Forbidden Fruit Vol 2

by Millstead, Kasey

  The words feel like poison on my tongue.

  “I’m just telling you what I’ve heard,” she says defensively. “I know there’s nothing inappropriate going on…” She fixates on my top. “Plus, you’ve got that little thing with Tom, anyway.”

  “Right,” I agree. “Tom.”

  Who I haven’t seen in weeks. Why? Because I’ve been too busy hanging out with a nineteen-year-old. A nineteen-year-old who’s just crossed back over the lake looking a little less tense. He climbs the ladder and grabs his towel.

  “Heading back to work on the floors,” he says before giving Monica a nod and a small smile.

  We watch him walk off, water dripping down his neck and back. The outdoors and hard work has done him good. He looks strong and handsome.

  “For the record,” she says as she watches him climb the steps to the guest house. “I can see why you’d be tempted. He’s very handsome and very sweet. But as a mother of a boy this age I have to say crossing that line is unforgiveable.”

  ~*~*~*~

  Thunder rumbles behind the mountain. It’s far off, but the weather report says it’s coming toward us, so Tyson and I put away the towels from today’s swim, as well as any remaining tools left outside.

  “Let me do that.” He tries to take the tool box out of my hands. I tighten my grip. His jaw tenses, and he gives me a hard stare.

  “It’s not that heavy.”

  “No need for you to split open those stitches.”

  I release it, and he returns the box to the shed.

  “I guess if you’re not going to let me do anything, I’ll go fix dinner.”

  “Good idea,” he says, either missing my sarcasm or ignoring it. “I’ll meet you inside in a bit. I’ve gotta shut the cottage window’s first. I opened them all earlier when I was sanding the floors.”

  I retreat down the hill toward the main house but stop short on the gravel path when a bright bolt of lightning flashes through the air and ends in a loud crack. Electricity surrounds me, and a loud boom of thunder coincides with the ripping sound of a tree splitting. I hear the tree or limb fall in the woods behind us. I spin on my heel just as the sky opens up with rain.

  Tyson calls from the porch, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes!”

  “Hurry!” he shouts, and I dash through the downpour and up the guest house steps. I’m drenched when I get inside, and I’m met with the echoing sounds of Tyson slamming the windows shut.

  The room is almost dark, even though it’s only 5 PM. I flip the light switch. Nothing. “Lights are out,” I call as I walk to the kitchen. There should be some candles or something in here. I fumble in the dark until I find them. Then I go back into the main room, fighting a shiver. I’m soaked to the bone. “I don’t have matches, but I really don’t want to try going to the house to find some.”

  “I’ve got a lighter,” he says as he comes out of the bedroom. He’s still living in the main room while sanding and prepping the bedroom floors. He walks over to a pile beside the futon. The flickering flame from the lighter casts his face in a yellow glow, and I hand him the candles. He lights all three, and I place one on top of the TV and two on the coffee table.

  “Better?” I ask while wringing out my wet hair. Another flash of lightning strikes nearby, followed closely by thunder. Tyson doesn’t reply, and I look up to find him staring at me. “What?”

  “Uh. You, uh, you’re cold.” He looks away and goes over to a dresser against the wall. He rummages inside and pulls out a T-shirt then throws it to me from across the room. “Put that on.”

  I glance down and see how exposed the rain left me. My bra is clearly visible through my thin yellow shirt and my nipples… well, they’re as hard as ice, with the dark areolas visible even in the hazy candlelight. “Oh,” I say. “This feels a little cliché.”

  “What do you mean,” he says, his voice coming out raspy. He keeps his distance, but he’s remained focused on the same spot since he tossed me the shirt.

  “I mean, we got caught in that raging rainstorm and are trapped up here for a couple of hours. No power, but we’ve got candlelight, and I’m over here like a sorority girl in a wet t-shirt contest.” I swallow, knowing I’m straddling a line I may never come back from. “But I’m not a sorority girl. And even though you’re pretty close to being a fraternity boy, which no matter how tempting, you are very, very off limits for me.”

