by Mona Cox
“So… fucking… good…” I moan, my vocal chords working again. My words only make him go harder and, at the same time, he takes one hand around my waist and presses down on my clit, rubbing it as fast as he’s thrusting.
That raw violent energy starts to pool in my muscles, and they tense up like wire. My lungs strain against my ribcage, and my heart is pounding inside my chest so fiercely that it might burst sometime soon.
“Don’t stop, don’t --” I don’t even have the time to finish what I'm saying. I go down from my hands onto my elbows, and I press my forehead against the floor as a thermonuclear explosion goes off inside my brain. Every single thought in its wake is destroyed and, for a moment, I don’t even remember where I am or who I am. All I know is that what I’m feeling is so good I’ve probably died and went to heaven. Because, really, if Heaven isn’t at least half as good as the orgasm raging inside of me right now, just buy me a one-way ticket straight to hell.
He’s about to pull his cock out of me when I reach for him, curling my fingers around his wrist. “No,” I tell him, “all the way.”
I don’t need to explain it to him. Without a word, he thrusts again, this time even faster than before. His movements are completely unhinged, and I know that right now it’s all about him. I thrust back at him, matching the motion of his body, and then I feel a violent spasm taking over his cock. It pulses viciously for a second or two, and then it simply gushes a raging river of cum inside of my ass.
“Fuck,” he groans, drawling out the word as he stops moving, his cock buried all the way to the hilt. I stop moving as well, my eyes closed as I feel the spasms of his cock. We remain like that, frozen in time, for what seems like an eternity, but when he finally stops cumming and pulls his cock out of me, I’m almost saddened that it’s over.
I’m about to sit up and turn to him when he lays his forearm across my lower back. “No,” he tells me, this time his turn to take the lead. “Don’t move,” he orders me. Grabbing both my cheeks and spreading them wide, he leans into me. I moan as I realize what he’s about to do, closing my eyes as I feel his lips against my hole, cum dripping out of it and making its way to my pussy.
He licks my ass relentlessly, using both his lips and tongue to lick it dry. My mind turns into mush as he jabs at my hole with his tongue, circling it and then going in and out, and I keep on moaning as if he were still fucking me.
When he pulls back from my ass, I think that he’s done, but I’m wrong, of course. He takes his mouth to my pussy and, sucking my folds into his mouth, he licks away all the cum there. He flicks his tongue at my pussy at a furious pace, his lip holding my folds one at a time.
Slowly pulling on my pussy lips, he finally pulls back and sits up on the floor, his head thrown back as he closes his eyes. I turn to him and go on my knees; placing both my hands on his hips, I close the distance between us and kiss him, feeling the scent of his cum and my pussy blending in and turning into a maddening cocktail of sin.
“I love you, Chase…” I tell him once again, looking into his eyes and realizing that, for the first time in my life, I really know the meaning behind the word love. It’s funny, isn’t it? There are books, songs, movies and what have you about love… But no one really seems to know what it truly means to love someone. Now I do, but I can’t tell you what it’s like. You know why? Because it’s the kind of thing you have to find out by yourself.
But trust me, though the road might be bumpy, I can assure you that it’ll all be worth it in the end. At least it was for me.
“I love you too, Carla… You’re everything to me now,” he says, and I know he means it. From this moment on, I’ll be at the center of his universe, and he’ll be at the center of mine. And to think that he rode into my life like Prince Charming, on top of a horse.
I guess sometimes life can really be a fairy tale, and this is mine.
48
Epi
“Carla,” Becca says to me, putting her arms up to her waist. “You know I love ya babe, but I can’t keep doing this.”
We’re on the N train and we’ve just left the last Manhattan stop.
Where are we going?
Brooklyn, baby.
“I can’t keep going to Barclay’s Arena to see Chase with you, hun,” Becca pouts. “Not when I work for Madison Square Garden. I dunno, it feels faintly like I’m betraying them.”
I roll my eyes. I mean I work for Madison Square Garden too!
“Besides, you know I had a date tonight. Next time you need to go to Brooklyn and you don’t wanna go by yourself, can you like take Ashley or something?”
I sigh. She’s got a point. I’ve been taking Becca a bit too many times to go see Chase for his rodeo at Barclay’s Arena.
But who knew it would be such a hit? That New Yorkers would embrace the rodeo the same way they embrace their thin crust pizza, their Pabst Blue Ribbon, and their buffalo wings?
Not me. I’m still a city girl, despite whatever you want to say. Sure, I’m riding a cowboy. But there’s hope for Chase yet.
“Well, Ashley is always so busy doing that whole fashion thing at Blush,” I tell Becca. “Natalie has her St. Albans press secretary job. Alicia is getting married soon. Christine has school like always. Lisa - who knows what her and Diesel are up to, probably robbing a Polo store or something.
Becca sighs.
“That just leaves you and me for now, babe,” I finish with a smile. But then I feel bad. I mean, it wasn’t long ago that I was complaining about the lack of men in New York. I try to empathize. “Hows it with this guy anyways?”
