by Sofia Tate
Damn. The things they make for women these days blow my mind. Sexy as all fucking get out.
As she moves to remove one of them, I rasp, “Leave them on.” I stretch my legs out in front of me, pulling them up, then letting my knees drop down, my cock now on full display. “Come to me.”
She obeys me, slowly walking to the bed, then with a slide of her lovely backside, she pushes herself up, settling herself on her knees, sitting back on her heels.
I take in the image before me, her chest rising and falling, her eyes fixed on me, waiting for my next command.
“Are you wet for me, Buzzy?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Do you want me to fuck you?”
“More than anything,” she replies, her voice practically begging me.
“If you wish me to fuck you, then you will give me pleasure first. What do you think I want to you to do for me at this moment?”
She bows her head shyly. “Suck your cock.”
That won’t do. I want the Buzzy I know from her fantasies. “Look at me when you say that,” I order her.
She raises her head, her eyes now two orbs of green fire locked on me. “Suck your cock,” she replies, this time with more force and confidence.
“Good girl.”
Fuck! You slipped again. Don’t call her that, you moron.
I smirk to mirror my mistake, watching as she shuffles herself closer to my crotch. Gently, she reaches out for my shaft, now standing ramrod straight, ready for her soft hands and lush lips.
Looking at it as if she’s seeing a penis for the first time in her life, she glides her fingers over it, feeling my cock’s texture, admiring its color, the vein running up the side of it, its extended length.
Giving me a sly grin, Bea dives in, her mouth covering my dick as she begins to work my shaft, sucking me hard.
Fucking hell.
I fall back onto the pillows. Her tongue feels so smooth against my skin. She pulls back up, then licks the crown like it’s a damn lollipop, and I know it won’t take long for her to make me come. I don’t know how much practice she’s had doing this on other men, other than the time she wrote about in her fantasy, and right now, I don’t give two fucks if she has. In my mind, she’s saved these skills just for me, for this moment.
I reach down and run my hand through her silky hair. “That’s so good, baby. Keep going.”
She sucks me in again, and then she starts moaning.
Oh my God. I’m going to die right fucking now. Call time of death and tag my damn toe. Cause of death: pure fucking ecstasy.
Then she starts really working me, and I can feel the back of her throat. Her right hand pumps away at my base.
“Baby, I’m gonna come,” I warn her. “If you don’t want—”
And then I explode into her mouth, grunting raw and primal into the air. I sense my cock falling out of her mouth, and when I look back up at her, I see my cum splattered across her tits.
With both of us panting hard, all we have the strength to do is stare at each other. She doesn’t shy away from me, her eyes focused on mine. All hints of nervousness have dissipated. She is glorious, full of fire.
Bea’s hands reach out to rub my stomach, her fingers running through the dark hairs on my belly. She lays her head down quietly, kissing my skin as if in worship.
I place my hand on her hair. “Come here, baby.”
She lifts her head and inches herself closer to me as I circle my legs around her protectively.
I reach up to thread my fingers through her silky locks. I roam my eyes once more over her—her emerald eyes now softened, my cum glistening on her tits, her collarbone.
“You are so beautiful,” I barely manage, completely overwhelmed by the sight in front of me.
She doesn’t say a word, then I see moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes. “Was that okay for you?”
She’s joking, right?
I reach up to her face, pulling her closer to me so she can see straight into my unwavering eyes. “It was fucking amazing, Beatrice.”
Her shoulders drop in relief, allowing herself a wide smile.
Shit, I really need to talk to her, to find out how she sees this thing going between us. There’s so much we’re not dealing with, but when I see that grin on her face that’s aimed at me, I just can’t bear to do it.
I push myself up with my elbows.
“What are you doing?” she asks, an amused lilt in her voice.
“We’re going to go wash myself off you. Then I’m going to reciprocate and eat that sweet pussy of yours, and you’re going to come nice and loud for me.”
She offers me her hand. “I can’t wait,” she replies to my back as I’m tugging her hard behind me toward the marble shower of our suite.
16
Bea
“Hello, sweetheart. You got in late last night. Were you with Marisol?”
Sitting at the dining room table the next morning, my mother’s question stops my hand from reaching my mouth that’s holding my latte. I have a major post-coital hangover, not wanting to lose the dreamlike state I’m in, my body still loose and liquid from everything Aiden and I did last night.
All I can think about is Aiden. The look on his face when he saw himself spread all over my flesh. He was mesmerized, and I couldn’t look away either. I’d never done anything like that with any other man. Somehow in that hotel suite, Aiden allowed me to express my deepest sexual fantasies, the ones that would shock my parents and Manhattan society if they ever knew what thoughts lay hidden beneath my proper exterior.
I look over at my mom in the doorway, dressed in a cream Chanel suit. I clear my throat. “Yes. We lost track of time.”
“I see. Are you doing anything this morning?”
Yes. Sexting Aiden some more pictures of me in various forms of undress.
I take a sip of coffee. “Umm, no. Why?”
“I’d like to take you somewhere.”
I hang my head in disbelief.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
“Okay, what have you and Dad cooked up? First, he springs a surprise visit on me to the Park offices, and now you want to take me to another mysterious destination. What is this? Divide and conquer?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, dear. I thought we’d do some shopping.”