  Tyson’s eyes glint from the flame, and he looks like a demon. A handsome one. Hard-muscled beneath that shirt. Sleek and toned from swimming and hours of manual labor. His jaw tenses, and the joint under his ear knots into a tight ball. He looks hungry. So very hungry. And he’s looking at me like I’m a plate of fresh meat.

  I inhale to settle my nerves then walk out of the room to the darkened kitchen. I pull the wet shirt over my head and toss it on the counter. My hands shake from the cold and from what just occurred, and I drop the clean shirt on the floor. I go to pick it up, but I jump when I feel two, warm hands around my bare belly. Then I feel his chest behind my back.

  “Avery,” he whispers, as though he’s afraid to speak.

  “Tyson, this can’t happen.”

  “Why not? Clichés are cliché’s for a reason. Like fantasizing about your best friend’s mom. Or,” he says as he moves the hair off my neck. “My mom’s best friend.”

  I’m frozen, literally afraid to speak. Anything I say will ruin this. We’ll be forced to stop. I will force us to stop, I promise myself, but in the shadowy dark, with a storm raging outside, I don’t.

  Tyson runs his hand across my stomach, trailing warmth over my cold skin, which ignites every inch of exposed flesh. And even some that’s not. My nipples cut into the satin and lace of my bra, aching to be touched. I sink back, his breath warm on my neck, and I exhale when his hands finally cover my breasts, providing a small sense of relief.

  He kisses my shoulder then sucks and nips, so the cool air is replaced with hot. Deftly, he removes my bra by the clasp that’s nestled between my breasts. It falls to the floor, and his fingers find my nipples. He teases each one gently, and it sends currents down my body before settling between my legs.

  “Oh God,” I say, surprised by how good it feels. I turn and tug off his shirt then reach for his shorts. He pushes them over his hips, but they catch on the way down, waylaid by his erect and throbbing cock. I can’t see it in the dark, but it brushes against my stomach, soft and warm. I want to touch it, and guilt consumes me.

  “Come to bed with me,” he says.

  I’ve still got my pants on. I can leave and pretend it never happened. Like that night with Tom in the kitchen. Tyson watching was a dream. Not real.

  I close my eyes and try to think. But I can’t. I smell the sanded floors and paint. I smell his warm man-boy scent. I smell the arousal coming off my skin. I open my eyes and meet his gaze. His eyes still have that devilish glint, and he’s wearing a convincing smile.

  I follow him to the bed.

  ~*~*~*~

  The funny thing is, this isn’t the first time I’ve been flat on my back on this futon with a nineteen year-old man. The last time it happened, I was in college. I’d met him in my Psych 101 class and after a couple of study dates and real dates, we started going out. The first time we had sex was on this bed. He was clumsy and nervous, which is what I’d expect from Tyson, but he’s not. He’s oddly calm.

  My anxiousness keeps getting forgotten because of the things Tyson does right. No, well. He does them well. He kisses my belly after unbuttoning my pants. He licks each hip as he removes my black cotton panties. He spreads my legs slowly while running a hand down each inner thigh. He looks down on me like I’m a goddess. Like I’m a prize he’s won, not the other way around.

  I’m so wound up, I’m afraid I’ll come the moment he touches me.

  “God,” he says into my ear. I say nothing back, because I’m afraid to. Instead, I lick his skin and taste the salt and rain. He kisses my jaw, then my neck and my breasts.
I run my hands down his chest before he seizes my wrists with one hand to push my arms over my head. His cock rubs against my clit, wet and slippery. Trembling, I bend my knees and tilt my hips to welcome him inside.

  I’d never allowed myself to think to this moment, this actual moment and what it would be like. How he’d feel pounding into me. Tyson’s strong and focused but also mesmerized by my breasts, because he keeps going back to them time and time again. He’d tug my nipples with his teeth or bury his face between them. I moan as my arm jerks in reaction, but he holds my wrists tight, pinned above my head, and does it again. The shock to my clit feels electric, and with a sigh, I seek his mouth to thrust my tongue inside.

  Oh. My. God.

