by Lulu Pratt
Zane’s shocked to see me there naked, but he gets over it pretty quickly. After all, what guy wouldn’t? I imagine wrapping my fingers around his erection and starting slow, working up and down while I marvel at the girth of him, the length. I imagine Zane kissing me, dipping down to my breasts, claiming one and then the other with his lips and tongue even as he slips one hand between my legs to feel the warmth and wetness there.
I slide two fingers inside myself and press my lips together to smother the moan that rises in my throat. Zane’s fingers would be thicker, longer, probing me harder, but it’s good enough for now, especially with my thumb swirling around my pleasure center. Especially with the sight of Zane getting closer and closer to his own climax only feet away from me. I’m soaking wet, so slippery that suddenly it’s easy to think of how Zane’s cock would fit inside, no matter how tight I am.
I imagine Zane laying me down on his bed, kissing me again and then working his way down, down, until I’m trembling from how much I need him to get to the point already. In my mind, he buries his face against my pussy. I start working my fingers faster, spreading my legs wider as I imagine Zane worshipping me with his lips and tongue and his fingers. I can’t even really cover the moans leaving my throat anymore. The hand that isn’t working my clit cups and squeezes my breasts as Zane would, teasing my nipples as Zane would, making me even hotter.
I wish I had thought to bring my vibrator with me. But I’m stuck with just my hands as I imagine Zane finally pulling back and slithering up over my body to kiss me again, tasting a little bit like my own fluids. Then, oh God, I imagine him finally thrusting into me, inch by thick inch. I pull my fingers out completely and slowly sink them back inside myself, trying to duplicate the sensation, trying to imagine taking that thick, hard erection inside me.
By the time I finally hit climax, stars swimming in my vision, my whole body tensing and relaxing in little spasms of pleasure. I barely even realize that Zane has long since finished. The light is off over in his room, but I’m still stuck in my own little imaginary place. I keep myself going for as long as I can stand after the climax, but my clit is so sensitive, and my hand is wet from how hard I came. I sit in the chair a little while longer, catching my breath, letting my pulse slow, and stumble into my bathroom to wash my hands, to wipe myself off, before crawling back between the sheets to finally fall asleep.
CHAPTER TEN
ZANE LEWIS
“Why don’t you let Harper have control of the stereo for a while?” I look up from what I’m doing at the sound of my mother’s voice, cutting through Outkast playing over the speakers in the living room.
“Harper,” I call out.
She’s on the other end of the room, sorting through pictures for the slide show my parents want to play on the TV during the big party they’re throwing in a few days.
“You got a problem with what I’m playing on the system?”
“Nope,” Harper calls back, barely looking up from what she’s doing. Part of me is pleased, another part of me wants her to argue just for the sake of arguing. I can remember how she looks when she gets ticked off. After seeing her naked the night before, I want to see her ticked off again. I know before I go to bed tonight I’m going to be reliving the sight of her in nothing at all, and imagining her in my bed.
“Just give her your phone, Zane,” Mom insists. “Let Harper pick the songs for a bit.”
“We’re not in middle school anymore, Mom,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. “If she wants to change the playlist she can say something.”
I’m putting together some piece of furniture that Mom got from IKEA to be a buffet or something for the big party. Mom and Nadine have been in the kitchen for a while, cleaning china or polishing silver, something like that. There are a million things to do around the house to get it ready for the party Mom and Dad want to throw.
“Just make sure you’re giving her equal time with the sound system,” Mom says, turning to leave before I can manage to argue again. I work on the weird piece of furniture for a few more minutes and take my phone out of my pocket.
“You want to put something else on?”
Harper looks up at my question from the pile of photos she’s organizing.
“If you’re bored, then sure,” Harper says, shrugging. She gets up and I watch her come to me. She’s wearing a skirt and a T-shirt. She took her shoes off when she came in, and her socks come up to just under her knees.
Does she have any fucking idea how much she looks like a schoolgirl gone bad right now? The skirt isn’t even plaid, and of course the T-shirt wouldn’t be in any school uniform, but the sight of her shapely legs, and knowing what she’s got underneath her clothes, is enough to make my mouth water and my cock respond.
I unlock my phone and hand it to her, turning back to building. The song playing over the stereo stops, and a moment later something else entirely, rock with heavy guitars and a crooning-shrieking vocalist, comes on. Harper does a little dance as she heads back to the table she’s been sitting at with the pictures. I grin to myself.
“I would have expected Katy Perry or someone like that,” I tell her, finishing one end of the piece of furniture I’m working on.
“Oh hell no,” Harper says. “Even when I was in high school, you should have known better.”
I laugh. “What were you listening to in high school?” I ask.
“Lots of old stuff,” Harper replies, not looking at me. “Old Strokes, Silverchair, Deep Purple and Led Zeppelin that Dad played for me. Nirvana.”
After a while both our mothers come into the living room, and I see Nadine roll her eyes at the music. My mom’s pretty into it though, dancing with her bottle of water. I have to admit I’ve gotten into it a bit too.
“Did you tell Harper you’re up for re-enlistment soon?”
Harper looks up at Mom’s question, and I see her cheeks go pink, but I have no idea why she’d be embarrassed.
“No, I’ve been trying to keep that close to the vest,” I tell her.
“You told your father and me, why not the Polsens?”
“I just don’t really want to talk about it with anyone yet,” I say, moving the finished behemoth of particle board and enamel over to the wall where it’s going to be for the big party. It actually looks pretty good with everything else in the room.
“Why not? I think it’s a good thing to talk about,” Mom says. She reaches for the control and turns down the music just a little bit, enough to where we don’t have to practically shout to hear each other, and Nadine sits down with her.
