The Plan: A Standalone Off-Limits Romance

by Ella James

  She’s jerking me off, and fuck, I’m almost coming in her fucking hand.

  I’m so close to spilling in between her fingers that I have to put a hand on hers and stop her.

  “On your hands and knees,” I growl, and almost immediately, she’s changing gears.

  Marley wags her ass around. I grab it with both hands. “This thing is so damn round. What do you do to it?”

  She giggles.

  God, I want to eat this ass. I want to finger that sweet pussy till she’s rocking back against me. When she’s desperate and panting, I’ll draw my fingers out, I’ll leave her swollen clit wanting, and I’ll press my cockhead against her opening…and take my time pushing inside.

  So that’s exactly what I do. I spend an hour making Marley desperate for me. Then I rub my head against her cunt, I push a hint inside. She cries out, and I withdraw, and then she gasps, and then I’m one…two inches in.

  “Oh GOD!” It’s shrieked.

  She’s pushing back against me, desperate to be filled. And so I pull out one more time, and when I’m teasing her again, I grab her hips and whisper, “Does that greedy pussy want me?”

  “Oh yes, please…”

  And so I let her have it. One long, forceful stroke and then I’m planted in her, spreading her so wide I think I feel her stretch; I know I hear her gasp, then groan. She’s still—I feel her legs shaking—until I push in even deeper. Then she’s grunting, gasping, pushing back against me, trembling almost violently as she feels me wholly inside her. I’m inside her, and she’s loud, oh God, so fucking loud as I pull out and plunge back in. She falls against the mattress, bowing with my hands clutching her hips, and I imagine her an offering, a warm, wet, willing gift I accept happily. My cock has never felt as good as it does now, inside her swollen chamber.

  “So tight,” I hiss.

  Marley makes a guttural sound as I pull out, and drive back in. I fill her, and she whimpers, and it’s that soft sound that drives me crazy, that sweet mewl that makes me want to give her more, that makes me want to give her so much she boils over. I pump at a pace that seems to drive her mad—she scrambles back onto my cock when I withdraw it—and then I pull out, dip my fingers in, and smear her slickness backwards.

  “Ohhhhh…”

  “I know. You want me filling you up, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes Gabe,” I correct.

  I walk a dripping fingertip around her rim, and Marley shudders. “Please, Gabe…”

  “Please what, Marley?”

  “I—I need to come.” I hear the edge in her voice—it almost sounds like panic—and it makes my cock throb.

  “Do you now? You want something like this?” As I ask her that question, I push deeper still into her channel, making Marley squeak and falter forward.

  “What about this?” I ask, pushing just my fingertip inside her.

  I’m rewarded with a groan that’s shuddered.

  “Or maybe this?” With a gentle push, she’s taken all of my finger, and that’s when the moaning, groaning, screaming show starts. Marley with a finger in her ass is like an animal. She can’t seem to get enough of being filled…the way she pushes back on me—“oh fuck”—she’s almost riding me. She’s fucking my cock and my finger, reaching back to try to grab at me, her fingers brushing my hip. It feels good as fuck to be so…wanted.

  So I give it to her. Thrust, and out, and deeper—she gasps—out, and fuck…I need it deeper…till with every thrust, we’re one. My finger strokes inside her, and that’s it. I feel her clench around me, tight and hot, and pleasure explodes out of me—and into her.

  When she’s come to, lying on her belly, with her legs spread and her hair a mess, she drags her gaze over her shoulder and smiles tiredly.

  “God, that was some crazy baby-making.”

  I chuckle, and have to leave her room for safety’s sake—so I don’t stretch out right beside her.

  I spoon dumplings into one of her bowls and call from her bedroom doorway, “I’m gonna get moving.”

  I walk downstairs on weak legs, and when I finish the soup, I get online and order apple cider, overnighted. Then, impulsively, a bunch of whipped cream. At the last minute, I change the address from hers to mine.

  I’ll make it for her and carry it up.