  Tyson rolls his hips and moves inside me, and I long to touch him, but he’s intent on having me bound—possibly to keep me from running away. The result causes my tits to move to a rhythm of their own, grazing against his chest, and he grows glassy-eyed watching them bounce.

  I want to reach between my legs, and like a mind reader he complies. He brushes a thumb against the sensitive skin, and it’s enough. The whole experience is enough, and I shatter beneath him, in equal parts exhilaration and surprise as he continues to drive into me. My tits are heaving, and my clit is slippery as I fall into the building pressure. The tight coil releases, and I spin into ecstasy.

  His face tenses, jaw gnashed and eyes shut. He comes, pulsing and warm, and groans with his pleasure. While hovering above me, he releases my wrists to allow me to finally touch his chest and feel the sweat rolling down from his neck.

  “That was…” he says while trying to catch his breath.

  I gasp for air and shake my head. “Really fucking stupid.”

  ~*~*~*~

  Tyson, unsurprisingly, doesn’t agree. And obviously I don’t either, because after a snack of pretzels and warm Gatorade, he’s got me on my back again. He’s not done showing me what he knows, and I’m not done letting it happen. The storm rages outside, the power is still out, and I’m content to hide from reality as long as I can.

  “That night was an accident,” he says and places a taunting kiss on the inside of each knee. “I came down for some food, and there you were, getting it on with that dude from town.”

  “That was wrong.”

  “That was hot, but I was jealous.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Yeah. God, you’re so…” he says but doesn’t finish. Then I don’t care what he thinks I am, because he’s making his way up my body with lips and teeth and tongue. “Listening to you make those sounds…”

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  He makes his eyes level with mine. “You wanted me, too.”

  He cups my breasts and pushes them together. Then he takes my nipples into his mouth and spends time on each one. I run my hands over his sides, feeling the muscles. The way his abs tense as he moves. The way his cock seeks contact with my body.

  “I closed my eyes and pretended your mouth was on me,” I confess.

  If he’s shocked, he doesn’t show it. He just says, “Good.”

  His aloofness stuns me, but I feel the wetness building between my legs, and I want to know more. His words and admissions make me as horny as his body. I reach between us and make contact with the velvety skin on his cock. He gasps before taking a deep breath to steady himself. I lick my lips and ask, “What else did you do?”

  “You want to know if I jerked off?”

  “Yes.”

  He nods. “Yes.”

  “In the kitchen?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “Countless times up here thinking about it again.” He should look contrite, but he doesn’t. He looks pleased with himself. I should find it disgusting. Is this what all boys are like? Sex-driven and terrible? I have no idea, but it’s alarmingly hot. He leans forward and kisses my mouth hungrily.

  “I think about you all the time,” he says, seeming to realize his confessions turn me on. “About your boobs and how they strain against that way-too-small bikini. I’ve fantasized ripping it off more than once.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Pushing my face between your tits and tasting that spot,” he says then leans down and does what he describes. He licks the smooth skin between my breasts.

  I let him take me again, impressed with his youth-fueled stamina. He fucks hard but with skill, and it’s not long before we’re both breathing heavy, sweating from both the humidity of the storm and from each other. I gasp, and his eyes fly open. He slows. “Too hard?” he asks with glazed eyes. “Is your arm okay?”

  “I’m fine. One of the perks,” I tell him as I run my fingers down his back side to spread his cheeks while he stares at me, wide-eyed, “of not bedding virgins or teenage pussy, is that you don’t always have to be gentle.”

  His eyes light up, and he pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in again. He does this over and over, like it’s been building for ages. He grunts with abandon while driving into me, until he comes for the second time that night, more satisfied, I think, than the time before.

  “I’ve always wanted to do that,” he says while stretched flat on his back. I run my fingers through the fine hair under his belly button, and it’s so, so soft. “But it just seemed sort of rude.”

  I laugh then worry about my crow’s feet, but decide to let it go. He doesn’t seem to care or notice. “What else have you wanted to do?” I ask, more curious about something like this than I’ve ever been before. For once, I’m willing to take a chance. No strings. Not like with Tom, where something more lingers in the background. I want sex.

