by Dez Burke
“Fuck me now,” I urge, my voice shaky and uneven. “Just the way you described.”
I don’t tell him to be careful with the dress or not to mess up my hair. I have a closet full of clothes, and my hair can always be quickly pulled back into a ponytail. I want this as much as he does.
Who am I kidding?
I want it more.
He spreads my ass cheeks wide with both hands and pumps two fingers into me one more time. “God, how I love the sound of your wet pussy,” he murmurs. “I can’t stop touching you. My fingers, cock…I want everything inside you.”
The tip of his cock nudges me from behind and I hold my breath. I barely have the chance to brace myself before he plunges into me in one long, powerful thrust.
In this position, his massive width almost splits me apart. His muscular thighs push against the back of mine, holding me up so that I don’t slide down onto the floor in a limp puddle. I gasp out loud as he begins to slam into me with rough, rugged thrusts, holding nothing back.
His callused fingers grip my hips so tight I know there will be bruises there tomorrow. He fucks me savagely, taking me to a place where pleasure and almost pain blend together masterfully. Each lunge of his hips jolts me against the sofa while my insides feel ready to disintegrate. Again and again, his pelvis rocks against me, his penetration so deep I can feel his balls swinging against my ass.
Our lovemaking is like two long-lost lovers coming together after years of separation. It is our most desperate sex ever. I can’t stay still or quiet.
This is rough sex personified, and I’m loving every second of it. I delight in the way he takes me mercilessly with just the right amount of force and dominance. I feel so helpless, my lower body completely exposed. He holds onto my hips, forcing me to take him over and over.
Toby owns me.
His mouth slides to my neck, nibbling and sucking, right before nipping me with his teeth with enough pressure to make me cry out. Everything feels impossibly good: his cock buried at the perfect slant to reach my secret spots, his large hands molding and squeezing my ass with possessive passion. Reaching around with one hand, he slides it down the neckline of my dress and squeezes my breast hard before tweaking the nipple between his thumb and forefinger
I bite my lip to keep from moaning.
“Don’t hold back with me,” he commands. “Say my name when you cum.”
He drives into me faster, deeper, showing his power in every ferocious, unrepentant lunge. The friction, the angle, and the pressure proves too much. Trapped beneath his muscular body, I can’t fight the delicious rush of sensations as he fucks me into oblivion.
“Yes,” I pant as an intense orgasm hits, causing my muscles to clench and release spasmodically around him.
“That’s it, baby,” he mutters through clenched teeth. He slides an arm underneath me, holding me up as he grinds into me harder. His whole frame strains against me while deep inside me he swells and throbs, intensifying his thrusts.
“You feel so fucking good,” he says, his breathing harsh. “How do you do this to me?”
His body jerks out several more uneven thrusts as he cums with loud grunts. I feel every pump and pulsation he makes as he explodes deep within me. I clench my muscles around him, wanting to feel every last throb. He continues moving slowly inside me until he’s completely spent and exhausted.
He collapses against my back and we stay joined together until our breathing finally slows. I make a sound of regret when he eventually pulls out.
Turning my face around, he kisses me leisurely and slowly. “As much as I would love a round two, we should probably get dressed and head out to the dinner,” he says. “Unless you want to blow the whole thing off, stay here, and order pizza?”
He’s halfway serious.
“No, this is something we have to do,” I say reluctantly. “Much as I hate to. Besides, I want to show you off in your uniform. Give me five minutes to repair my hair and makeup and I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll need at least ten to dress and recover,” he says. He grins when I reach down to pull my panties back up from around my ankles.
“What is so funny?” I ask.
“Your hair is tangled and your lipstick is smudged,” he says. “You look like you’ve been thoroughly fucked.”
“I have been, and it was so worth the wait.”
41
Maggie
“Do you want me to drive my car?” I ask Toby on our way out to the parking garage.
“Why?” he replies. “Are you ashamed to be seen in a pickup truck? Or afraid of my driving?”