Becca shrugs. “I think he’s good. I mean it’s been a solid month we’ve been going out. And I think he’s not as busy now that he’s working at Carter Jeffries, but you know those investment bankers.”
I roll my eyes. Do I ever. I’m so glad that my man isn’t a banker. That his money comes from something real. Not figures on a spreadsheet.
“Plus I start this assignment soon going to Connecticut. So I think I’m going to be a lot more busy.”
Becca has a far off look in her eyes and I wonder what she’s thinking.
“You okay, babe?” I ask, not sure about whether she’s happy or sad.
She nods. “I’m fine,” she says. “I’m happy for you. But I wonder when I’m gonna find me a cowboy.”
“Grady?” I ask, referring to her recent guy. “He’s not hitting the spots?”
“He’s everything you think a banker would be,” she says to me. “And life is good.”
“But?” I ask, knowing that’s not the end of it.
“It’s just so…boring,” she tells me. “I’m just so bored.”
I nod. Becca has seen a lot. She’s done a lot. I can imagine that she’d be bored.
“But enough about me,” she says to me and her smile comes back. “Are you excited about tonight?”
I nod my head and smile. “Chase and I are looking at apartments tomorrow,” I tell her. “He wants to look at Brooklyn Heights or Park Slope.”
“Oh God,” Becca winces. “So not only do you have a man that’s Mr. Brooklyn for work, but now you gotta live there too?”
Oh my God.
“Brooklyn is awesome, babe,” I tell Becca.
“Carla Roman, you are a total Manhattan slut. How are you going to do Park Slope?” Becca asks me. “That’s too much of a settling down for you.”
“Well,” I tell Becca. “We’re actually looking for an apartment that we can settle down in, babe.”
Becca bugs her eyes out at me. “Settle down?” she asks me. “Like you mean, for good?”
At the back of brain, I bet Becca didn’t think Chase and I would last. I mean, he’s a cowboy. He goes places. On a horse.
But he’s actually so much more than that. So kind. So gentle. So…big.
“We love each other,” I say, and smile. “We want to spend our lives together.”
Becca stares at me for a moment. “I mean, I guess I could visit you in Brook
lyn, if cabs take me or whatever.”
I smile and get an overwhelming desire to hug my friend.
“We can go to Barcade and have coffee beers and play Pac Man,” I tell Becca. “And we can go to Carrol Gardens and Williamsburg and have pizza at…”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re just gonna have lots of sex for like so long and then you guys are gonna spit out some rugrats and push strollers around Park Slope,” Becca says to me.
“But Chase will still have a cowboy hat,” I say with a smile.
Becca smiles at me. “He will. That’s for sure.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. I know what we’re thinking. Chase has become a large part of my life. I still love Becca. I still love my friends. We will still hang out. But a large part of my life has changed.
Forever.
It’s nothing to be sad over. It’s the way life goes.
I’ve met my lobster. My hero. My best friend. My lover.
And I couldn’t be happier.
;)
49
Daphne
LOL to Carla. She’s a funny one. Kinda zany too. I mean, she doesn’t let me forget I date my stepdad, but I mean her guy has a horse. Anyways, so you remember Lisa?
The next story is all about Lisa and her outlaw..
Description
Billionaires, bosses, professors, princes…whatevs, ya know? I need a real man.
Good luck finding an outlaw in the Hamptons.
Just because someone has some whips and chains doesn’t make me go all gooey.
I mean, I could just go buy that at the dollar store.
Nope. I need rugged. I need alpha. I need an outlaw.
Not some white collar criminal either. Insider stock trading does not make you an outlaw. Neither does stealing cable. Or tearing the tags off pillows.
But that’s all I have to choose from.
Until I meet Diesel and get captivated by his mysterious eyes, and insanely hot body.
He’s the total package - emphasis on the word “package”.
Now there’s just one question. Will his bike ever be the same after I ride on it? And I’m not talking about the Harley either ;)
*** It’s the cute single girl versus the Big Bad Outlaw in this sixth installment from Mona Cox. Guaranteed to be sweet, steamy, sassy, and fun. No cheating or cliffhangers. HEA? You know it, babe! ***
50
Lisa
I swirl the gin and tonic in front of me as I listen to Christine sigh happily over Lover Boy.
“Oh, and then, he bought me this!” She holds her arm out so everyone can admire the emerald-encrusted bracelet on her arm. It’s beautiful, even if a bit old-fashioned for my taste, but Christine’s eyes sparkle as much as the emeralds when she adds happily, “It was made in the early 1800s for the queen of France! Can you imagine?”
I try not to roll my eyes in time with the swirling of my gin and tonic, but really, this is all getting to be a bit too much. Yeah, I want my friends to be happy, but the gushing and the gems? Can anyone say “over the top”?
We're at the Boathouse, just three friends enjoying a Sunday afternoon together, but I have to admit, my oh-so-in-love friends are mostly just spending it outdoing each other by comparing Lover Boy stories.
Ashley jumps in. Of course Ashley jumps in. She's just as bad as Christine, if not worse. “Apollo hasn’t given me anything that used to belong to the queen of France, but he did buy me a Maserati the other day. It’s so fun to drive; I should take you two out for a spin in it! One at a time, since it’s just a two-seater, of course.”