  Marley

  Holy fucking hell, he’s good in bed. Did I say good? I meant amazing. I wake grinning in my quiet bedroom, feeling like a girl with a delicious secret. I soar through my run, thrilled with the knowledge that I could be getting pregnant right now. Sperm, meet egg, and do your thing!

  As I shower and dress for work, I let my mind sift through the details of last night…and I feel good about them. Even though he left sort of abruptly, I feel comfortable, secure, and in control. Maybe this is reckless-stupid, but I don’t feel stupid. I feel strong and happy.

  I glance at the house’s front door as I leave for work, and tell myself my friend lives there. We’re friends now, aren’t we? Sort of? It feels strange, but not untrue. We’re temporary fuck buddies with a shared mission. I can treat him like a friend.

  Just a friend, a small voice whispers.

  Then I get to work, and my first patient is a baby girl. I’m stunned at how good I feel, just knowing that I have some hope now. That I’ll have a baby of my own again sometime. And Gabe will be the father! I laugh all day. Maybe it is a little crazy.

  After work, I meet Kat at mom’s house, where Kat gives mom a bit of humming bird stained glass she found restoring an old house down by the lake. Humming birds are mom’s thing, supposedly because they’re attracted to the sweet things in life. I guess its appeal is mostly aspirational?

  Mom seems better, and we hang out, talking about Thanksgiving for a few minutes before Kat and I step back into the nippy air, and she gives me a bugged-out look.

  “You look like an alien when you do that.”

  She grins. “Is it a patient’s daddy? Please say yes!”

  “A what?” I play dumb, but Kat’s all over this.

  “Girl, if I can’t spot your just-fucked face, I’m not your best friend.”

  I shrug. “Wellll…”

  She pretend-slaps my cheek. “You little lying ho. I can’t believe you’re holding out on me.”

  “I’m not holding out, there’s nothing to hold!” I cross my arms, going for indignant.

  “You’re getting the liar dimple! By your nose!”

  “It’s not a dimple, it’s a crease, bitchface. I get it every time I smirk.”

  “No, every time you lie.”

  “Kat! C’mon.” I’m grinning though, gosh dammit.

  She squeals. “You are so, so guilty, sister!”

  “No I’m not.” But—ahhh, dammit—I’m fucking found out.

  She’s wearing her victory face. “You so are.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Me too? Now you’re feeling really frisky.”

  “Fuck off. How’s that?”

  She laughs as she pulls her car door open. “I want details later.”

  I flip her off and duck into my own car. I race home like Gabe’s there waiting for me with a bow over his dick. Which is why I’m stunned to find him sitting on my steps holding a mug of— “Is that whipped cream?”

  He winks, standing as he holds it out to me.

  “Oh God, it’s cider! I can smell it.”

  I throw an arm around him, and for just a second, I can feel him tense. As I pull away, I see his canned smile. “Just doing my job here.”

  “Thank you.” I feel stupid, but I try hard not to show it. I take a long, delicious sip. “This stuff is heaven. Where’d you get it?”

  He shrugs, smiling crookedly, more naturally this time. “Mystery.”

  “How’d you know I like a man with mystique?”

  “All the ladies do.”

  I laugh, because he can’t quite pull it off. His lips are curving in a smirk-smile. “We both know it’s true.”

  “You
jealous?”

  “Pfft. C’mon.”

  I’m only teasing, but I see a flash of something cross his face. It makes my throat tighten. It makes me brave enough to step back close to him again and wrap an arm around his shoulder, rub myself against his hip.

  “You want to come upstairs with me?” I whisper.

  His face presses against the top of my head as he says, “Can’t right now. I’ve got a phone meeting.”

  “A good one, I hope.”

  I feel him nod.

  “Okay, then.” I trail my finger down his chest, pressing his black t-shirt against his flawless abs. “Well, maybe sometime later.”

  “Once or twice a day?” he asks me, his lips on my hair.

  “Hmm?”

  “You smell so good,” he says, and steps back.

  “Thank you. Once or twice a day, what do you mean?”