“Neither,” I say.
“I washed the truck this morning and vacuumed the inside thoroughly,” he says. “It’s clean as a whistle.”
I give him a doubtful look since the last time we rode together in his truck, the passenger seat was covered in Sadie’s yellow hair and smelled of wet dog.
“I swear,” he says. “I wouldn’t put a girl looking as fine as you do right now in a dirty truck. Give me some credit. Do you see any dog hair on my pants?”
He turns around to give me a view of his fine backside.
“I don’t know. Let me feel and see.” I slide my hand across his muscular ass. “No hair here. I thought it might be easier for me to drive since I know the way,” I explain. “I can give you directions. Luckily it’s not too far. Only a couple of miles down the road.”
We reach his red truck and he grabs the door handle before I have a chance to open it myself.
“Hang on,” he says. “Let me get the door for you.”
He opens the door, and I grab the top of the doorframe to try to climb in. The truck is tall. Getting into the truck in my heels and tight dress is not going to be easy or graceful.
Toby laughs when I struggle to put one foot up inside the truck and my dress slides up my ass. He scoops me up with an arm around my waist and the other under my legs to deposit me gently on the seat.
“All you had to do was ask for help, darling,” he breathes against my hair. “I’ll pick you up and carry you wherever you want to go. Just say the word. I’m all yours.”
“Is that true?”
“What? That I’ll sling you over my shoulder and haul your pretty ass around like a sack of flour? Absolutely, I’ll do that in a heartbeat.”
“No,” I reply. “That you’re all mine.”
He grins and instead of answering shuts the truck door after making sure I’m all tucked inside. Going around to the driver’s side, he slides in and turns on the radio.
“What kind of music are you in the mood for?” he asks. “How about Waylon Jennings? Do you know him?”
I don’t have a clue who Waylon Jennings is. Apparently a country music singer from the woeful, sad song now playing on the radio.
“That’s fine with me,” I say.
He seems satisfied with my answer. I notice his arms tensing up on the drive down out of the parking garage, but he doesn’t say a word. Once we exit the parking garage and are outside in the sunlight, he visibly relaxes again.
“Whew!” he says. “Glad to be out of there.”
“Do you have something against parking garages?” I ask.
“I have something against dark spaces and driving around blind corners,” he replies. “Now that I’ve seen where you live, I’m worried about you. It doesn’t feel safe for a woman. How often do you work late at night?”
“Most of the time,” I reply. “Don’t worry. There’s multiple layers of security. I’m perfectly safe.”
Secretly I’m thrilled Toby is concerned for my welfare. It makes me feel good to know that my man cares about me.
My man.
Is that what Toby is now?
It’s certainly how it feels to me.
“Tell me what to expect at this shindig,” he says. “And remind me again of why I need to be there. Couldn’t the Mayor just mail my award to me? How big is this thing? Three feet tall?”
“Most people wo
uld love to have an invitation to dinner with the Mayor at the country club,” I remind him. “It’s an honor to be selected.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not most people, and my definition of honor is a little different than having dinner with a bunch of fancy people trying to impress each other.”
“You’re right,” I say. “And everything is about politics these days. If holding a fancy dinner and giving you an award didn’t win the Mayor points, he wouldn’t be doing it either. I realize this isn’t your idea of a good time. If nothing else, think of it as an opportunity to meet my family. Mom and Dad will there along with my sister, Nicole and her husband, Brad. They’re all looking forward to meeting you.”
Toby glances over at me. “Should I be worried?”
“Not at all,” I reassure. “They’ll love you. How could they not?”
“Maggie!”
My sister Nicole squeals loudly when she spots us walking into the lobby of the country club. “We’ve been waiting for you,” she says, rushing over and tugging her husband behind her.
Nicole grabs me in a big hug then turns to Toby. “I’m Nicole, the big sister. And you must be the one and only Toby. I’ve been dying to meet you. Maggie has told me so much about you.”