“More than the gifts,” Christine sighs, and I swear to god, this is true; she clasps her hands in front of her as she talks, like an actress from the 40s or something, “it’s the love and attention he gives me. Anders is more attentive than anyone—”
Okay, I can't help it anymore. The snort came out. It's loud and patrons three tables over turn to stare, but I just can't hold it in anymore. The love in the air is so thick, I can hardly see through it anymore.
“Are we making you ill over there?” Ashley asks, eyebrow cocked at me.
“A little,” I mumble into my suddenly-very-important-must-drink-right-now gin and tonic. When they just continue to stare at me, I shift in my seat and sigh.
“I just…” I look out over the lake as I try to pick the right words. “I haven't found anyone like that for me, you know? I wish that I liked soft guys. I want—”
“There’s nothing soft about Anders,” Christine breaks in with a naughty wiggle of her eyebrows. Ashley titters knowingly and I only barely restrain myself from rolling my eyes again.
“I want a Long Island tough kind of guy,” I say, trying to explain. “I want a man. I want a beast who'll come along and fuck me. I think all the real men died out in the 1950s and now they’re all too afraid to say what they really think. Everyone is obsessed with being politically correct.”
I listen to the gentle lap of the water against the boat deck as Ashley and Christine outdo themselves, assuring me that their new, amazing boyfriends are not soft and weak, but rather hard and ready to fuck at a moment's notice. I listen, but they don't really seem to get it. They're too in love to realize that their men aren't perfect. At least, not the kind of perfect that I want. I want the perfectly unperfect. I want a man who makes me his, and doesn't ask questions.
I don't want a polite businessman in a suit, no matter how expensive that suit is.
I pull out my iPhone and check the time. Dammit, I better hurry! I have a pedicure across town, like, now!
“Listen you two, sorry I have to run but I’m going to be late.” I throw some cash down on the table and give Ashley and Christine air kisses. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”
I hurry out of the Boathouse and across Central Park, shoving the idea of a future Perfectly Unperfect Just For Me fantasy out of my head. I have a manicure, dammit! If I make it over to the 81st Street subway station, I might still make it on time. My fingernails are getting ragged, and there's just no way I can make it till tomorrow to have them fixed. Plus, Chaz would punish me for a week for standing him up.
I hurry down the stairs and into the subway. It's a little grimy but I do my best to ignore that. I only take trains under extreme circumstances, but even I know they won't actually kill me. I'll just have to scrub underneath my fingernails extra carefully today.
Waiting for Train 6, I pull out my iPhone again, and instantly double tap the Instagram pic of the three of us that Ashley just posted. I may roll my eyes every time I hear them sigh about how happy they are, but seriously, they are some of my closest friends. I do want them to be happy. I just don't want them to be obnoxiously happy. That’s possible, right? I flip over to Facebook to check to see if—
Someone runs into me. A small someone. My phone fumbles in my hands as I'm looking down to see a small boy running down the platform and my phone is going sideways and I'm going sideways, trying to catch it and then, I'm falling, falling...
Wham!
The breath is knocked out of me and I'm staring up at the concrete ceiling, trying to figure out what just happened. Where...
I scramble to my feet, moving awkwardly because I hurt so bad but I didn't seem to have anything broken, so that was a good sign, right?
Except...as I shove my phone back into my Coach purse, I realize—I'm on the fucking train tracks. And the platform is, like, waaayyyy tall. If I stand on my tiptoes, I can just barely see over the edge and onto the platform. A few jumps, a few times of grasping the edge of the platform and pulling, and…
I've got nothing. I never knew that pull-ups would be the difference between life and death.
So here I am, trapped, all because I hate doing pull-ups at the gym.
Oh fuck.
I can hear a train coming.
Which is when the screams begin.
51
Diesel
So there I am, walking through the subway, and I look over to see a lady
just disappear. Flash – she's just gone. A little kid is running off, down the platform, but no one else is there.
The top of her head appears and then disappears, then up to her chin and back down again and I realize that she's trying to jump her way out of the train tracks.
I react then. There's no thinking, no contemplating the consequences, I'm just going. Fuck the turnstiles; I jump them with ease and I'm running, heart pumping, as I sprint across the platform and throw myself down into the train track area, the landing sending shooting pains up my legs.
God, that hurt, but I didn't have time to worry about that. I pick up the blonde and throw her over my shoulder and then from there, throw her up onto the platform above us. I can hear a train coming, barreling down on us, and I'm motherfucking high-jumping my way out of this because if I don't, I'm going to die and the train is honking and screeching on its breaks and I throw myself up, up and away, and I'm rolling across the platform, through the dirt and the grime and the train is still screeching but goddamn, I'm alive.
I lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, staring up at the ceiling, when the lady's face comes into view.
“Tha—”
“Oh god, Diesel, I have to take you in again?” a voice broke in and I looked over to see Sgt. Whitaker standing there, his hand on his nightstick. “The alarms for the turnstiles just went off. You just can't help from breaking the law, can you?”
