The Sun and the Moon (Giving You ... Book 1)

by Leslie McAdam

  "No problem. I'll see you Friday. I'll pick you up at six."

  Friday evening, I showered slowly and carefully, shaving everything. After, I lubed up with lotion, used my perfect scent, and fussed over my hair, letting it be down and in waves. I put on heavier eye makeup than I usually did.

  I put on my dress. Marie and I had found a great satin dress, in a "sheen green" color from Crayola. Look it up. It was strapless, and the bodice folded over at the top, hugged my curves, with a matching belt at the waist, and then went straight down. Since my ass was not straight, I made the dress curvy. It was the kind of dress Ava Gardner would wear with gloves above her elbows, while dripping in diamonds. Since it was about sixty years too late to wear gloves, I didn't. Instead, I wore strappy, silver heels and earrings with three diamonds hanging in a row connected by platinum chains. They were the nicest ones I owned.

  I liked how I looked.

  Thinking about the narrowness of the skirt of my dress, I was wondering how I was going to get this dress into Ryan's truck, and figured that I'd offer him my Mercedes. Still, by the time he knocked, I was ready. I’d never been the type to make a guy wait, so I figured that I wouldn’t start now. I picked up my silver envelope clutch that held my phone, an ID, twenty dollars, and my lipstick, grabbed my keys, and opened the door.

  I was breathless.

  Ryan stood there in a tuxedo, a classic tuxedo. His tan face and curly hair contrasted with the crisp bright white of his shirt. He wore a black tie, his jacket was buttoned up, and his shoes were shiny. I loved the stripe going down the side of his pants. As usual, he smelled clean and fresh, but manly.

  "You look gorgeous," I managed.

  "I could say the same for you," he replied, and kissed me on the cheek. "I really want to mess up your lipstick, but I imagine that you might kill me."

  "You're right. I would kill you," I agreed, not meaning it in the slightest.

  He smiled at me, unabashedly looking me up and down. Then he shook his head and held out his hand for me to follow him. "You look so fucking sexy, Amelia. Thanks for coming."

  I locked my door, and he led me down the path to a shiny, black Tesla. "Where's your truck?"

  "Not the type of night for a truck," he said. "Thought this would be better." I figured that he'd borrowed it from a friend, and I didn't ask any more questions, not wanting him to feel bad. I wondered how much the tux rental had set him back. They certainly did a good job measuring him. There was no indication that this was a rental. He must have picked a nice place.

  "So where are we going?"

  "Bacara." Ooh boy. I had been to Bacara once before for a business lunch, and you couldn't get two ham sandwiches and two ice teas for less than a hundred bucks. I should have brought more than twenty dollars in my purse.

  "Wow. That's posh."

  He looked over to me and smiled. "It's a fundraiser for a charity that my parents started. If you have it at a nice place, the people who need to be there to donate will come with their wallets open."

  "What kind of charity?"

  "Cancer research. I lost my dad to cancer, my mom to a ski accident. Both while I was in high school."

  I was aghast. "I am so sorry." Why didn’t I know this? Hadn’t I asked him any questions about himself? He had told me so much about himself, but I realized that he had not told me much about his history. I couldn't imagine losing both of your parents while you were in high school.

  "I had to grow up pretty quickly. But I carry on their traditions and this is one of them." We drove in the quiet Tesla, no music playing, and I appreciated its comfortable interior. It wasn’t that far of a drive to the luxurious Bacara hotel, and soon enough we pulled into the resort, and a valet approached. Ryan handed the valet his keys, and came around to escort me out and down to the ballroom where the event was.

  I saw a sign that said "FIELDING PHARMACEUTICALS FOUNDATION" with an arrow pointing to the event area, which was decorated with white orchids everywhere. Like I thought. Posh.

  And then I realized.

  Fielding Pharmaceuticals.

  Fielding.

  Ryan Fielding.

  Ohmigod.

  He was an heir to the Fielding fortune.

  I was such an idiot.

  In awe, I looked at him again. He wasn't a surf bum or a coffee shop manager. He was a mogul.