Not true.
I’ve barely said one word to Nicole about Toby, which was intentional. It’s not that I wanted to keep Toby a secret. It was more that I wanted to keep him all to myself. I’m still trying to get to know him, and sharing didn’t seem right. Not yet.
Toby gives Nicole a polite, guarded smile. He’s been here two minutes and is already uncomfortable. He reaches out to shake her hand then politely shakes Brad’s as well.
“I’m Toby. Nice to meet you both.”
“Same here,” Brad says. He takes off his black eyeglasses and cleans them with the handkerchief tucked into his suit pocket. “You’re quite the hero, Toby. I can’t imagine being the center of all this media attention. It was incredible how quickly the video of the shooting went viral.” He glances over at me. “How many views did it get, Maggie? Fifty million views in twenty-four hours? That’s quite a coup and amazing exposure for you. I hope you turned that into some big dollars.”
I’ve been around Brad enough to know that he can be a complete asshole at times without even trying. To compare the terrorist incident to a viral video is thoughtless to say the least. Toby’s eyes have gone chilly. This is going to be a long evening.
“Saving lives was my priority,” Toby replies coldly. “The media attention has been more of a pain in the ass than anything else. Except for Maggie.”
He reaches behind him to take my hand. When he touches it, he links his fingers through mine.
Nicole’s eyes drop down at our interlocked hands.
Okay, the secret is out. No point in denying or hiding my relationship with Toby any longer. I tighten my grip on his hand. We’re in this together now. One way or the other.
I stare back at her, defying her to say anything.
All she does is raise her eyebrows imperceptibly in a question. “Mom and Dad are already at the table,” she says, waving her hand toward the ballroom. “The Mayor is about to make his opening remarks in a few minutes, so we should be seated. You’re running late by the way. What kept you? I thought you said you would be here at seven, and you’re always so prompt. I was about to send out the rescue squad to search for you.”
“Heavy traffic,” Toby answers while giving my hand a little squeeze. “Lots of stopping and starting. You know how it is. You speed up and then have to slam on the brakes. Over and over.”
He winks at me behind Nicole’s back, and I try not to giggle as we follow them down the hallway. I love the feeling of the two of us against the world.
Dad sees us coming from across the room and stands up to greet us. He is distinguished as always with his thick grey hair and tailored dark suit. Mom is seated beside him in a demure light pink dress. She’s wearing her favorite pair of pearls with matching earrings.
Her face appears younger than when I saw her at Christmas. At first I can’t figure out why, then realize it’s due to her bi-monthly Botox shots and fillers for the lines in her face. As soon as the wrinkles start to show, she books an appointment at the day spa. Mom tries her best to maintain a youthful appearance. She says it’s because they’re photographed frequently for Atlanta’s society pages. I know it’s because she can’t stand the thought of getting old.
When we approach the table, Dad’s eyes slide from Toby’s freshly shined shoes, to our linked hands, all the way up to Toby’s curly hair that is a little too long and touching the collar of his uniform.
Dad never misses anything.
When I was growing up, I could never get away with the slightest bit of mischief because he could take one look at me and know I’d been up to something. “Maggie,” he would always say. “What have you done now?”
It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d already guessed before tonight that Toby and I were an item. To Dad’s credit, he is careful not to show the disapproval on his face.
He doesn’t need to.
I can feel it coming off him in waves.
Standing up on my tiptoes, I kiss Dad’s cheek then lean down to kiss Mom too.
“Dad, this is Toby,” I say, placing a hand on Toby’s arm. “I lived to see another day because of this man’s courage.”
Dad smiles warmly and reaches out to give Toby a firm handshake. “You don’t need to remind us of that,” he says. “We owe you our utmost gratitude, son. I don’t know how we would make it if something happened to one of our daughters. Thank you for protecting her.”
“I was thankful to have been there where I could,” Toby says.
“Come over here, dear, and have a seat beside me,” Mom says to Toby. “I want to hear all about you.” She pats the empty chair beside her.
