by Leanne Brice
I let out a satisfied moan—happy to be filled at last—as he lifts his hips and starts riding me.
His massive cock moves in and out of my hungry pussy rhythmically, my heated folds and sensitive clit grateful for each slam of his pelvis.
I hold onto his strong, hard body as he grinds into me, taking his pleasure from my quivering, willing body.
My hands roam his masculine planes, sliding over his torso then down to his contracting ass cheeks as he fucks me hard and deep.
“It’s so good,” I whisper as I take his cock, wrapping my legs around him and beginning to meet his thrusts.
My breasts jiggle as he rocks into me, his thrusts taking me closer and closer to the edge of orgasm.
Then he suddenly leans his head down and his lips find mine, his tentative kiss getting more aggressive as his tongue finds its way inside my mouth, exploring me there while his dick massages my inner walls.
The sudden kiss surprises and delights me, though I figure it shouldn’t happen with a one-night stand, right? Shouldn’t kisses be reserved for more serious explorations?
But it doesn’t matter—I accept everything he’s giving me, and I quickly find myself on the verge of climax as his cock and tongue plow me.
“I’m going to come,” I whisper once his lips leave mine.
“I can feel it,” he says, just as my body reaches the peak and starts contracting in orgasmic pleasure.
His cock continues to pound my pussy while I grip him hard, gushing all around him.
“Fuck, Cara!” he says, making me dimly regret not sharing my real name, but it’s such a small thing compared to the massive climax holding my body hostage with pleasurable pulsations.
I eventually realize he came too as he collapses on top of me.
I wrap my arms around him, and we hold each other as our hot bodies throb and throb with orgasmic pulses, our hearts beating against each other’s chests.
Chapter 2
SATURDAY MORNING
When I awaken, I realize it’s morning, and it slowly registers there’s another body in the bed with me.
It takes just a second to remember what happened last night, and I smile to myself at the memory, but I don’t move.
Instead, I stay still, replaying everything from the moment my lover said, “You look like you need a Long Island Iced Tea.”
Maybe I should get his name and start a “little black book.” Whenever he and I find ourselves in the same area, maybe we can count on each other to get off.
He stirs beside me, and I work on appearing to be asleep still.
I decide it’s probably best not to go there again—this is the year of new experiences, right?
Although there’s always next year, and the year after that, some inner voice says, but realistically, a guy like this is gonna get himself hitched and picket-fenced in the next few years—he looks like the type.
I stay in place, waiting for him to leave while wishing it didn’t have to be like this.
I kind of want to get a good look at him before he goes, but it’s probably best not to do that either—daylight might reveal all kinds of flaws hidden in the dark.
Why ruin things now? As it is, this is going to be a perfect memory: super hot guy, mind-blowing sex—it could last me a while.
I muster up all my acting ability when I feel him move around the bed to the side I’m facing, blocking part of the light while he’s at it.
I force myself not to think about what he’s up to, conjuring up a fantasy in order to appear relaxed despite him standing over me.
I imagine him leaving a business card somewhere so I can find him again, that one day, when I’m feeling crushingly alone, I give him a ring, and what do you know? He’s in the neighborhood, so to speak, and we meet up, exchange real names and details, actually have dinner or something, and then fuck like rabbits till dawn.
I’m startled out of this quiet fantasy by the feel of warm, lingering lips on my cheek.
I almost opened my eyes at the sudden contact but I don’t, trying to focus on breathing normally.
Then, light hits my eyeballs full force again as he moves away, and I stay in place until I hear my front door close.
I take a huge breath, letting out a sigh of relief that I can finally move forward while trying to ignore the burn of contact lingering on my cheek.
I search the immediate area in case my fantasy had some truth, but there’s no business card or scrap of paper left behind indicating who he is or where to find him.
I shake off the slight disappointment as I head to the shower.
Gotta look and smell nice and clean for my dad and his new woman!
I stare at my father’s home for a while before continuing the path up the driveway to park.
It’s weird how it’s pretty much just his home now—I grew up in it, getting home-schooled and tutored for a while, then came back to it on breaks from college. Relief at its familiarity filled me each time.
But once Mom died, and Dad eventually shuffled things around, rearranging and restyling things, it no longer felt like home.
School seemed kind of pointless too, so I dropped out.
With her death, a sense of mortality hit me hard and I figured, why continue doing something I had no desire to do? I was only going to college because it was expected of me.
And with the life insurance payout, it wasn’t like I’d be hard up for money if I was smart.
Plus, my parents have a trust fund set up for me that I’ll have access to once I hit twenty-five.
“Hey Daddy-o,” I say as I enter the house, noting that my old key still works.
“Why do you keep calling me that?” he asks as he comes toward me with his arms open for a hug.
“I don’t know—heard it in some old movie and it stuck. What’s to eat?” I say after giving him a quick embrace.
“Daisy and I will be having lunch outside shortly. We weren’t expecting you until this evening, but there’s plenty of food.”
