by Penny Wylder
He takes my hand again before he says a word, braiding our fingers together and pulling my hand over, resting it in his lap.
“She's pretty, isn't she?”
“She's old.”
Laughing, he runs his free hand up and over the steering wheel. “She might be old, but she's never let me down. I bought her with the money from my first tournament win when I was sixteen years old.”
“And that was how long ago?” Giggling, I scoot closer, bringing my thigh right up to the tall shifter arm.
“Over ten years ago.” Licking his lips, he smiles. “It was already used and old when I bought it. But I won enough to buy it outright, which made it mine. I was so proud of this truck at the time, I never imagined I'd ever be able to afford a vehicle of my own.”
“You can afford something better than this now, you've come a long way from the start.”
“I can, doesn't mean I need to.” He crosses his arm over his chest and pulls the gear shift into drive. “And I love my truck, she represents everything I've gone through to get here.”
I watch him from the corner of my eyes and I realize how deep this man actually goes. He has feelings, he has respect, and he takes pride in everything he does.
We drive back to my place in silence, despite the spontaneous spit of engine backfire and clank of metal on metal under the hood. Phade pulls up to the curb, putting the truck in park and letting it idle.
We're still holding hands. I don't want to let go. His grip loosens, but I tighten mine. “You want to come up?” I ask, tilting my head and peering up at him under hooded lids.
I want more. The night doesn't have to end here. All he has to do is say yes. My body is growing tender, my nipples hard as they brush against the inside of my dress.
The thought of having him in my home makes my body ignite like a bonfire. Invisible sparks fly around me, singeing my skin like hot ash. My thighs get slick, wet, so wet I can feel it spilling down my leg.
I'm already picturing Phade taking me upstairs, pushing me against the wall and fucking me. I want him inside me, I want to feel all of him as he presses my entrance and sinks his thick cock into my pussy.
Crossing my legs, I try to hide the eagerness to have him in me while I wait for his answer. The light off the streetlamp catches his pupils and makes them sparkle. The light moves across his jaw, turning his brown stubble into silver stars.
My thighs rub back and forth, wondering if that stubble will tickle or burn my skin.
Phade smiles, his lids lowering to half-mast. “I'm glad you asked because I planned on taking you upstairs anyway.”
We quickly climb out of his truck, heading into my building. We're not even in the elevator before his hands are in my hair and his fingertips are exploring my breasts beneath my dress.
Phade dances his mouth eagerly across my shoulder, nipping at my skin. His breathing is heavy and hot, his teeth are sharp and greedy. Moaning, my head rolls on my shoulder, making room for him to explore more of my neck.
Pinching my nipple, he rolls it between his fingers, plucking it softly. “I want to fuck you so bad.” His mouth flutters close to my ear as he moves his hand to my other tit and squeezes the perked bead.
“I want you to fuck me.” My hands fist his hair, tearing at the roots. “I'm fucking soaked, Phade, I need you.”
Growling, his hands become rougher, more demanding. Fingers dig into the soft flesh of my chest as he licks his way up my throat until our mouths are almost touching. He doesn't kiss me yet, his lips tremble in place, eager to devour my mouth, but trying to stay strong.
Our eyes lock on each other, my tongue tempts his parted lips. His mouth mimics mine, ready for our tongues to tangle, to lick, to taste.
Ding.
The elevator doors open, and Phade sweeps me off my feet, carrying me toward my apartment. I unlock the door quickly, and Phade kicks it open wide, carrying me through. Using his foot, he kicks the door shut.
We're nothing but heavy breaths and pounding heartbeats. He moves through my apartment like he's been here before and takes me straight into the bedroom. He doesn't need me to give directions. It's like he's reading my mind, pulling out my memories and using them to guide him through my home.
He throws me on the bed and my blood pumps hot and fast through my veins. I can hear it whoosh through my ears as it passes from one side to the next. He looms over me, grabbing the collar of his shirt and tugging it off his back.
