck to parking then slide out as I’m texting my reply. Sure.
Took long enough.
Open the door.
I hear a little yelp followed by a scuffling of who knows what. The porch light flickers on just before her door flies open, and there she is, exactly as I pictured.
Nope, she’s better.
Her dark hair is twisted on the top of her head with a pencil stuck in it, and she’s wearing my old tee again. It’s knotted at the waist like I like it, giving me a peek of her silky skin, her cute little navel ring. She’s not wearing my boxers this time. She’s in black bikini panties, and her shapely legs are bare down to red toenails.
Her green eyes sparkle when they meet mine, and her smile is beautiful. I don’t hesitate. I lean forward, catching her waist and planting a kiss right on those pillow lips. Her hands are on my shoulders, and she exhales a sigh as our tongues touch. It’s soft and warm and perfect, and when I lean up, her eyes blink open slowly.
Just as fast she grabs my arm, pulling me inside. “Get in here before everybody sees you.”
I start to laugh. “They’re going to know. My truck’s out front.”
Standing in front of me in her bare feet, she’s so small. It’s a direct contrast to her personality, which always seems larger than life. Still, I want to wrap her up in my arms and take care of her… something I know she’d hate.
Nope, this girl needs to be free.
“Show me what you’re doing.” I look to her computer.
She walks over to the chair. “I don’t have a place for you to sit.”
I sit in her chair and catch her waist, pulling her onto my lap.
She exhales a laugh, and I’m very aware of her sitting on my lap in only my t-shirt and panties.
Not yet.
I want to know what she does. I want to know what kept her so occupied for the last year while she avoided me. “Show me.”
“Okay…” Reaching forward, she grabs the white mouse and wakes her enormous iMac. “So my clients—Rani and AJ—are travel agents who specialize in European and Caribbean tours. Their motto is ‘Easy, safe, unforgettable.’”
“Safe.” My voice is skeptical.
“People always think they’re going to get robbed when they visit Europe.”
“The pickpocket culture is strong.” She moves around on my lap, and it’s hard to keep my hands off her ass. I fight it though, clearing my throat and directing my mind back to what she’s saying. “I thought travel agents went the way of the dinosaur.”
“Have you seen the box office for Jurassic Park?”
“Yeah, but anybody can go online and book a trip to Europe or the Caribbean.”
“Ahh…” She holds up a slim finger. “You’re right. That’s where Travel Time is different. It’s all about perceived need and perceived value.”
“Explain.”
“Start at the homepage.” She turns to the computer again and pulls up a clean, elegant website with the company name, the logo of a compass, and a search bar under the words, Where do you want to go today?
“But it’s more than where. You can search by type of trip—girl’s trip, wedding, anniversary, family vacation—and get recommendations of popular packages. You can enter the age of travelers, the duration, how long you want to stay in each place. You can pick the type of lodging you prefer, from hotels to hostels to B&Bs…”
She clicks fast and menus roll down.
“They’ve taken it a step further in that if you make an account and leave reviews, it can customize future trip recommendations based on your experiences. There’s a chat function here.” She clicks on a little dialog bubble, and a window pops up. “Rani and AJ are able to answer questions in real time during business hours, or they can take emails after hours. The last thing I’m adding are links to blog reviews, tips for overseas travel, pictures of popular attractions…”
“You did all this?”
“Yep.” She looks over her shoulder. “It’s my biggest job to date. They told me their vision, and I brought it to life. Then once it launches, I’ll help maintain it.”
“When does it launch?”
“Soft launch is Wednesday. We’ll have it up and invite people to test it out, help us find all the bugs. Then they want to go live by the end of the month.”
“Whoa, you really do need to work.” I’m starting to feel bad distracting her.
“I invited you over, remember?” She grins. “I got a lot done this afternoon.”
I feel bad. I took a nap. “You learned all this in one community college course?”
She’s facing the computer again and shrugs. “I’d always been interested in websites and design. I’d been poking around for a while when I saw the billboard and decided to pull the trigger.”
“I’m impressed. You’re doing really well with this.”
She clicks a few more photographs. “With clients like these, I can’t help but do well. I send them big bills, and they pay them.”
“Have you put together your own travel package?”
“Ha! In my dreams. They have a budget traveler option, but it’s too limited for what I want to do.”
“What’s that?” My hands are on her thighs now, smoothing her silky skin.
She sighs and leans her back against my chest. “I want to see everything… Vis, New Zealand, Fiji… It seems silly to go from one beach to another, but I want to see them all.”
My chin is on her shoulder, and she clicks to the different pictures. The mouse hovers over India, and I nod. “The golden triangle is unforgettable. I saw the Taj Mahal when I was in Agra.”
She turns her head slightly. “Right—you’ve been there.”
We’re quiet, and I’m thinking about seeing it again with her. “It’s a big tomb. The Shah Jahan had it built for a Persian princess he loved. She died having their fourteenth child.”
“Oh!” Tabby sits up, her cute little nose wrinkled. “That’s terrible!”