  His eyes roll up and down me, and I realize he’s asking how often we need to get busy. “The more the better, in this time-frame.”

  “Okay.” His eyebrows are arched in male appreciation as he nods once more at me, then starts around the house. “Give me a little while,” he says.

  “I’ll be here.”

  I feel naked as I climb upstairs. So very bare and fragile as I take a bath and wait for him to knock.

  Gabe

  I don’t have a phone meeting. I wish I did. Something to distract me from the thought of parting Marley’s slick and swollen lips with my tongue…tracing feather-light over her clit until she’s rubbing against my beard and tugging on my curls. Last time I feasted on her, my cock was oozing as I made her drip. Every time I’m near her, I get stiff and achy.

  I stroke myself now, in my work chair, and try to tell myself she doesn’t need to be jealous. What the fuck do I care if she wants me that way? How strange would it be for her to love me? That we found this—this fucked-up, awesome opportunity—can be enough. I crave her, certainly, but what are cravings worth?

  I shut my eyes and stroke my cock and tell myself that I can do this on my own. I don’t need Marley to feel lust. I don’t need anyone.

  And so, when I knock on her door upstairs, in the hall that frames the staircase, I feel like I’m choosing her and not succumbing.

  I find Marley in a pale slip of a gown and spread her on the couch. I fuck her with my fingers and my tongue, and then a finger up her ass because with Marley, I think I have to own her ass, not just her cunt.

  After she’s come twice, I carry her into the bedroom, where I lie her on her back, pin her arms above her head, and look into her eyes as I punch into her. Her eyes pop open, and she laughs: a laugh that folds into a moan. Her back is arching and her hands are grabbing at my sides until her nails begin to cut me.

  I fuck Marley like a sport, and when she comes unfurled below me, I come hard and fast. Then I turn her over on all fours and fuck her from behind, and after that, she stretches out on her belly and falls asleep. I cover her. I make her cider, then go down and grab one of the glass jugs for her fridge. I think of taking dumplings with me, but I don’t, because it feels wrong to take from her when she’s asleep.

  Before I go, I scrawl my number on the notepad on her nightstand. Before I go to bed, I get a text.

  ‘Some kind of magic in those ordinary-looking khakis…’

  ‘Turn that cunt from muggle into wizard’

  ‘Haha. Hells yeah.’

  11

  Gabe

  In the dream, I leave her in the woods. The scenery is never clear, and I can never see her face, although I know it’s Gen. The scene begins as I walk off. I hear her calling my name and turn around. And I can hear her panting, even though I can’t see her, because it’s dark. In a voice that doesn’t sound upset, she says, “But Daddy. It will be so real for you. Daddy…are you sure you want to leave me here? It will be so real!”

  I hear her words, but they feel meaningless, unreal. I don’t want to leave her in the woods, of course, but that’s my role; I don’t consider anything different.

  As I walk away, toward a faint glow that I know to be the boardwalk, I hear her start to scream. She screams, so agonized and frantic that I think she’s being eaten by some animal. I turn around, but by the time I do, the woods are silent. Geneva is gone.

  The dream is ripped out of that Spielberg-Kubrick film, A.I.

  When I awaken from it, at least once or twice a week, I’m usually not crying. But sometimes I’m moaning, or sweating. Sometimes I can’t get back to sleep that night. So that’s my situation when I wake up at 4:12 AM.

  I write for an hour, then throw on my running clothes, leave Cora with a bone, and start the four-mile run up to the place where Dad is—Cedar Crest. It’s at the top of Rudolph Hill, so by the time I reach the double doors on the side of the long, one-story building, I’m breathing hard and sweating.

  I knock hard and see the familiar, dimpled smile of a short, brunette nurse who always wears pink. She gets the door and shakes her head at me.

  “Front doors only, Mr. McKellan.” She tsks, and I rub at my head. “Dammit. I forgot.”

  She shrugs. “New rule.” She rolls her eyes, teasingly. “You’ve only had…mmm, coming up on three months to adjust.”