I have to touch him. The need niggles in my fingers, itching to reach out and feel his body. My fingertips explore stone cut abs and marbled shoulders. Thick black and red lines wrap his ribs on his right side.
It's an image of a figure, a fiery man, wielding a hammer high above his head. Phade stands still for a second, hands splayed open at his sides, ribs expanding and contracting as he breathes.
My eyes are drawn to the tattoo, to the way it moves on his skin. Every breath Phade takes, the figure breathes too. I watch quietly, softly touching this living picture.
“Who is this?” I ask, tracing one of the lines with the tip of my finger.
Phade looks down and twists his body. “Vulcan, the god of Fire.”
“It's amazing. Did it hurt?”
He shakes his head with a thin frown. “It wasn't too bad.” Phade runs his palm down his ribs. “The Romans believed that he represents both the good and bad that comes from fire. He was mesmerized by it, even using it to make a golden slave girl for himself. Do you want to be my golden slave girl?” Phade climbs up on the end of the bed and lays over me, spreading my legs with his knee to make room for him to settle in.
I can feel his hard cock behind his shorts. It's solid, and I can't lie, it's intimidating. Memories of how deep he hits make my stomach clench and my pussy water. Every nerve in my body is alive, it's on fire, exploding with wanton need.
Phade moves his hand down my ribs and shimmies my dress up over my hips. Helping him out of his shorts, I feel the tension of the cloth as it breaks free and his cock bursts out.
Pushing his lips onto mine, he kisses me hard. The kiss feels different, it's a single kiss filled with more emotion than I know what to do with. It's intense, the voracity of his lips steals my breath and leaves me wounded.
I need him. Not just here. Not just like this. I need Phade like I need water to survive. I feel him all around me, sinking deeper into my bones. His steely exterior is merely a shell to protect who he really is.
Opening my mouth, I make room for his tongue, taking it, sucking it in. He tastes like sweet red Gatorade, mixed with salty sweat, and for some reason, it turns me on. Opening my mouth wider, I tip my head up a little higher, deepening our kiss.
His dick is pressing the inside of my thigh. My arousal seeps down my pussy and over my ass crack until it drips off my cheek, and onto the mattress. We're both rocking, gyrating, humping like horny teenagers who are trying to stay whole and pure.
But that can only last so long. The need will always outweigh the rationalization. Because if you can't think straight, you can't make the right decision.
Lining up his tip to my entrance, Phade slips in easily. My juice is warm and silky, lubing his cock. He starts off slow, rocking back on his knees and then dropping down gently.
This isn't what I want, though. I want him to take me. I want him to make me his.
None of this delicate flower shit. I need Phade to fuck me before I lose my mind.
“Fuck me, Phade. I can't take this, just fuck me.” Shifting my hips, I try to pick up our pace. My ass lifts up off the bed and drops back down as I do my best to match his movements.
“If I just fuck you, where's the fun in that?” Slamming his cock inside, he stills on his elbows and smiles. “I'd much rather drive you to the edge of insanity until you're begging me on all fours.”
“I can't wait that long, don't make me wait that long.”
“Tsk, tsk,” he whispers into my ear, and bites my lobe. I groan loud, eyes snapping shut. “Goo
d girl, now you're getting it. Your body's going to do what I tell it to do. All you can do is let it.” The sharp edges of his teeth run over my jawline, moving down the other side of my neck.
Groaning, a shiver runs up and down my body. “You're not playing fair.”
“I never said I would.” His lips trace my nipple, circling one and then moving to the other. “I actually enjoy watching you melt for me. I love seeing you lose your mind because you have to have me. That's so fucking sexy.”
Digging my nails into his back, I arch hard as he bites my nipple and sucks it. I'm sure I'm leaving marks on his skin. I can feel the surface split as the sharp edges of my nails cut in hungrily.
His cock pulses in my body, and my pussy bares down, clenching around him and trying to force him to move. I'm so fucking wet, my clit is throbbing painfully.
“You want me?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whisper, the word falling out of my mouth on a groan as he pulls his hips back. The tip of his cock threatens to pop free. My pussy tightens, refusing to let him out.