Uh-huh.
“Right. And where would we go on this shopping excursion?”
“Madison Avenue, of course.”
Of course. Ugh, nothing like shopping with your mom to kill your sex buzz.
“Fine. Just give me twenty minutes.”
“Wonderful, dear.”
I sigh. “Wonderful.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Mom guides us up Park Avenue, taking a left on East 77th.
Oh, fuck. No way.
I instantly know where she’s taking me. “No, Mom.”
“Beatrice, indulge your mother, will you? For goodness sakes, what on earth could you be afraid of?”
I look up at the sign for Vera Wang’s bridal boutique.
Everything.
“Let’s go in, shall we?”
Stall her. “I’ll be right there. I just need a minute.”
“All right, dear. Don’t be long.”
“I’m right behind you.”
I watch my mother walk into the salon, then I rummage for my phone in my purse, punching out a quick text.
“Just a little bit more, dear,” Cecile, the matronly bridal salon assistant insists.
Oxygen escapes my lungs with each breath. “A little bit more until what? I pass out and you call 911?” I snap back at her.
“Beatrice sweetheart, take a breath,” my mother encourages.
I grit my teeth. “I would if I could.”
“There,” the assistant finally declares in relief.
I look down to see my breasts pushed together, making me look like a serving wench in a rowdy 1700s English pub.
“You look lovely, dear,”
my future mother-in-law, Meredith Thorne, coos from where she’s sitting on a chintz-upholstered settee with my mother. She arrived at the salon shortly after we did.
Co-conspirators, thy names are Margot Parker and Meredith Thorne.
“Mom, my tits are practically spilling over,” I observe.
“Language, dear. They’re called breasts. And since when did you start using such colorful expressions?”
I grin to myself. That distinction would go to the night Aiden Dwyer came all over said tits.
“That gown is a definite possibility,” Meredith comments.
My mouth drops at her decision. I point to my chest. “Are you joking? I’m not a maid about to have some drunken sailor roger me behind the Pig and Whistle.”
“Beatrice!” my mother shrieks in horror. “Apologize to Meredith this instant!”
I glance at Mrs. Thorne, whose eyes are now boring into mine like two gray laser beams. “I’m sorry, Meredith.”
A loud voice booms in the small dressing area. “Dios mio!”
Four pairs of eyes turn to Marisol, standing in the doorway with her mouth agape. “Why do you look like you’re about to ask me if I’d like a pint of ale and a turkey leg?”
I look up toward the ceiling and shut my eyes in silent prayer. Thank you for sending Marisol Evangeline de la Cruz Boudreaux to me.
I point to my best friend. “See? She agrees!”
My mother huffs. “Fine. We’ll try something else.”
A salon assistant walks in carrying a tray of mimosas and sparkling water. Marisol grabs a glass of the former. “Thank you. And keep them coming.”
Meredith reaches into her Goyard tote, pulling out a Smythson writing pad. “Margot, I’ve had some wonderful ideas for the reception venue.”
“Oh yes, so have I!” Mom chimes in. “I was thinking about the Metropolitan Club.”
“Or even the University Club. We’ve been members there for years.”
Suddenly, my mother grabs her forearm. “The Temple of Dendur at the Met!” she exclaims.
Meredith’s eyes glaze over, overcome with emotion. “Yes! Oh my goodness! Why didn’t I think of that?”
Marisol and I stare at them, one upping the ante on the other with suitable wedding venues. Marisol shakes her head, murmuring under her breath, “Loca. Loca. Loca,” taking a long sip of her mimosa.
I shake my head and start to wave my arms. “Hello? We’re not even engaged yet!”
But my comment escapes them, with their attention now shifted to the back issues of Quest, Avenue, and Town & Country that Meredith has magically pulled from her bottomless tote.
I look down once more at my breasts, the hideous gown, the pedestal I’m standing on for display.
My head rears back up in realization.
Oh my God. This is going to be my fucking life from this point on. On display for all to see with no choice in the matter. I’m a puppet at the mercy of other people’s manipulations of my strings.
I turn around to Cecile, giving her a slight smile. “Could you help me down? I’d like to change.”
Marisol gives me a pointed look. “And we have to talk.”
“You have two more gowns to try on,” Cecile informs me.
I sigh, then slap another smile on my face. “Of course. Could you get my purse for me?”
“I’ll get it,” Marisol offers.
Cecile holds out her hand to me to help me down from the platform. I head back for the dressing room, the crinoline under my gown swishing with every step.
I pull the train behind me inside the space. “Just let me know when you’re ready for the next one,” Cecile says.
Marisol steps in with my purse and mimosa. “Thank you,” I tell Cecile right before I shut the door.
I flop onto the settee in the changing room, while Marisol settles in next to me, taking care while pushing my gown to the side. “Okay, chica. What in the fuck is going on?”
“First, give me that,” I ask her, pointing at her mimosa. I take a long sip from the flute, before handing it back to her.
“Thank you. Basically, my mom asked me to go with her somewhere this morning. She didn’t tell me where. Then when we turned onto 77th, I knew she was bringing me here.”