  "Shall we?" he asked, giving me an admiring look, as he held out his arm to lead me into an area with people dressed in tuxedos and gowns, jewelry everywhere and waiters circulating with champagne glasses. Trembling, I didn't know what to do. Normally I could handle these types of events, but now I felt completely stupid.

  I wasn't the one slumming with him; he was slumming with me.

  Exorcism

  I TURNED TO RYAN.

  "I need you to fuck me. Right fucking now," I exhaled.

  His body stiffened, and he looked at me in surprise. Then he started to grin, but looked me in the eyes and looked concerned, his eyebrows furrowing, his jaw set. "Do you want the coat closet or do you want me to get a room?"

  I loved that he didn't question it.

  "Either, Ryan. Now." I ordered.

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me to the check-in desk. "We need a suite," he demanded.

  "Yes, Mr. Fielding," smiled the obsequious male employee, who started to type on a computer. Of course they fucking knew him at Bacara. The employee continued, "That will be-"

  "It doesn't matter," Ryan cut him off and handed the employee a black AMEX credit card (why hadn't I noticed it before?) and signed the check-in form. The employee handed him two keys, and then Ryan grabbed my hand, and pulled me to the elevator.

  The elevator opened immediately, and he hauled me inside, then pushed me to the walls, pressing his hard body against mine.

  "What the fuck, Amelia? Are you okay?"

  "No. No, I'm not. I need you to fuck it out of me."

  "Fuck what out of me?"

  "That I'm a fucking snob."

  He shook his head slightly, and looked adorably confused. "What?"

  "I thought you were a coffee shop manager."

  "I am a coffee shop manager."

  "But you're Ryan Fielding. Everyone knows about Fielding Pharmaceuticals. I had no idea you were related."

  "So?" he challenged.

  "You're completely out of my class."

  He pulled back, his face looking thunderous. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

  "Do you own that coffee shop?"

  "Yeah. I own ten, and I'm working on franchising them."

  "Then why are you working the counter and wiping down tables and driving around a beat up old truck, for fuck's sake?" I yell-whispered.

  The elevator door opened. He grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hall. I was practically running in my heels to keep up with him. He opened the door, hauled me in, and closed the door, then slammed me up against it. He didn't turn on the light and I didn't bother to look at the room. I only saw him. He glared at me, his body pressed to mine, fury emanating from him.

  "Slowly, now, so that I understand. What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On?" he demanded.

  "I thought you were just a surf bum and a coffee shop manager. I'm totally attracted to you, but I thought … I thought … I'm such a bitch …." I trailed off.

  "You thought I was lower than you," he hissed.

  I really didn't want him to know that was what I'd thought of him. But I wasn't going to lie. Time for the truth. "Yeah," I admitted.

  He pulled away from me with a growl, turning away. Then he looked back at me, his face pained. "What does money have to do with anything?"

  "I'm sorry. It's the way I was raised. It's everything to my parents. In fact, my mom found out I was seeing you, and tried to get me to stop." He looked incredulous. "Obviously I stuck up for you, and told her she was wrong. But still, there was this part of me who was, who was … ." I couldn't finish that sentence. "So now I come here and I find out that you've been hiding all of this f
rom me," I continued, gesturing around the room.

  "What, exactly, did I hide from you?" he asked, dripping with venom.

  "That you're way out of my league."

  "I'm not. I didn't hide anything from you. I invited you to my house, for God's sake."

  "Where do you live?"

  "Faria Beach, on PCH." It figured that he lived on Pacific Coast Highway, the ocean-front location of world-class real estate. A shack cost two million dollars. I shook my head. "Honestly, Amelia, I figured that since you looked me up, and knew that I went to high school with you, that you Googled me." I shook my head in response.

  "Is there a Wikipedia article about you?"

  "Yes. I figured that you'd already read it, since you Google everything."

  Fuck. Completely out of character, I hadn't Googled him. We stared at each other.

  "Is this a reason not to see me?" he asked, still pissed. "My money?" he spat out.

  I paused.

  "No." But then I went on. "But you're not who I thought you were."