His eyes glide over my face. The mahogany glass so crystal clear, I can see myself in his pupils. There's a flutter in the back of his stare, it draws me in, taking my heart and stopping it from beating.
His hips start to move more fluidly, smooth but bold, steady but vigorous all at the same. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I grind my ass up, hitting the base of his dick as we lose ourselves in each other's stare.
I can feel him in my lower belly. His swollen crown is scraping at my g-spot, causing my toes to curl up and my calves to cramp. Phade's hands slip into my hair, taking fistfuls. He pulls my head back, and it arches my entire body.
The pleasure is starting to radiate down my legs and up my chest. Moaning, I cry out as my eyes close on impulse. “I'm coming! Fuck, I'm coming!”
Phade pistons his hips, faster and faster. My hair is tangled around his hands, between his fingers and wrapping his wrists. Burying his face in my shoulder, he pushes his mouth against my skin and groans.
I can't make out any actual word, it's just a deep throaty moan. His shoulders roll forward, settling on my chest, and the rest of his body follows. Pulse after pulse of cum fills my pussy as his cock jerks inside me.
Twisting his face against my cheek, he kisses me softly. “I think you'll make a great golden slave girl.” Flicking my eyes to his, Phade busts out laughing. “I'm kidding,” he says, rolling off me and onto his side.
“Damn right.” Giggling, I pull the blankets up over my chest and snuggle into the crook of his arm. “So, where do we go from here?”
“Well. . .” Pausing, he pulls me in closer, “if it feels right, there's no reason to push it away. So, how about we just do what feels right?”
“I like the way that sounds.” Smiling up at him, we drift off to sleep together.
And I'm happy with his answer. I love the idea of just doing what feels right. That's how it should always be.
Why should anyone ever be miserable?
Life is too short to worry about everyone else. I'm finally ready to start living for the only person who actually matters.
Me.
15
Sylvia
Pushing the cart through the aisle, I look up and down the shelves, searching for my favorite brand of cereal. I saw a commercial for it this morning, and it's all I've been able to think about since.
Gotcha.
Tearing the box off the shelf, I'm salivating as I pull back the top and peel the plastic bag apart. Grabbing a handful, I toss it in my mouth and groan to myself as I finally satisfy this craving.
I purposely made the list I'm carrying for the sole excuse to come to the store and buy this sugar infested, diabetic nightmare of a cereal. The tiny marshmallows dissolve on my tongue, and the crunchy flakes crackle into bits as I chew. It's an orgasm in my mouth. Every mouthful causes me to moan just a little bit.
What is wrong with me today?
Handful after handful, I chomp down the cereal, slowly checking off items as I drop them in the carriage.
Lotion—check.
Yogurt—check.
Toilet paper—check.
Standing in the aisle, I plop the pack of toilet paper into the cart. I think have everything, but I want to be sure before I leave. Tapping my thumbs on the handle, I look up at the signs hanging over the end of each aisle and read.
Bread; have it. Milk; have it. Pasta, canned vegetables, sauce. . .
Feminine Hygiene. Pausing, I glance down at the tiles and try to think. When did I have my period last? Last month, right? Yeah, it wasn't that long ago—was it?
Fuck. I can't remember.
My chest tightens, and my pulse starts to kick harder. Sweat beads up on the back of my neck as I push my cart toward the tampons and family planning section. I honestly can't recall the last time I bought tampons.
Stopping, I stare at the array of different boxes. Heavy flow, overnight, light flow, but I keep going, coming to a halt in front of the pregnancy tests.
Squeezing the plastic on the handle, I turn my hands back and forth. My palms are slippery, making the plastic move easily under my grip. If the cart had lungs, I'd be strangling it right now.
I'm not pregnant.
There's no way. Shit has been stressful, complicated. I'm late, that's all this is.
Picking up one of the boxes, I stare at the front. It's brightly colored in pink and blue splashes. Pretty and inviting, there are flowers decorating the blank space, and a silhouette of a woman is filling the upper corner.