“Like with your dad after that lunch taking you to the magazine office. What the hell is with your parents?”
“Damned if I know. And we’re not even engaged yet. And I don’t plan to be because I have other suitors.”
She holds her hand up to me, palm facing front. “Whoa! Stop right there! What ‘suitors’? And that’s ‘suitors’ with an s?”
I nod my head, flashing her a knowing smile. “Yup. You heard correctly.”
“Details, now,” she demands.
I clear my throat. “Suitor number 1 is someone I met on that website I told you about.”
“Prose?”
“Yeah. His username is GalwayPlayer.”
She whistles. “Irish. Nice. Hopefully the player part means he’s not a manwhore.”
I jump in my seat. “I thought the same thing! But no, thank God. He just likes to play rugby.”
“Mmmm. I’m loving the sound of him already. How are his fantasies?”
A dreamy look comes over my face.
“Never mind,” she replies. “I have my answer. So, who’s Suitor number 2?”
I look away from her steady gaze, steeling myself before I turn back to her and respond. “Aiden.”
Her mouth drops. “Wait. Aiden, Aiden? As in Seb’s best friend? As in the guy whose guts you’ve hated since you were eleven?”
I nod. “Yup, that Aiden.”
Marisol finishes off her mimosa. “When did all of this start?”
I sigh. “Honestly, I think I’ve always been attracted to him, but I never wanted to admit it to myself. Maybe I loved our verbal sparring too much to even think there might be something more. And my family being who they are, I never really dated outside my circle. It never even crossed my mind. It’s like he’s been in front of me all this time, slowly getting under my skin without me even realizing it.”
“I can see that, especially the part about your family. I mean, look where we’re sitting right now,” she says, gesturing with her arms to the open space around us. “Okay, but now get to the good stuff. I need a timeline.”
“We first kissed in a coat closet at the Waldorf on New Year’s Eve.”
Marisol’s eyes widen like saucers. “At the ball? I love it! You still owe me for taking Porter off your hands.”
I wave my hand at her. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll take you to lunch or something. After that, we had sex twice, once at his house, and once at the Ritz-Carlton downtown.”
My friend claps her hands together in applause. “Yes! I love it!”
“And at the lunch, we sexted.”
She points her finger at me. “Oh my God! That’s why you left the room! I can’t believe it. The Park Avenue Princess sexting a hot construction worker in Queens from a fancy ladies’ lunch on Fifth Avenue. This is too much! Okay, now the real question. How is the sex?”
I give her a sly grin.
“And once again, I have my answer.”
Suddenly, her brows furrow as she takes another sip.
“What’s that look for?” I ask.
She puts the glass down on a side table. “Beatriz, would you ever consider that the amazing sex you’re having with Aiden is much better in comparison to sharing your sexual fantasies with some random guy on the internet?”
“I’m not following.”
“I’m getting the sense that you have more potential with Aiden than some guy you’ve never met before. You have the real thing with Aiden. I don’t think that the Irish guy is suitor material.”
I pause. “I know, but there are things I can share with GalwayPlayer that I can’t with Aiden. He’d think I’m some kind of perv or something.”
“Ummm, honey, you had sex with Aiden twice. And from what I’m guessing, it blew your
fucking mind.”
I nod.
“Okay, so having said that, don’t you think Aiden would be fairly open-minded to anything you would want to try? I think he’d jump at the chance to make those fantasies real for you.”
I think she may be right.
A ping sounds from Marisol’s purse. She reaches for her phone, checking the screen. “Shit. I need to get home. Something’s up with my mom.”
“Everything okay?”
She nods in reply. “Yeah. She’s probably just having artist’s block or something. I help talk her off the ledge sometimes.”
We both rise to our feet. Marisol takes my hand. “Look, keep putting off your parents until I can put some money into Park and you won’t have to worry about the Thorne money. Just go along with them and this whole wedding thing. If they want to pick out china patterns at Bergdorf’s, think of it as practice for the real thing.”
I nod and give her a tight hug. “I will. Thanks, sweetie. I’ll keep you posted.”
“You’d better. And I’ll start thinking of places you can take me to lunch to pay me back for today.”
I laugh. “Of course you will.”
Once Marisol walks out, I grab my phone from my bag. I type quickly. Can you meet me at the Bowery Hotel tonight? 9 PM?
Bubbles appear within seconds on the screen. Moving north into the East Village now, are we? You’re taking a risk, Buzzy, Aiden teases me.
I smile to myself. You’re worth the risk. And there’s something we need to talk about when I see you.
My lips purse when at least a full minute passes by before he starts typing again. There’s something I need to tell you as well.
My heart drops. Is it bad?
Not at all. I’ll see you tonight.
I exhale a sigh of relief. Tonight, Full Ride.
Counting the hours, Buzzy.
Marisol is right. I need to start being honest with Aiden and GalwayPlayer, but most of all, with myself.
A soft knock sounds at the door. “Miss Parker, are you ready?”
I look into the cheval mirror in front of me, hold my head high, and smile back at myself, bursting from excitement knowing what I’m going to tell Aiden tonight.