I chuckle and pull her against my chest again. “It’s stunning in real life.”
“An object lesson—how families are hazardous to your health.”
“More like the importance of birth control. I imagine having fourteen kids can be hazardous to your health.” My hands are under that tee now, and I’m sliding them up to her bare breasts. “Besides, they can’t be all bad. You love Coco.”
“I do love Coco,” she sighs, melting into my chest as I tweak her hard nipples. “I’m just not sure it’s the life for me.”
Opening my mouth against her neck, I give her soft skin a gentle suck. “Life is long.”
Her hips move, scrubbing that ass against my dick—which is now a steel rod in my pants. I take one hand from her breasts and smooth it down her flat stomach, inside the front of those panties, down to her clit, giving it a stroke. She moans, and I dip my fingers inside, to her dripping core.
“You’re so wet.” I kiss her ear.
She’s fumbling behind her back, locating the button of my jeans, and I quickly help her unfasten them, lifting us briefly so I can slide them down my hips. She’s still facing forward, but she grips my swollen cock, pumping it with her h
and. It makes me groan low in her ear.
She shivers and laughs softly. “Big boy, big dick.”
“It needs a condom.” I start to rise, but she stops me.
Reaching down, she finds the pocket of my jeans, my wallet. “In here?”
I pull her panties down as she leans forward, and my cock grows harder at the sight of her bare ass on my lap. “Yeah.” My voice is thick with need. “Hurry up.”
As soon as she has it out, I take it from her, ripping it open with my teeth. She’s leaning forward, her forearms on her desk, looking at me over her shoulder.
“What do you want, big boy?”
“I want you to ride my big dick until you’re screaming my name. Then I want to bend you over that desk and fuck you from behind until your knees give out.”
“Holy shit,” she whispers, slipping her hand between her legs.
The condom’s on, and I grip her waist, lifting her and positioning it at her core before letting her drop, sheathing me hot and wet.
“Oh, yeah,” I groan, leaning back to watch.
She leans forward, lifting her ass up and down, bouncing on my cock as her hand massages her clit. “Oh, she gasps… it’s so big.”
She’s so tight, and I slide my hand over her round backside. I want to slap it, leave my mark… Instead, I grip her hips, moving her faster, trying not to blow. She’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Catching the hem of her shirt, I lift it higher. She quickly jerks it over her head, and the pencil falls. I get a quick peek at a tiny mermaid tattoo on her shoulder blade before long, dark curls cascade down, covering it.
Pulling off my own shirt, I lean forward, kissing a line up the center of her back, reaching around to squeeze and pinch her nipples.
“Yes,” she whimpers when I bite the side of her neck, moving my lips into her hair. “Keep doing that… keep… Oh!”
I feel the moment she breaks, shuddering and squeezing my cock deep inside her body.
It’s time.
Holding her waist, I lift us to standing, pushing her forward onto her hands. Our thighs are flush, and gripping her hips, I jerk her ass against my pelvis while I thrust hard and fast, chasing my own orgasm.
Tabby’s legs wobble, her feet stagger further apart, and she moans my name. It’s the fucking best thing I’ve ever heard.
“I’m so close,” I groan. “You feel so good.”
The desk bangs against the wall, lifting off the floor with the force of my thrusts. I’d be worried, but Tabby cries out, “That’s it! Don’t stop… Oh—” Her knees actually give out, as she collapses forward with a loud wail.
She comes so hard, my own orgasm breaks. It snakes up my legs like electricity, tingling in my balls, in my pelvis, blanking my mind. My eyes squeeze shut, and I have to hold steady or we might both go down.
The sensation is intense, mind-altering.
With every pulse, I groan, deep and low.
Tabby pushes off the desk, arching her back against my bare chest. I wrap my arms around her waist and hold her, pressing my forehead against her neck, still buried deep in her warm body.
She lifts a hand, threading her fingers in the side of my hair. “I think you broke me.”
“You’re not broken.” I lift my head to kiss her neck. “You’re mine.”
“Hmm…” She exhales softly, her fingers still moving in my hair.
It was a risk saying it, but she doesn’t pull away. I reach down and hold the condom as I pull out, tying it off and disposing of it in the small trash by her desk. I’ll take care of that tomorrow.
Stepping out of my jeans, I lift her in my arms and carry her to the bedroom. Her cheek is against my shoulder, and her hand is on my neck, her thumb tracing my jaw.
“Want to spend the night?” she asks softly.
“I’m one step ahead of you.”
Fifteen
Tabby
When I open my eyes again, it’s dark. Two strong arms and the clean, masculine scent of Chad Tucker surround me, and I’m sweating. He generates heat like an oven.
Wiggling forward carefully, I scoot to the other side of the bed where it’s cooler. Then I turn and study his profile asleep with the moonlight streaming across his skin.
Chad Tucker is some kind of sex god with a magic snake in his pants. Andy the Anaconda. I seriously can’t believe the way he gets me off every time. It’s throwing a wrench in my plan to keep it casual.