  I let her rib me as we walk down the hallway toward the sign-in desk, where I see the surprise on the receptionist’s face.

  “It’s not—” She must get some signal from the nurse behind me, because she blinks a few times, then smiles thinly. “Mr. McKellan!” She leans forward, on her bony elbows. “What can we do for you today?”

  A few minutes later, I’m ushered into Dad’s room, where I find him sitting up in bed, watching a game show with the windows open, casting his room in a deep blue glow.

  When I step inside, he glances toward me with a frown. “Who’s that come to bother me?”

  I raise a hand in greeting. “Hi, Dad. Gabe.”

  “That ole Gabe. That boy took off, years ago. Just left.”

  I swallow as I take a few more steps inside and rest my elbow on the cracked, leather recliner. “How ya doing?” I ask.

  Dad scowls my way. “Are you one of those doctors in ‘civilian’ clothes?”

  I shake my head. “Just came by to check in on you.”

  He shakes his head roughly, his single flop of faded brown hair smacking his freckled forehead. “I don’t like it here. They’re assholes, and no one gives me coffee.”

  I squint at the table by his bed. “I think there’s a coffee cup beside you.”

  “That?” He glares at the cup. “Sugar water.”

  Is it wrong I have to struggle not to laugh? “Oh yeah?”

  He nods once. “Sugar water like they give the little babies! Motherfuckers here, I tell you. Nothing but a bunch of motherfuckers.”

  I rub my hand over my mouth. “Is there anything you like?”

  “Well—there’s that nurse. The one with white hair. Very nice one, that one. Fluffs my pillows. She knows what it’s like.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, just making conversation.

  Dad pounds his fist against the bed’s rail. “To be locked up in here like a fool!”

  I nod slowly. “No one thinks you’re a fool.”

  “You do. You and your New York. And that clean girl. In every picture, she looks clean, so clean she’s sparkling. Sure wish you took care of your old man that way.” He shakes his head. “Selfish and self-absorbed…going off up there.” He shakes his head again.

  I inhale slowly. Work my hand into a fist, then let it relax.

  “I’m sorry, Dad.” I’m not, of course. But I think it never hurts to say you’re sorry.

  “Yeah—well.” With obvious reluctance at first, he looks me over. “Looking thinner now there. Older, too. I must be missing time again. Who’s president? It’s that fucking talk show host!”

  I work to hide a smirk.

  “You look like shit.”

  I blow my breath out, steeling myself for more of his erratic commentary. />
  “Not drinking,” he says—but it’s a question.

  “No.”

  “Then it must be a woman.” He chuckles at that thought and then zones out, blinking at the TV and murmuring to himself for half an hour, but not looking over again at me.

  Marley

  I open the door with a big grin on my face. Because I fell asleep last night, and Gabe covered me up and made me cider, and then put a huge bottle of it in my refrigerator before he left. When I woke up later in the night and found his number on the notepad by my bed, I felt so warm and cared for. Like we’re really in a partnership of sorts.

  So when I get an eyeful of him Wednesday night, my stomach twists a little.

  “Heyyy.” I hold the door open, and he steps inside. He gives me a small, closed-mouthed smile as I drink in his long-sleeved, navy blue t-shirt and ragged khakis. As I check him out, I start to shake my head.

  “Are those those Mountain Hardware ones? From way back when?”

  He smiles, a little more, and I blink at his eyes as he says, “Yeah.”

  “Oh my goodness, those are antiques.” I step a little closer to him. “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”

  He blinks. “Sick? Nah.”

  “Are you sure?” I take his hand and turn it so it’s palm over, feeling there to see if it feels warm and finding that it doesn’t.

  He nods, his eyes squinting slightly. “Just a headache.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I flatten his palm against mine and sandwich it between my hands…and I find I don’t want to let it go.

  “Come here…” I tug him toward the bedroom. At the bed’s footboard, I nod. “Lay down. Face first. If you don’t mind,” I add, smiling.