by Megyn Ward
When I finally moved from between her thighs, she’s sagging against the wall, caramel-colored hair falling across her face, breath ragged, body slicked in a sweat. She looks spent. Completely satisfied. I like that I’m the one who did that to her. That I’m the one who made her come.
Standing, I turn her around so that she’s facing me, tendrils of hair curving around her breasts. I work my pants down around my hips again. “Take your panties off,” I tell her, licking at the sweat-salted tips of her breasts and she arches into my mouth just before I break away again. Reaching into my pocket, I tear off one of the condom Conner gave me—God bless him—and I rip it open to roll it on.
She doesn’t say anything. She just watches me while she steps out of her panties.
I reach for her, fitting my hands under her ass. Lifting her, stepping into the widened cradle of her thighs. She wraps her legs around my hips, eagerly pulling me close until the tip of my cock finds the slick, wet center of her. I look down—watch as her soft, wet folds split around the blunt, swollen head of my shaft. I rock against her hips, pushing myself deeper and deeper with each thrust. “Fuck, Cari,” I groan against her neck. “Jesus, you’re so fucking tight.” The walls of her pussy squeeze around my cock and it feels so good I’m almost blinded by it. Unable to stop myself, knowing I have to get inside her, I grit my teeth and stroke into her with a deep, hard thrust that brings us hip to hip and has her letting out a shattered moan.
I don’t move. I can’t move. Not if I want this to last so I kiss her the way she kissed me that night in my car. My tongue licking and swirling inside her mouth. I kiss her until I can feel her drowning, until she’s lost to everyone but me. One arm anchored under her ass, I lift a hand to her breast. Caressing it, rolling its tight, swollen nipple between my fingers, squeezing until she cries out.
“Patrick, please...” Eyes closed, bottom lip caught between her teeth, she grinds her hips against me, urging me to move but I don’t.
Angling her farther off the wall, hands wrapped around her waist, I lift her up the length of my cock until just the tip is still buried inside her. “You want to come on my cock?” I say, lowering her just enough to make her moan. “If that’s what you want, you just have to ask.”
One of her hands slips off my shoulder and down my torso to find the place where we’re joined, her fingertips grazing the base of my cock as she finds her clit so she can stroke herself. “Please, Patrick... please let me...”
She lets her eyes slip closed on a shuttering sigh.
That sigh breaks something inside me. I’m no longer able to hide behind the calm, and there’s nothing reasonable about what I want to do to her. I want to fuck her for hours. Days. Make her come over and over, licking and sucking every inch of her until she’s completely wrecked.
Hands still wrapped around her waist, I slam her down the length of my shaft so hard and fast her eyes fly open, the fingers gripping my shoulder rake into my skin, the pain of it so thin and sweet I can feel my ball contract, getting ready to release. I fight the sensation off with a vicious growl. I’m not ready to let this end. Not yet.
Instead, I do what she wants. I fuck her like it’s my job.
I pound into her, my hips pound against the soft cradle of her thighs with deep, hard thrusts that bang her shoulders into the wall I have her pinned against with each spine-shattering stroke.
I step into her to bury my face in her throat with a groan, slipping my arm between her back and the wall to cushion her from the blows. “Is this it,” I rasp against her neck, using my free hand to angle her hips so that each of my thrusts rub the base of my cock against the clit she’s fingering. The smell of her—salty and sweet. Dark and warm—beg me to take a taste. “Is this what you want?” I lave my tongue along the column of her throat, but it’s not enough. I bare my teeth to the hammering pulse at the base of her neck, grazing and nipping against her skin but that’s not enough either.
“Yes... oh god, Patrick...” She’s sobbing now, ankles locked around my hips. Nails clawing into my shoulders while her other hand pushes up between us to squeeze her own breast. “I’m coming, I’m...”