Okay, that’s not true. He is making it hard, with the way he asks about everything I’m doing, the way he’s so interested and wants all the details. The way he keeps coming up with plans to help me do what I want to do. Then he surprises me by being so unexpectedly dirty. I shiver thinking about how savage he is when he takes me. It’s possessive and fierce, and his massive dick hitting my G-spot is a bonus.
But he wants peace and quiet, a family, babies…
My stubborn brain is right there reminding me how different we are. Our conversation about the Taj Mahal is a perfect example. Maybe he doesn’t want fourteen kids, but he definitely wants one. I’d expect more than one.
You love Coco…
He’s right, I do love that little girl, and Emberly’s always saying how much better her life is because she had her. I lower my cheek to the pillow, studying his sexy square jaw, his full lips, that dimpled chin.
You’re mine…
A little shiver moves through me at the thought, surprising me with how much I like the sound of that. Can peace and quiet, babies, a family co-exist with wanderlust and websites?
Could it possibly ever work?
The second time I open my eyes, I’m alone. The sun streams through the blinds, and I sit up quickly, looking all around.
“Chad?” I call loudly.
No answer.
It’s quiet in the house, and I see a slip of paper sitting on my bedside table. I wonder why he didn’t send me a text. Snatching it up, I read his perfectly neat, block handwriting, and I’m so glad he didn’t send me a text.
You’re beautiful when you sleep, I hated leaving for work. I’ll see you when I check in the store later. Until then, I’ll be thinking of how sexy you are when you come on my cock, screaming my name. And that little mermaid… I want to see her again.
–C.
“Such a dirty boy, Deputy Tucker.” I hold the note against my lips and grin, warm waves of happiness vibrating through my insides.
For a few minutes, all I want to do is stay in bed reliving last night, maybe rubbing one out as I remember the details—until my phone starts buzzing with a text.
My heart jumps, and I wonder if…
Lifting it up, I see it’s only Emberly. Coco stayed with me last night. Think you could come in a little early? I promised André scones.
I’m not sure what the last sentence has to do with anything, but I quickly text back. Sure. Then I’m out of bed and heading to the shower.
When I arrive at the bakery, I understand. Several trays of large, round biscuit-looking cakes are all around the place. Emberly is in the back, a lock of dark hair falling out of her messy bun, and she’s running the mixer while she reads a book. She looks frazzled.
“Aunt Tabby!” Coco jumps off the chair beside her mother and races to meet me. “Mama’s having a terrible morning.”
“Tabby! Thank God you’re here.”
I scoop Coco up onto my hip and cross to her mother. “What’s happening?”
“Why the eff did I tell André I would do this? I’ve never made a scone in my life, and they’re not coming out right. True scones are supposed to be light and fluffy. These are like dense little hole-less cake doughnuts.”
“How many have you made?” I look around the room at all the trays. It looks like a hundred.
“I don’t know.”
Coco’s eyes are round and she leans into my ear. “Eff means a bad word.”
“Coco!” Emberly cries, lifting the beaters out of the mixing bowl. “Stop repeating everything I say.”
“What does it mean?” I whisper, positive she has no idea.
“Tabby…” My best friend warns.
I look at my friend then back to her daughter’s round eyes. “Whisper it to me.”
Emberly waves us away, shaking her head.
Coco’s eyes widen again, and she gets close, whispering, “Fart.”
I do not laugh. It takes all my strength, but I do not laugh. Instead I nod seriously.
“Mama’s under a lot of pressure right now.” Walking over to the nearest tray, I lift a beige little biscuit with dark purple blueberries in it. “It looks good to me!”
“I’m almost out of blueberries.” Emberly’s spooning another batch onto a tray. “This is my last cookie sheet.”
I take a bite and thick, buttery goodness fills my mouth. “Hey!” I nod, bending to put Coco on her feet. “These are delicious!”
“Which ones?” My best friend’s head snaps up. “Ugh, those are too buttery!”
“Is there such a thing?” I stuff the rest of the little cake in my mouth. “Stop making scones. Nobody in Oceanside will know the difference, and we’re going to have to feed the rest of these to the ducks.”
“I want to feed the ducks!” Coco jumps up, holding her hands over her head.
“Sorry, that was a joke.” She frowns and does a little whine. “We’ll wait until they’re stale and throw them at people.”
That makes her laugh, but Emberly scowls. “We’re not throwing scones at anybody. Would you help me box those up? They’ll have to do, I guess. André’s waiting.”
“These will do fine. They’re delicious.” I grab a rectangular plastic bin and line it with parchment. “Coco, come help me.”
The little girl hops over to where I’m filling the bin with scones and climbs on the stool. “Mommy says scones are for tea time.”
“Only if you’re British.” I’ve emptied two trays. “Take these trays to the sink.”
The pastries are quickly packaged, and I’m heading out the door for André’s when I skip a step. Chad is right outside, looking like sex in a uniform and grinning so I can see that dimple.
“Well, hello, there.” I give him a radiant smile. “Scone?”