  "I'm exactly who you thought I was," Ryan argued back. "Nothing's changed." He looked me in the eyes and, after a moment, when he spoke again, his voice softened. "You really didn't know, did you?"

  "No," I said, quietly.

  "I'm so used to people knowing who I am and wanting me for my money, I just assume—" he began.

  "I assumed, too. We were both wrong, I think. I think I just learned a lesson about not jumping to conclusions about someone."

  "I'm not going to hide it, I'm pissed at you, Amelia. What the fuck are you thinking about money and class and shit like that for? Isn't the only thing that matters whether we like each other, and whether we make each other happy?"

  "You're totally right." I felt contrite. "I'm an asshole. I don't deserve you."

  "Stop it." He took a deep breath, let it out, and looked down at me. "First fight, huh? Well, I wasn't expecting tonight to be one for a fight." He gave me an ironic smile.

  "That makes two of us," I muttered. "So what do we do now?"

  "I just want to be with you. I couldn't give a rat's ass what happens downstairs. I can make excuses if I need to."

  "Do you have to give a speech?"

  He looked away. "Yeah."

  "Fuck. When?"

  "Not until after dinner. Look, you're more important. Are you ready to go back down? Do you need to chill here for a while? Do you need me to fuck you?"

  "Door number three," I whispered.

  "Yeah, me too," he whispered back. And then a change came over him, and he went into Ryan-Alpha-hot-guy-in-control mode. "Come on. I don't want to mess up your hair too much, it's too pretty, so we're going to do this this way." Now that I looked around, I was in the most incredible hotel room I'd ever been in. A luxury suite, tastefully decorated in soothing beiges and modern furniture, with more rooms than I could see. "Keep those sexy as fuck shoes on. I'm going to bend you over the bed, and fuck the bitch-snob out of you. Deal?" I nodded. "I need to hear you say it."

  "Deal" I said, more strongly. "Make me forget that I ever thought less of you."

  We went into one of the bedrooms—there were two!—and he pressed me into the bed, breasts crushed against the mattress, ass in the air, still fully clothed.

  "I'm going to mess you up a little bit, but not too much. You're just too hot, your gorgeous ass in this dress. I had to fight getting hard, seeing you." He lifted up the skirt of my dress, way up over my hips and waist, and put his face on my lower back, kissing me softly. Then he hooked his fingers in both sides of my panties and put his teeth on the waistband of my panties, peeling them slowly off of me with his fingers and his teeth, his nose trailing down my lower back, my butt crack, and between my legs, as I stepped out of them. I looked back, and he had shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket, and flung it on an armchair.

  He knelt between my legs, pushing them way apart, and licked his way up my leg, pausing to suck on the back of my knee, and then traced his tongue up my inner thigh to my pussy.

  So now I was calling it "my pussy." Progress.

  My ass up in the air, his face between my cheeks, he began to lick and suck my pussy in his dominant, giving, way. He fondled my butt then slipped a finger into my pussy, as he licked my clit, my legs spread wide, my face pushed into the bed. This was what I needed.

  "Oh, fuck yes. Yes."

  He built me up quickly, my sensitive nerve endings singing as he licked and caressed me with his tongue and fingered me with expertise.

  It built.

  It built some more.

  It built even more.

  Sensations, pleasure, feeling, tension, and more pleasure, all built, centered on the activity of his tongue, that man between my legs.

  Then I came, a full and complete release of all the tension, all the crap, all of my mistakes, my scream muffled by the bedspread. I released my ignorance, my bitchiness, and my colossal error in judgment about this awesome guy.

  In a flash, he had unbuttoned his tuxedo pants, lowered his zipper, adjusted his boxers, and released his cock, rolling a condom on.

  Yes.

  Quickly, he filled me up from behind with his huge cock. This time, he didn't wait for me to get used to the size of him within me, just started thrusting as I came down from my orgasm. As was my custom with Ryan, I lost the ability to process rational thought. All I was doing was feeling. I was in the moment, feeling pleasure, feeling the delicious pain of him hitting me up at my womb (or wherever in my body the tip of his penis hit), feeling him go in and out, in and out. I was glorying in the connection with this amazing man.