She shatters around me, her pussy baring down on my cock, gripping it like a fist. I keep fucking her through her orgasm, my hips pounding against hers, hard and fast. Her hands latch on to my shoulders again, the heels of her cherry-red heels digging into my ass like spurs, urging me to take what I want. To use her the way she used me.
My own orgasm hits me like a speeding train, my balls tightening and tingling while stars explode in front of my eyes. She cries out again, the inner walls of her pussy tightening, pulling me deeper. I crush her against me, pinning her between my chest and wall, her arms and legs wrapped around me. Hair tangled and wild. Breath ragged and harsh.
The euphoria doesn’t last. Within seconds, I remember how I got here. How she played me. How she pushed me. Years of games and frustration—of being jerked around like a puppet—for nothing more than her own personal amusement.
I’m a chump.
The thought has me stepping back. 24-hours ago I would have done just about anything to be where I am now. And now, I just want to disappear.
I’m hurt. And that makes me angry... it also makes me a little dangerous.
We looked at each other, long and hard, for a few seconds. Assessing one another carefully. She must know I’m angry, can probably see it written all over my face. “Will you at least let me explain?” she says, pushing her long, thick tangle of hair out of her eyes.
I shake my head. I didn’t wanted to hear an explanation while I was fucking her and I sure as hell wasn’t in the mood for one now. “That’s not necessary,” I say, jerking the condom off my cock before zipping up my pants for the second time in one night. “I think I understand perfectly.” I drop the condom, unceremoniously, into the wastepaper basket by her door.
She watches me, arms crossed over her chest—whether it’s to hide herself from me or because she’s angry, I don’t know. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” I bend down to retrieve her robe and toss it at her. “You’re just sorry you got caught.” I say before I walk out. The last thing I hear before I leave is her bedroom door as it quietly clicks shut.
Twenty-one
Patrick
I find Conner where I left him, only this time he isn’t alone. Hemmed into the booth by a trio of co-eds—two blondes and a redhead—he saw me coming. By the time I slid into the booth across from him, my cousin wears the kind of grin that would make the Cheshire Cat wonder what he’d been up to.
“It worked,” he says, taking in my misbuttoned shirt, undone belt and generally disheveled appearance. “Fuck me, it actually worked.”
“What worked?” I say, scanning the crowded bar for Lisa. I spot her over by the pool tables, slinging drinks. When she sees me, she cuts me a quick smile—one that says she’s embarrassed about what happened but not so embarrassed that she wouldn’t give it another go. The blonde sitting next to me slides across the booth, inching a bit closer—so close her smooth, bare thigh is pressed against me and I can smell pop princess perfume. She’s been looking at me, practically licking her chops, since I sat down. I try out my Gilroy grin again, letting her have it. She responds by putting her hand on my knee.
Will wonders never cease?
“You banged Legs.” Conner says it proudly—like I’ve just birthed him a son and I look at him, suddenly putting it all together.
Lisa and the handsy blonde forgotten, I lean across the table. “What did you do, Conner?” I ask, even though I’ve already guessed. He’s the reason Cari walked in on Lisa and me. He’d somehow gotten her to come home early from her date.
He leans away from me and laughs. “Me?” he says, green eyes round with feigned innocence. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You guys look alike,” the girl sitting to Conner’s left says, flipping her bleach-blonde hair over a self-tanned shoulder.
“Are you twins?”
“No—he’s my clone. Bought one of those self-cloning kits off Amazon.” I say before Conner has the chance, and the blonde’s face crumples slightly like she’s trying to figure out if I’m joking or not—my guess is she’s not attending college on an academic scholarship.
Before she can ask, Conner reaches into his pocket, pulling out a wad of bills, peeling several off. “How about you go pay our tab so we can get out of here,” He drops the money into the redhead’s open hand with a grin. “Go back to your place.” Conner never takes them home.
“Are you coming too?” Suddenly the blonde sitting next to me is practically in my lap, her hand wrapped around the inside of my thigh.
I maneuver myself away from her, sliding out of the booth so she can join her friends. “Maybe I’ll try to swing by later,” I say, holding out a hand to help her up and she pouts prettily at my answer.