“So she’s...”
“Not out there at this time—she stepped out for an errand,” he says, his eyes poking a hole in me.
Ugh—shut up, Dad. I don’t want to hear it. I’m fine.
“Oh goodie, we can chat before she gets back,” I say drily, ignoring his probing eyes.
“Yes. Well, how have you been?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “Splendid. Still alive, for one. And I’ve ticked off, like, five things from my bucket list.”
“Do you feel any...better?”
Have I come to my senses and made plans to enroll in the next school year to finish my degree? Nah.
“I feel great, Dad, seriously. Living the dream.” I pause. “How about you? Seems everything’s pretty peachy with your new lady and all. You’re not gonna cheat on her with a girl my age too, are you?”
My missive hit the mark.
He gives me a tight smile.
I know that look—he wants to tell me to behave so badly, but he knows, as well as I do, he should be grateful I even bothered to show up here.
“Don’t worry, Daddy-o—I’ll behave when she’s here,” I reassure him anyway.
He looks relieved, confirming my guess was right.
I don’t know what he thinks I’m gonna do. Mom died over two years ago—I’m not surprised he’s dating again.
“Where should I drop this off?” I ask innocently, indicating my travel bag.
“Same place you normally would—your old bedroom is still yours whenever you want to visit.”
“Oh, good,” I say. “I’ll be right back down—I’m starving.”
“Okay, Dandelion. It’s good to see you again,” he says warmly, making me feel a bit guilty for how I’ve been treating him.
I can’t help it—I’m still kind of mad at him for what he did to mom.
He was cheating on her before we learned she had cancer—I actually caught him with the other woman—and I don’t think he disentangled himself from that o
ther woman until my mom’s sickness took over and she got weak and thin, and the treatments weren’t working and she was pretty clearly going to die.
Maybe it’s unfair and ridiculous, but I sort of blame him a bit.
Like, if he’d been paying a bit more attention to his wife, maybe we would have caught the tumors sooner. I don’t know.
I just hate that she died knowing her husband had broken his vows to her.
The cheating was already infuriating enough, but I couldn’t let go of the thought that maybe Mom could have fought harder if she hadn’t been so heartbroken.
And I didn’t mean to tell—I just lost it one day, sometime after she got her diagnosis.
Ugh.
Why did I start thinking about this again?
I’ll never make it back downstairs to face this new woman if I don’t keep it together.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
Happy thoughts, happy thoughts…
I direct my thoughts to last night—the spontaneous romp I had with the hottie from the bar, and the cry-ball in my throat starts to dissipate as my lips slowly turn up into a slight smile.
I’m glad everything turned out all right—that he didn’t end up being a serial killer or anything.
My bucket list goes like this:
#1 - Visit all 47 national parks in the contiguous states in one epic road trip (DONE)
#2 - Visit the Alaskan national parks (for a total of 59) and fish for salmon while there (DONE)
#3 - Visit the Wisteria Tunnel in Japan (no freakin’ idea when I’ll do this one. It has to be done in April/May)
#4 - Learn archery (DONE)
#5 - Hot sex with perfect stranger (DONE)
#6 - Ride a stallion (not the same as #5 — an actual horse)
#7 - See the Great Pyramid of Giza in Egypt
#8 - Visit the New7Wonders of the World
#9 - Easter Island statues
#10 - Visit remainder of continents (Australia & Antarctica)
Yes, I only made it to ten, and it was a struggle even getting there, making me realize I didn’t really have any major goals.
Some people have particular career goals, family goals, financial goals, but not me—notice there’s nothing about any of those things on there.
Money won’t really be a problem for me—outside of my trust fund, I still have a good chunk of funds left from my mom’s life insurance, and I was the sole beneficiary.
I haven’t even spent a quarter of it on my journeys, so even if I had no additional funds on the way, I’d still have a comfortable stash to float me through figuring out my occupation.
I just never had a strong pull toward one thing like others do.
I’ve met people who figured out what they wanted to be when they grew up pretty early, and they actually stuck to the path.
Others changed their minds, but still had a pretty good idea where they wanted to go.
Some, like my friend Becca, didn’t have strong, particular career goals, per se, but she definitely wanted to get married asap and work on having 2.5 kids. She wanted the suburban wife life.
I never wanted that either, as evidenced by my list—not a single domestic thing there.
The only consistent thing I’ve noticed about myself is that I’m a wanderer, a traveler. I long for adventure. I hear the call of the wild.
I have no idea what the heck that means for my future, but I won’t spend a lot of time trying to figure it out. I’m just gonna live and see where the waves take me.
Chapter 3
I head back downstairs, my stomach growling.
I dread the moment I come face to face with my dad’s new squeeze; I’m not sure I’m emotionally ready for it, no matter what I’ve told myself.
Plus, I do actually love my dad and want to support him—he’s the only parent I have left, for crying out loud; I can’t exactly hate him.
But I am still pretty ticked at him.