  I want Tyson.

  Lightning flashes through the room and illuminates his face. He brings his mouth close to mine and whispers, “Anything you’ll let me.”

  ~*~*~*~

  He makes a list. Detailed, including bullet points.

  He doesn’t show it to me though, before he places it inside a book next to the bed. Careful with my stitches, he wraps his arms around me, and we sleep through the pounding rain. By morning, the thunderstorms pass and bright sun glares through the window. I hold my hand over my eyes, wincing from the glare.

  “No wonder you get up so early to swim. We need to find you some curtains.”

  Tyson grunts in response and peeks at me through squinty eyes that, at this point, have seen every inch of my naked body. This should be awkward. Very awkward, I think as I push the consequences of my actions out of my head. But for some reason, it isn’t.

  “Hey,” he says and reaches for me. “Sleep okay?”

  “Well enough. I love this futon. It’s always been comfortable.”

  He rolls onto his back, and I see the hard lines of his erection under the sheet. I want to touch it and make him feel good, but I stop myself. I’m not sure where all this is going. Not yet.

  “The power’s still out,” I tell him. “I doubt they’ll get up here until later this week. We’re not really the priority. The hills and mud will make it difficult.”

  “Hmmm…no power means no sander. Guess I get the day off then.”

  I wrap my arms around my knees and take in his features. Pretty dark hair. Intense blue eyes. All his features are strong. His skin is a warm brown, and he has a thin scattering of hair covering his chest. His nipples are even darker. The night before, I learned they’re soft and sensitive under my tongue.

  “So last night,” I say, feeling the need to mention the elephant in the room.

  “Was awesome?”

  I nod and have to smile. “Yeah, pretty awesome.”

  “But…” he prompts.

  “There’s no but, not really. There should be. I’m pretty sure I’m going to hell, and your mother will kill me if she finds out. Like really, really kill me. I’ve crossed a lot of lines here, Tyson…”

  “But…”

  I laugh. “Yeah, here it is… I’ve crossed a lot of lines, and I’m sort of okay with it. For now.”

  “For now?” he asks
, eyes narrowing.

  I say the following slowly, hoping he understands. “This can’t be for real, but it can be for now. Are you okay with that?”

  “Sure.”

  “Because I’ve been doing this for a long time, and there’s always strings attached to sex. But if you and I can do this string free? I’m willing.”

  Tyson takes my hand and guides it under the covers. He rests my palm on his cock, hard and ready. I run my hand up and down the smooth shaft. “Look at that,” he says. “I’m all about the now.”

  And that’s how it all began.

  ~*~*~*~

  “How’s this going to work?” he asks over bowls of cereal and lukewarm milk. He brought them up to the guest house from the kitchen and served them to me on a tray made out of old boards we’d ripped out of the bedroom closet earlier that week.

  “I’m not really sure.” But I’d been thinking about it in order to look for a justification for my behavior. “Obviously no one can know. There will be no photos or texts to your friends. No bragging about banging some desperate old cougar.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Deal. What else?”

  “Well, I’m willing to help you cross some things off that list, but you’ve got to do some things for me too.”

  “Like what?”

  “It may sound a little hypocritical, but I don’t want you walking away from this thinking women are just sex objects. That’s sort of the opposite reason your mom wanted you up here this summer.”

  He frowns. “I don’t think of you as a sex object. I respect you. A lot.”

  “I believe you, but…good sex is more than about getting off. It’s about being generous with your partner. Expressing yourself. Making sure she feels respected and safe.” I take his hand. “One night stands are okay, as long as everyone is on board. You can’t just bed some sorority girl and sneak out in the morning then laugh about it over Facebook. Fuck buddies are okay, too, if the rules are clear.”

  “So you want to teach me how to not act like a douche.”

  I smile. He’s smart in addition to being good looking. “Yes.”

  “And to be a good lover.”

  “The best,” I say with a raised eyebrow. “Although you’re not so bad to begin with.”