“Try hard,” she says, trailing her fingertip over my shoulder as she wandered toward the bar with her friends.
As soon as they’re gone, I turn on Conner again. “What did you do—” I advance on him, cocking my head. “and don’t tell me nothing.”
“I may have call her and told her you fell down the stairs to your apartment.” He says it fast, like he’s ripping off a bandage.
“Are you for real?” I don’t know if I want to laugh or choke the shit out of him.
Conner shrugged. “Look—that girl has been leading you around by your balls for years and since you let her move in, it’s been fucking unbearable to watch. I had to do something.”
“So, you decide to Parent Trap us?” I say it like I’m mad but I’m not—not really. How can I be? Conner interfered but considering my face had been buried between Cari’s legs less than an hour ago, I’m having a hard time being angry.
“I sure the fuck did,” he says, without an ounce of remorse. “You two have been dancing around each other for so long I was starting to get dizzy.”
“How’d you even know it’d work?” I say, shaking my head.
“Are you kidding me?” he says, looking at me like I’m a mentally-challenged toddler. “Let me let you in on a little secret—men and women: not so different as they would like us to believe. They want what they can’t have, the same as we do.”
“I don’t know... she was pissed. Still is,” I say, thinking for the first time that maybe this wasn’t what I wanted—it certainly wasn’t how I’d wanted it. “She’s moving out.”
Now Conner smirked. “She say that before or after you fucked her?”
I glare and he laughs, shaking his head.
“You want her to move out?” he says, laughing again as soon as he finishes the question. The look on my face must’ve answered his question just fine. “Okay. Do you love her or is it just about the sex?”
Love or sex? For Conner it’d never been an issue—love never factors into the equation. The only thing he loves is sex.
I look behind me to find all three girls waiting for him by the front door, ready to go. “Your groupies are waiting,” I say, avoiding the question.
He shrugs, a cocky half-smile resting comfortably on his face. “They’re not going anywhere.”
I’ve been lusting after Cari for so long, maybe I’ve confused the two. Maybe I don’t know what I want anymore. All I know is that as hurt and angry as I am, I can still taste her. Still smell her and I not ready to walk away from that... but she’s been playing me for months—hell, years.
It’s time to give her a taste of her own medicine.
“I don’t know, cousin...” I say, signaling Lisa to bring me a beer. “But we’re gonna find out.”
Twenty-two
Cari
What the hell just happened?
He left me here. Walked out the front door while I brace myself against the wall, naked and slightly dizzy from the absolute best fuck of my life. I can’t follow him, even if I wanted to. I’m pretty sure my knees would buckle before I took my first step.
Waiting until my breathing returned to normal, I brace a hand against the wall while reaching down with the other to pull off one heel and then the other. Flat on the ground again, I feel a little bit better.
I don’t know what to do. The rash, impulsive me wants to throw on some clothes and charge downstairs. Hound him until he listens to reason. Until he lets me explain. The rational, prudent me—the me I should’ve been listening to all along—is telling me to let him go. He’s angry and he has every right to be. Just give him some space. Let him cool off.
Is that what I am to you, Cari? A joke?
No. Nothing about what just happened was even remotely funny.
Totally unexpected? Yes. Ridiculously hot? Hell, yes.
So hot I want to do it again.
I instantly reject the idea. Less than thirty minutes ago, I walked in on him getting a blowjob in our living room and what do I do? I let him fuck me. What self-respecting woman does that? And I didn’t just let him—I begged him to.
Please fuck me, Patrick…
The memory heats my cheeks, the warm flush streaking lower to pool, hot and heavy between my thighs. Incredibly, I’m not ashamed of what the way I behaved. What I let him do to me. I’m ashamed that I’m not ashamed, if that makes any kind of sense.
I decide to listen to rational me. I’m not chasing after Patrick Gilroy. If he wants to talk, he knows where to find me.