He assured me the woman I’m meeting isn’t the same one I caught him with but is this new one young enough to be his daughter too?
“Ah, this must be Emma,” a mature feminine voice says.
My eyes lock on its owner—a dignified-looking older woman, definitely age-appropriate.
She looks about the same age range as my dad—somewhere in the fifties—and she seems to be aging gracefully, embracing stereotypical old lady elegance with her pearls and controlled smile and stiffly (but perfectly) styled hair.
“She’s even prettier in person,” she continues as she turns to my dad.
I finally get to the bottom of the stairs and head toward them, my hand out for a handshake, a smile peeled across my face.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, the last word almost smothered as she pulls me to her.
“My dear, I’m a hugger,” she says as she grips me to her.
She’s pretty damn strong.
I politely accept the hug, stopping myself from screaming “Stranger danger!” since I don’t think anyone would appreciate my humor at this moment.
She has nice eyes, I noticed—sort of hazel-green, and highlighted by heavy dark mascara, a contrast to her bleached hair.
I take a closer look at her.
My family has lived fairly comfortably, the household net worth in the low seven-figure range, and this woman looks like she came from a family that is at least that. Eight figures most likely. She has a certain polish and bearing.
Her ex-husband must’ve been very rich.
“This is Daisy Masters,” my dad says with barely contained pride.
“We were expecting you this evening,” she begins, but I glance at my dad, unable to stop myself.
It’s the “we” that got me—she said it like this is her house.
“I like to think she couldn’t wait to see me again,” my dad says with a huge grin. “Last time I saw her was…when was it, honey?”
I take a moment to think. When was it, actually?
After dropping out of college, I got my own place, made my one-year plan to live adventurously (which stretched to two years) and didn’t bother to come home for any holidays again.
I called him on his birthday, Christmas, Father’s Day—but when was the last time I actually dropped by?
Time was so weird back then—it was hard to mark days and weeks as usual.
I shrug. “I really don’t know,” I say honestly.
“I think it’s been two years. Anyway, I know you’re starving—let’s eat. Everything’s all set outside.”
I have to force myself not to sprint out there, reminding myself it’s probably a good idea to at least seem like a civilized lady, no matter how much I’m starving or how laughable the idea of me being a lady is.
My mom could be described as a lady, but me? I pretty much went from tomboy to drifter.
A memory from this class my mom made me take suddenly comes back to me—me trying desperately to keep a book on my head as I walk.
It almost makes me laugh, but it simultaneously saddens me.
I sigh when I see the way everything’s arranged.
I’m not used to this shit—sandwiches and whatnot laid out all pretty.
Maybe when I was younger, but after college and then couch-surfing and Airbnb-ing the past two years, I’m pretty used to tasty, sloppy food, however, wherever. In generous servings.
I’m almost mad at how small some of these sandwich pieces are, but I’m too busy stuffing my face.
“Wow, special catered lunch,” I try to say, but it comes out like conversational growls since my mouth is full.
There I go—nailing being a lady again!
I finish chewing, and swallow, clearing my mouth for proper communication.
“Dad, is this how you’ve been living? Just overpaying to eat in order to have someone do it all for you?”
“Well, obviously I do still have our cook, but today is a special day, in fact.”
He glances at Daisy, who reacts almost like a teenager wit
h her delighted restrained grin.
“What’s going on here?” I ask, my hands closing over some crackers.
“We’ll tell you everything at dinner,” my dad says.
“Oh, we might as well just tell her now,” Daisy says excitedly.
They have my full attention now, the crackers, cheese, and salami temporarily forgotten.
She’s probably not pregnant, so…
“We’re getting married,” my dad says with a wide, joyous smile.
Daisy joins in and does an adorable little clap.
Somehow, she is bursting with joy but it’s still restrained. How does she do that?
I can’t help but feel happy for them, even in the fog of my confusion since they’re both…glowing, I guess.
“Oh,” I say, then quickly remembering my manners, “congratulations! When did it happen?”
“Steven proposed two weeks ago, and he wanted to make sure you and I got to meet you before you took another trip—maybe out of the country.”
“Yes, I saw you were pretty near here…”
“How?”
“On your…what is it? Instagram.”
“You follow me on Instagram?”
“How else would I get to see you? I just like to know that you’re okay. I had someone show me how to do it, and I’m still not sure how to actually use it, but I can see your page. Anyway, we both hope you’re able to come to the wedding—we know it’s rather short notice. We have your invitation inside, so save the date if you can…”
“Hi. Can I get a mimosa?” I ask, turning to the nearest server standing there all crisp and silent.
“Sure thing,” he says, with a blindingly white smile.
I can feel my dad and Daisy staring at me.
I think I’m handling everything pretty damned well if you ask me.
I turn to them with a smile. “I’ll make sure to be there, Dad—wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say.
“Oh, good,” my dad says. “I was worried you’d be in Hawaii or Japan or something. I know you’re very serious about your trips, and I hope we won’t be in the way…”