The woman isn't showing that she's pregnant, she doesn't have a face or any distinguishing features. She's just there as an outline in limbo, waiting for the answer this box should deliver.
The packaging is far too welcoming for what it's going to tell you. It makes the entire situation seem happy and exciting. But what if it's not? What if you're not trying to have a baby just yet? What if you're not ready?
They should have dull, black and white boxes too, for those of us that aren't sure what to feel. Keep it simple, keep it low key and objective. Let me decide how to feel. Don't fancy the box up making me enticed to be excited.
My eyes flick between the tampons and the pregnancy tests, so I grab one of each and drop them into the cart. Just in case.
Paying for my groceries, I throw them into the back of my car and drive home. Carrying the bags into my apartment, I set them down on the counter, and only take out the pregnancy test.
I can hear my phone going off in my purse, one ping after another. Digging around, I take it out and see it's Daniel. He's texted me four times already, telling me to call him, and wondering where the hell I am.
And right now. . . I don't give a shit. He can wait.
Flipping the box over, I read the directions.
Remove test strip from foil.
Put tip of test in urine stream for five seconds.
Wait three minutes.
That's it? Three minutes of my time, and I know the card my future's been dealt?
How do you learn if you're having a baby or not in three minutes?
It's super simple, a little too simple I think to tell you if you're prego or not, but I guess it doesn't need to be that difficult either.
Going into the bathroom, I sit down, and hold the test strip in place. Staring off, I wait, and I wait, and I wait. I don't have to pee.
Figures. I have to pee a million times a day, but when I actually need to go, I can't.
Huffing, I stand up and turn on the sink. I let the cold water run for a few seconds, before sticking my mouth against the stream. I drink fast and quick, hoping the sudden onslaught of icy cool water will kick start my bladder.
Sitting back down, all I can do is wait. I probably could have waited until I knew I had to pee, but I got ahead of myself and just want to take this test and be done with it. It's just easier to know.
Once I know it's negative, I'll be able to go on with my day, talk to Daniel about this pu
blicity thing, and forget this whole pregnancy scare to begin with.
I feel like I'm sitting for hours. My legs are numb from my knees up, and my lower back is starting to ache. A little tingle hits my vagina, and I let out a sigh of relief.
Finally!
After peeing on the stick, I slip the clear cover on, and set it on the granite top. Going into my kitchen, I grab the egg timer and set it to three minutes. It starts to tick. Placing it on the stove, I wipe clammy hands over my thighs.
What if it's positive?
It's not. I know it's not. I'd know if I were pregnant, I'd feel it.
Right?
Pacing back and forth between my bathroom and the kitchen, I'm biting my nails, tearing them down to the bed. I don't want to wait anymore, I just want the answer.
Now, the three minutes makes sense. I get it completely. The sooner the better. I need to know and I need to know now.
Who wants to wait any longer than they need to for an answer like this?
My eyes dart to the clock on the stove, fully aware that I just checked it seconds before. Never has time gone so slow, it's torture.
My phone pings again, a distraction for the moment, and I'll gladly take it. Something to occupy me for the next minute and half. Sliding my thumb across the screen, it's Daniel again.
His message is less friendly and more demanding. 'Where the hell are you? CALL ME'
Throwing my phone across the counter, I grip my temples and close my eyes. Not right now, I'm not doing it. I know he's just going to berate me for not calling sooner, interrogating me about why it took so long and where I've been. I don't have the time or the patience for him right now.
Brring! Brring!
Jumping up straight, the egg timer is vibrating as it rings on the stove. Holding my chest, I turn it off and let out a heavy breath. It startles me. I'm shaking, eager and terrified all at once.
My eyes turn to the bathroom door, and I hesitate. I know it's ready, I know my answer is right there, but I'm too afraid to move.
Just go! Get it over with!
Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly and push myself forward. This anxiety is only going to end once I see that single line on the test strip. I can see it on the sink from the doorway, but it's still too far away to read it.