  "Oh, fuck me, you are so wet. This is so hot. You are so goddamned beautiful, I'm going to come so hard." He kept up a kind of muttered dirty diatribe, as he thrust and thrust into me.

  This was fucking, no question about it. Rutting. He was not making love to me. Even though we were in a classy place, partially dressed in classy clothes, this was baser stuff. He got me off, and now he was getting off.

  But the thing was, I loved it. It was a monumental connection with him. I turned him on, he turned me on, but we also were creating something new here. His hands were braced against the bed, fucking me thoroughly, without apology. Even though he wasn't stimulating my clit, I could feel an orgasm coming.

  Fucking hell.

  I had never, never, never had an orgasm through penetrative sex alone. I’d never come without someone, or me, stimulating my clit on the outside.

  But something about Ryan hitting the inside walls of my pussy, there's that word again, must have really hit the right spot, because I started to convulse again. This time my orgasm was sweeter, more surprising, and more intense than ever before. Ever, in my life. It was a different feeling, a different sort of orgasm, more natural and organic, unforced, and overwhelming. With every quick, hard thrust of his cock, he stimulated the right spot. Boy, it was like he hit a trigger on a reaction that I never knew I could have.

  I came. Again. Just by his cock stimulating the right spot.

  This time I completely came apart, uninhibited. I screamed, I clenched the sheets and released them, my arms and legs were completely useless, and I felt amazing.

  Ryan thrust a few more times and, his dick impossibly huge within me, he shuddered. I actually felt the warmth of his cum within the condom. He collapsed on my back, breathing hard. I was breathing hard too.

  We just lay there for a while, our breathing strained, until it eventually regulated. He pulled my hair out of the way, nuzzled my neck, and said hoarsely, "Wow."

  "Yeah. Wow. I think you fucked not only the snob out of me, but also the bitch, and you may have even exorcised the princess too."

  "I like the princess," he said against my neck. "The snob and the bitch, eh, I'm fine with, but if you wanted an exorcism of them via fucking, I'm happy to have been the one to do it."

  He pulled out of me and pushed up, pulling off the condom and heading into the bathroom. "Be right back."

  I shoved my face i
n the bedspread, and took a deep breath. I couldn't move, but I sure felt better.

  Stuck in the Middle with You

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, we left the suite to rejoin the charity dinner downstairs. We both looked a little flushed, me more than Ryan, but we were mostly put back together. I certainly felt calmer. Ryan held my hand lightly.

  The seaside Bacara resort was beautiful, with Moorish style architecture and expansive grounds, an indoor-outdoor facility, comfortable year round. We walked to the ballroom for the reception and checked in at the table outside the room, receiving our table assignments: Mr. Fielding and Ms. Crowley, Table 1. Of course, we were at the first table in the front of the room, in the middle. The table of honor.

  I didn't know how many people were there. Hundreds? A lot. Everyone was dressed up and holding elegant drink glasses, chatting, listening to music, and bidding on a silent auction. Apparently we had not missed the event entirely with our interlude.

  We made our way through the crowd to get to our assigned table, so that I could set down my purse, and I learned that we were seated with the key note speaker, a prominent oncologist, and the President of the Fielding Pharmaceuticals Foundation, along with their families.

  Ryan held my seat out for me, and I took it. Then he pushed it in for me. Now I knew why he had such elegant manners; he was used to it.

  "Would you like a drink?"

  I nodded. "White wine."

  "Okay," he said, "I'll be back."

  He headed to the bar, through the crowd. Although there were people milling around everywhere, because, as I now knew, he was a local celebrity, the crowd parted, and people stared at him everywhere he went. The reaction of the crowd was not just because of his height, his masculine beauty, and the grace of his lean, muscular body. He had a presence. Yes, he was tall and handsome, but he also had a magnetism that made people want to look at him. They got out of his way.

  A few people stopped him on his way to the bar to shake his hand, and he was genial and friendly. I watched him as he waited in line for our drinks.

  While I waited, I looked at the program for the dinner. I almost gasped when I learned that this was a $2,500-a-plate dinner.