by Knox, Abby
I respond by lowering my head between her thighs and having my fill. I run my tongue over her folds, all of it, before slipping my tongue inside of her pussy. She’s wet and getting wetter for me with every touch.
I love tasting her. Peaches and cream was not just me paying her a compliment. Her pussy is the most sinful treat, so delicious it fills me with happiness but also sparks my need.
I slide my tongue in and out and around until I find the hood of her clit.
My lips go around her sweet little nub and I suck on it gently, making her moan again.
“Buckley, oh my god…fuck…yes.” Her legs are trembling already.
I murmur against her wet pussy, “Slow down, dirty girl.”
“Buckley, keep going. Please, don’t stop.”
“Oh, don’t worry, baby. I ain’t stopping until your legs go numb.”
She cries out my name as her back arches and her body releases itself in a crash of pleasure.
Damn if hearing her say my name doesn’t make me feel something else. Something deeper than sex. Something that makes me want to not just fuck her into oblivion, but also take care of her. Like, bring-her-a-blanket-and-a-cup-of-tea-when-she’s-95-years-old take care of her.
Shit. What is happening to me?
I keep working over her clit as she moans and bucks under me. I squeeze her ass to hold her as still as possible while she rides wave after wave of pleasure, drinking in every drop of her honey. And there is a lot of it.
The sound of her ragged breathing as I wring out the last of her orgasms almost has me jetting early—again—but this time I have control of myself.
I go up on my knee and retrieve the condom.
“You ready for the real ride, sweetheart?”
Daphne kneels in front of me and blazes a trail of hot, sweet little kisses all down my chest while I wrap up my dick.
When I’m ready, I pull her onto my lap to straddle me. She nips at my nipple. I love how playful she is in bed. I had no idea what she would be like—if I had had to guess, I’d have guessed she’d be the kind of chick to lie back and write shit in her day planner while I ate her out—but she’s all in.
“I gotta warn you. You keep playing with me like that and I am gonna rail you at any second. I am this close to losing my shit again. You OK with that?”
She kisses my lips with the slightest teasing touch and says, “I’m a grown-ass woman, I’m nearly 50 and I’ve been around the block. I can take whatever you dish out, young man.”
Fuck, I am starting to really like this woman. As in, this is not going to be a one-night stand, for either of us.
My insides crackle with the anticipation of a horny 17-year-old boy when she holds on tight and lets me slip the tip into her magnificent, tight little cunt.
“You’re so big, Buckley,” she croaks, sliding down until I’m fully seated inside her.
“And you’re so fucking tight. How are you so fucking tight?”
“Lots of kegels after pregnancy,” she whispers with a little laugh. With that, she contracts what feels like every muscle in her body around my shaft and glides up and down, over and over. Pretty soon she’s talking to God.
“I don’t know who you worship, but thank him or her for giving you this crazy talented pussy,” I tease.
“I’m thanking her for making your cock the prettiest I’ve ever seen.”
“Pretty? Did you say pretty?”
“Yes,” she says, mid-thrust.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Hope you’re done fucking around, ’cause here we go.”
I grab hold of her with both arms and turn her around, spreading her face-down on the bed.
I lift her hips into the air and sink my cock inside her pussy from behind. Just as I start to rail her good, I feel the earth move.
“What was that?”
“Driver’s taking us back home. But please don’t stop. God, you better finish me first.”
“I don’t care where we’re going, I ain’t leaving you tonight. You don’t need to worry about that.”
I’m telling her the truth. You could have told me this bus was sprouting wings and flying us off to Timbuktu and I wouldn’t give a shit as long as I had my Peaches.
I reach around and grab hold of her breast while I hold on to her succulent little hip with my other hand. I’m slamming her good, and she’s got no headboard to hang on to so she’s making a huge-ass mess of the sheets.
Hearing her moan, watching her hands scramble around for purchase and finally gripping the sheets, all the while the walls of her sex squeezing me and urging me on, and pretty soon I feel the tingle in my lower back and my nuts contracting.
“Mama, I’m coming home.” I massage her sweet, hard ass cheeks.
In response she rocks her ass even closer to me and clamps down even harder. I roar as jets of cum release into her.
As I do this, my thrusts hit on her G-spot and in the next second both of us are joined in a shattering climax. I’m pretty sure the driver can hear us.
When the waves of ecstasy subside, I have to use every ounce of strength inside me to keep from collapsing on top of her.
I gaze down at her as I catch my breath. I need to look at her. I lift her leg and spin her to face me, my cock still deep inside, enjoying its new, warm home.
Our eyes meet and the intimacy of the moment seems to catch us both off guard. I connect us with a kiss and her lips respond with all the sweetness I know I do not deserve.
And then, we’re spooning and taking a break after round two, and I can definitely feel the bus moving.
I watch her fall asleep and the guilt washes over me as I realize she probably has a full day of campaigning ahead of her.
Unless, of course, I’ve completely ruined it for her. It’s a strong possibility that someone took photos of me just as they planned.
So, there’s that.
Chapter Seven
Daphne
I sleep so hard and deep, it’s daylight when I wake up.