We move around to her side of the table. I notice Toby glancing at the doors, which are directly behind where we’ll be sitting. He pulls out a chair for me and sits down beside Mom. After a second, he shifts his chair, angling it sideways where he can talk to her and still have a clear view of the doorway. I wonder what he’s going to do when the meal is served and he has no choice but to turn around completely to eat.
If given a choice, I would’ve preferred to put myself between him and my family. Hopefully he can hold his own with them. At least Mom can always be counted on to be polite and sugary sweet.
She’s one of those Southern women who can convincingly say “bless your heart” in a sympathetic voice while mentally fantasizing how she would stab you in the heart. Mom wouldn’t dare be rude to Toby no matter how she might feel about our relationship. It’s the rest of the family I’m worried about.
Nicole and Brad take their seats directly across the table from us. Brad makes a big show of carefully straightening his designer tie. Does he really think Toby will be impressed by his seven-hundred-dollar tie? Then I realize it’s not Toby he’s trying to impress, it’s Dad.
“How is the zoning for your new construction project going?” Brad asks Dad.
“Slow,” Dad replies. “Hopefully a little faster after tonight. All I need is a few minutes of the Mayor’s time to light a fire under the zoning commission. He knows where his bread has been buttered all these years. And if he doesn’t, I’ll remind him.”
We all laugh politely. Dad has been a heavy political donor to the Atlanta Mayor’s campaigns for years. If he wants something, he won’t stop until he gets it.
“So Toby,” Brad says. “I understand you were a Marine in Afghanistan. I assume that’s why you’re dressed the way you are.”
Toby clears his throat. “That’s right,” he says. “I was. I’ve been back a while.”
I slide my hand under the table and place it lightly on Toby’s leg. I can feel the tension in his thigh muscles.
“And what are you doing for a real job now that you’re back in the States?” Brad asks. He turns to peer up at the waiter beside
him, who is pouring a sip of Chardonnay into his wineglass. After testing it, Brad nods his approval. “Very nice. Thank you. The wine has a nice, smoky finish.” The waiter turns the bottle so Brad can read the label.
I’m not sure why Brad is tasting the wine since he’s not paying for it. What would he do if the wine was awful? Send it back and demand a better bottle?
The waiter beams happily as if he stomped the grapes to make the wine himself and finishes pouring Brad’s glass. Brad takes another sip. “Excellent wine,” he says. “From one of my favorite vineyards in Napa Valley. We should go there again this fall for a weekend, Nicole.”
“Definitely,” Nicole replies emphatically.
She leans forward, giving Toby a clear view of her ample breasts across the table. A gift from Brad after her last baby to ward off post-partum depression. According to her, nothing beats breast implants and a vaginal rejuvenation procedure to lift a new mother’s mood.
“Last year we shipped home cases of wine from several boutique wineries in Napa,” she says. “Specialty wines that you can’t buy here. It was well worth the trip to stock our wine cellar. You two should come over one night for a wine tasting.”
What fun that would be. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at Toby.
“I’m sorry,” Brad says, turning his attention back to Toby. “With all this talk about wine, we didn’t give you a chance to answer. What is it you do now for a living?”
Toby clears his throat again and drinks half a glass of water before answering. “I work on cars. You know…detailing them. Fixing them up for resale. That kind of thing.”
“Sports cars, I presume?” Brad asks. “I know a man in Buckhead who runs a shop…Ferraris, Porsches. The occasional Lamborghini.”
“No, Buicks,” Toby replies with a straight face. “Ford trucks, Nissans, just normal cars that need body work done for regular people.”
“Oh,” Brad replies, clearly disappointed the conversation didn’t shift to sports cars, where he could wow us all with his vast knowledge. “You own the body shop then? I can imagine there would be good money in that. The last time someone dinged my car door with a shopping cart, it cost over two thousand dollars to fix. It’s outrageous what the body shop charged for repairs.”