I think about a shower. I need one. I smell like Patrick. And sex. Instead of heading for the bathroom, I decide to go to bed. I’m about to crawl between the sheets when I hear my cell chime from the living room, signaling a text. Retrieving it from my purse, I carry it back to my room. It’s a text from Trevor.
Trevor: CALL ME.
I’d rather jump naked into the harbor.
The texts keep rolling in, one after another.
Trevor: CALL ME.
Trevor: CALL ME.
Trevor: CALL ME.
Trevor: CALL ME.
Trevor: CALL ME.
James says hi.
It’s what he said me as I was leaving the restaurant.
James says hi.
I tap out a response.
Me: Tell James I said fuck off.
That goes 2x for you.
I get a response almost immediately.
Trevor: Yur going to be sorry you said that.
Whatever. Not wanting to deal with it, I set my phone to silent and resolve to call my provider in the morning and have Trevor’s number blocked from my contact list. If that doesn’t work, I’ll change my number.
I set my phone plug my phone into its charger before tossing it onto my nightstand. Laying down, I slip beneath the blankets and settle in, listening to the dull roar of Friday night college revelry going on down stairs. On a typical Friday night, I’d be down there, shooting pool with Tess and Patrick, taking bets on which co-ed would crack first and follow Conner into the ladies’ room.
No doubt Patrick is down there and if he is with Conner, there’s no telling what they’re doing. Or who they were doing it to. I push the thought out of my head. Who Patrick fucks is none of my business. I think about the scene I walked in on, Lisa the cocktail waitress on her knees in front of him. Patrick’s jeans open and jerked down around his hips. Her mouth on his cock. The way he looked at me when he saw he standing there. Like he wished it was me. Me on my knees in from of him. My mouth he was fucking.
Like he hated me for it.
I wake up way earlier than I want to. Reaching for my phone, I see it’s barely 7AM on a Saturday. Also, I have a waiting text message. Thankfully, it’s not from Trevor.
Tess: So…
I scowl at my phone for a few moments before tapping out a response.
Me: So what?
Tess: Quit being a dick.
You and PP—did it happen?
PP. Predictable Patrick. I look over the foot of my bed, at the wall Patrick’d had me pushed against last night, his face buried between my legs. I ca
n still feel him pressed against me. Moving inside me... not even Nostradamus could’ve predicted that.
Me: yes
Tess: OMG!! FINALLY!! I want details.
Scratch that. I deserve details! Plus, you
owe me lunch. I can take my break around
2.
The last thing I want to do is go into detail with anyone about what happened last night. Any other guy—sure. But this isn’t any other guy. This is Patrick.
Me: K. Meet me down stairs?
Tess: c u @ 2
I won the bet!!
I set my phone back down and get out of bed because if I lay here for one more second, thinking about him, I’m going to go crazy. I reach for my robe, actually tried to put it on before I remembered what had happened to it. I lifted it to my nose and breathed deep. It smells like him. Like us.
Hanging the shredded robe on its hook, I pull on a pair of boxers I stole from Patrick’s laundry a few weeks ago. They were blue paid, worn thin and soft. I don’t even know why I’d taken them other than the fact that they were his.
Adding a baggy white T-shirt before throwing my hair into a quick ponytail, I finally gather the courage to open my bedroom door. The apartment is quiet, Patrick’s bedroom door firmly shut. He’d been drunk last night. Drunk enough to bring one of Gilroy’s cocktail waitresses up here for a quickie.
I want to be mad at him for it but I can’t—not really. I’m the one who’d pushed him after all. Maybe if I’d just been honest about what I wanted instead of agreeing to play Tess’s head games, things would’ve happened differently.
Or maybe they wouldn’t have happened at all.
Irrational me rears her ugly head, urging me to justify the damage I’d done. The delicious ache between my legs helped convince me that irrational me is right. I got what I was after. Sure, Patrick was angry but he’d get over it. I just have to find a way to apologize and set things right.