I usually start my day with an early morning bike ride, but I don’t think that’s happening today. The delicious soreness all over my body is going to keep me off the bike for a couple of days, for sure.
I cover myself with my robe and resolve to shower before I check my messages. I’m sure I have a dozen texts from Stacy or Shawn or both about today’s campaign agenda.
Smirking to myself, I feel pretty naughty not checking my phone first thing. I’m usually so responsible.
But I get distracted on my way to the tiny shower stall that’s built into the motor-coach just outside of the back bedroom. It’s the most delicious aroma.
I look, and I see a man’s broad bare back, and that back is riddled with my fingernail marks. Holy shit, I think. I did that? Yes. Yes, I did. And I don’t even regret it.
Pleased to see Buckley is still here and hasn’t dashed off to figure out how to get back to D.C. immediately, I slide up behind him and slip my arms around his waist. His one muscled calf is doing all the work, as he hasn’t put his prosthetic back on yet. If you couldn’t see it, you wouldn’t know he’s standing on one leg.
I think about what happened to him to cause this injury in the first place and it nearly wrecks me.
I feel his hand warm over mine on his chest. “G’morning,” he says. “Want some eggs?”
“Hmm, I was going to ask you if you want to see if the both of us could fit into my tiny shower, but the truth is I’m starving,” I say. “Lucky me, I get a one-night stand with a man who can cook.”
I feel his body stiffen at my words and he lets go of my hand.
I move around him and slide into the booth, where he sets down coffee and a plate that contains an omelet with feta cheese, spinach and herbs. There’s also a plate of cut fruit and vegetables. “Wow,” I say.
“I found the Sterno and a hot plate. You actually manage to keep some pretty wholesome foods on board this boat.”
I grin at him. “There’s plenty you don’t kn
ow about me,” I say.
“Like what? Other than what you used to write about in the Citizen? I used to read your column religiously every morning,” he says, sipping his black coffee.
“You did? Thanks for reading,” I reply.
“Yeah, I was really into it until you brought down Rex Cutler. I always thought he was a good guy.”
I cock my head and narrow my eyes at him. “You voted for Cutler?”
Buckley’s face changes then, like he’s just said something he knows he should not have.
Chapter Eight
Buckley
I may have just made a fatal mistake. In my haze of morning after serenity, I’ve given away the fact that I was a supporter of Rex Cutler. I freeze, waiting to see what she says next.
She grins suspiciously. “Well…thank god you finally saw the light, though, right? Otherwise why would you be here?”
I laugh breezily. “Exactly. I mean, the guy took bribes and…stuff.”
Daphne does that rapid blinking thing she does when she’s just winding up to play hardball with some wiseass on TV.
Uh oh.
“First of all, Cutler bought his yacht with money from a corporate donor after he killed a bill they didn’t like. He accepted money—no, solicited money—from people seeking appointments on influential committees…”
I shrug. I know I’m in way over my head now. “Yeah, but he was about to introduce a huge bill that would have helped veterans…”
“And,” she added, “did you read the text of that bill? Because I did. If you read my column you would know that the bill contained a measure to cut staff and take away funding for upgrades for VA hospitals so that we could afford to fund that bill.”
I nod, remembering which team I’m supposed to be on here. Shit. This is getting hard. “Right. Yes. I know. Which is…why I’m here.”
She eyes me suspiciously as she sips her coffee.
Thank god, she changes the subject. “So you know all about my column, but did you know what I did before that? I was an embedded journalist in the Iraq war.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“How’d the unit treat you?”
She nodded, “Good. They were a little suspicious of my motivations at first, but then I was just like one of them, except for, you know, being trained for combat.”
She tells me all about the men and women in the unit she was assigned to, tells me stories about the action they saw.
I’m getting real tired of this woman becoming more likable by the minute.
“What do you do in your spare time? When you have any? I mean, besides getting nailed on your tour bus?”
She blushes and shakes her head at me, as if there’s anything for us to be ashamed about.
“I like to bike every day. In fact, starting tomorrow I’m going to start a town-by-town tour of the state, riding my bike. Our state is among the most out of shape in the nation and I want to bring awareness to that.”
She needs to shut her cute pie-hole before I shut her up. Everything she says makes me fall for her even more.
I finish cleaning up my breakfast mess and slide into the seat facing her in the breakfast booth. I notice there’s a framed photo of her and a younger-looking version of her in the windowsill.
“Sister?” I ask.
“Smooth talker,” she says. “That’s my daughter, as you should know if you’ve been following my campaign at all.”
“So what happened with you and that girl’s daddy?”
She sighs and sets down her coffee. “Tim and I came from different worlds. When we were young, it was romantic. Him from a rich family and me from the reservation. He came from money and I had to fight for everything in life.”
I smile and my heart warms to know this side of her. “You were raised right.”
She grins. “Auntie worked two, sometimes three jobs as long as I have known her. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”
I ask, “She raised you?”
Daphne sips her coffee and nods. “Long story but yes. Auntie didn’t show as much enthusiasm for Tim as I thought she would. When I introduced them over dinner, he sent back his steak because it wasn’t cooked well enough. That was enough to seal his fate with Auntie.”
I laugh. “I like your auntie. The only way to eat a steak is bloody.”
Daphne’s eyes smile and she sits up straighter as she says, “I know, right? Plus, I was a waitress for years; I know what some servers do to food when customers send food back to the kitchen.”
I put up my hands in surrender. “I do not want to know!”
She laughs, “No, you absolutely do not! I mean, I never spit on anybody’s food, that is absolutely crossing the line.”
I smirk. “I know you wouldn’t. Not the Stone Angel.”
She shakes her head. “God, I hated that name. You know my publisher at the Daily Citizen came up with that, not me. So corny!”
I chuckle. Shit. I am really enjoying her sense of humor. She’s so animated. Not that she’s stiff on TV. She has charisma. But now, after a night of banging until we were both slap out of orgasms, she is relaxed and chilled out and funny, and so…fucking…beautiful.
I’m not exactly proud of myself for being happy that her marriage had not ultimately worked out.
What are you doing, man? You’re complicit in a conspiracy to ruin her political career before it has even begun and you’re sitting here judging her ex-husband?
“So how did it finally come to an end with Tim?”
Daphne raises her eyebrows, clearly recalling something heavy, and takes a long, bracing drink of coffee.
I hold up the carafe. “Warm up?”
Daphne shakes her head no. “Is it too early for a shot of Jameson?”
She winks. My heart skips a beat; here sits a woman who not only drinks my brand of whiskey, makes me laugh, works hard, looks sexy as hell with bedhead and an oversized tee-shirt first thing in the morning, but has the sexual stamina of a Valkyrie and a pussy so tight it nearly made me weep.
My dick taps against my boxers as if reminding me of the additional fact that this raven-haired goddess before me is also still covered in my jizz. Under the breakfast bar, I have to tug painfully at the hairs on my arm. Anything to keep another erection at bay.
“Well,” she says, inhaling and exhaling deeply, her breath trembling slightly.
I reach over and put a loving hand over hers. “It’s OK, you don’t have to tell me about it right now if you don’t want to.”
She smiles shyly. “No, it’s fine. I’ll tell you.”
Chapter Nine
Daphne
It’s been two years since my divorce, and although I’m miles beyond having any romantic feelings left for Tim, the moment things fell apart still burns in my memory.
“I found obscene emails between him and the college intern at the newspaper.
“I hired her because we both saw great potential in her; little did I know Tim had ulterior motives when he pushed her portfolio to the top of the list. She was only 19 and already in her second year of college. Book smart, but not so much educated when it came to the attention of older men.”
“Jeez, that sucks.”
I nod and stab a piece of omelet. “Yes, it really sucked at the time, but I’ve forgiven him. Not like in the forgive-and-forget kind of way. I hate when people say that. How can I forget the saddest day of my life? But I’ve done a lot of work on myself and I realized I had a role to play as well.”
“No way. I don’t buy it.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re the Stone Angel. You’re perfect.”
Heat blooms in my cheeks and I feel the need to change the subject right away. I take a bite of the omelet and…damn, did that ever change the subject.
“Oh my gosh…” I cover my mouth and swallow. “Forgive me for talking with my mouth full, but this is the best omelet I’ve ever tasted.”
I beam at him while I
wolf down the rest of it, suddenly realizing how a night of rousing sex could make me as hungry as a bear’s first day of spring.
“A wise man once said if someone agrees to sleep with you, an omelet in the morning is the least you can do.”
I chuckle. “That’s a wise man indeed—was it you?”
I notice a shadow of something cross his face. Is it shame? Anxiety? “What is it?”
“I ain’t no wise man. I’m a bad man.”
I cannot conceive how this perfect gentleman could be a bad guy.
Sure, I jumped his bones after just meeting him. But he’d served his country, literally gave a limb for freedom. He’s a believer in the campaign, a volunteer. A great listener. So giving in bed it nearly made me cry. And to top it off, he cooks a mean omelet.
“Never doubt yourself, Buckley. I see you. You’re a great man.”
“I doubt myself all the time.”
I reach over and slide my hand up his beautiful, sinewy forearm that held me tight just a couple of hours ago. I look him in the eyes and say, “Then it’s OK to let someone else believe in you for a minute or two.”
Buckley closes his eyes for a few seconds. His jaw ripples as he clenches it. Something serious is on his mind. Whatever it is, I wish he would just let it out.
“Daphne. I need to confess something.”
Oh shit, I think. He’s married. Of all the luck…
“You don’t want to get mixed up with me.”
“I think I already am,” I say, my knee nudging his under the table.
“I should not have done this to you. This is all wrong.”
I swallow and try to keep the conversation light even though I know I’m about to hear something very disappointing.
“Was this a pity omelet?” I ask.
“No, this was an I-feel-bad-for-putting-you-in-this-position omelet.”
“You can put me in any position you want, Private.”
Once again I see his jawline ripple.
“You’re making it real hard for me to tell the truth here, Daphne. All I want to think about is tossing you back into that bed, but I gotta get the out. So here goes…”