“If I never see another piece of wedding china or wedding silver again, it will be too soon,” Nadine informs us all. “Your mother,” she says to me with a smile, “apparently opted for the most over-the-top set that money could buy.”
“I thought I was going to have great dinner parties and luncheons,” Mom says, sighing. “Little did I realize that without a personal chef and a housekeeper, events like that are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“So, Zane, you’re thinking of going back in when your tour of duty is up?”
I’d been hoping that Nadine had changed the subject for good, but there she was, reminding me of something I didn’t really want to talk about.
“I’m thinking about it,” I admit. “I haven’t come to any kind of conclusion yet.”
“Harper’s got some top-secret project going on at her job,” Nadine offers. “Tell them about it, sweetie.”
“I’m not really supposed to talk about it,” Harper says. She picks up a box of pictures that she’d marked ‘slideshow’ and brings them to the couch. “But I can tell you a few things.”
“Top-secret project? Tell me you’re ghostwriting some congressman’s mistress’ memoirs or something,” Mom says.
Harper laughs. Another song comes on, and this one I actually recognize, Foo Fighters’ “Everlong.”
“There’s a major author, whose name I can’t disclose because of confidentiality,�
� Harper explains, “who’s been writing books for our publishing company for a while now.”
“Can we guess the name and you tell us if it’s the right one or not?” my mom asks with a smile.
Harper laughs again. “I could get in trouble for that,” she says. “But anyway, he’s been writing for us for a long time, and the editor he started out working with recently retired, so they’ve assigned me to be his new editor for the next book.”
“Congrats,” I say, wondering again why Harper’s started blushing. What does she have to be embarrassed about?
“It’s a big deal,” Nadine says. “We’re all really proud of her.”
“Well of course you are!” Mom adds. “That is awesome! My surrogate daughter is going to have a major book come out with her name in it.”
“I won’t be on the cover,” Harper admits. “I mean, I’ll be named in the acknowledgements and all that. The credits, that kind of thing.”
“As soon as you can tell us who it is, and the name of the book, you’d better,” Mom tells her. She starts looking through the pictures Harper has chosen, and Nadine pulls Harper to sit down next to her.
I catch, maybe, half a second’s glimpse of Harper’s panties, another lacy-frilly set like the ones she was in the night before. It’s all I can do to not react.
“Do you get any kind of royalties for it?” I ask.
Harper shrugs. “It depends,” she says. “We haven’t really worked out those details yet, since the author in question only just accepted me to work on his book.”
“Does it come with a pay increase at least?” Zane asks.
Harper shrugs again. “Like I said, there are a lot of details to work out,” she continues. “But if I do well on this, then I’ll probably be promoted to a main editor, which would mean more and bigger projects.”
“Both our kids are doing well in their careers, how about that?” Mom says, gesturing from me to Harper. “And both of them came out looking gorgeous. Figure the odds on that one.”
Harper and I grin at each other, rolling our eyes. I need to find something else to do before I suggest to Harper that we go somewhere more private.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HARPER POLSEN
I look up at the sky from the hammock my parents installed sometime after my last visit, enjoying the sun and the breeze. Zane, my mom and I have been helping with projects around the Lewises’ house to get ready for the big anniversary party in a couple of days, and since the stuff that needs to be done today is best done by professionals, I actually have some time free to just chill out.
I’m thinking about the big book project. I got an email earlier in the morning from the office, full of paperwork I need to print, sign, scan and return after I get back and before the project starts. It can wait until I’m back in the office, but if I do that I’ll have to have it in before my boss even gets into work. Besides, I know it’s better to at least have a good understanding of what I’m getting myself into before I sign anything.
“Hey!”
I start almost enough to take a tumble out of the hammock and look around to see Zane walking to me from his parents’ house.
“Hey yourself,” I say, righting myself in the hammock. “I figured you’d be like, I don’t know, out meeting with the boys. Finding a bar.”
“I’m not all drinking and video games, you know,” Zane says with a smirk.
“The same way that I’m not all books and craft projects,” I counter.
Zane sinks down onto the grass a few feet away from me, and I turn enough to be able to look at him without missing the beautiful sky above me.
“I mean, of the two of us you’re the more successful,” Zane points out. “So I guess books and crafts are pretty solid things to base your life on.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re successful enough,” I tell him. “I mean, if the military wants you to stay in. I think I remember people saying you’ve got specialist training and all that.”
“Yeah, but as long as you follow the rules you pretty much succeed in the military, to a point, anyway.” Zane insists. “You went to college and got that degree, and got a job right out of school.”
“I know a lot of people who weren’t able to work in their field,” I admit. “It was sheer luck on my part, at least half luck.”
“Half luck still leaves half hard work,” Zane reminds me. “And all the luck in the world won’t help you if you’re shit at your job. They’re about to trust you with some star author.”
“That’s one of the few things I can really claim,” I tell him. “He chose me out of the editors available.”
“How did they make him choose?”
I shrug. “They gave him samples of my editing work, notes that I’ve made on manuscripts, stuff like that, along with the other available editors’ work. Of course, if he hadn’t wanted any of us, they would have made an editor available for him.”
“So he thought you were the best of the ones available,” Zane points out.
“Yeah, I just got a bunch of paperwork to look over,” I tell him. “Non-disclosure agreement, information on the possibility of a royalties bonus, early completion bonus, things like that.”
“Sounds like what I’ve started getting down the line,” Zane says. “Stuff about reenlistment and what I can expect, along with what benefits I’m entitled to if I decide not to reenlist.”
“Do you think you’re going to?” I’m not sure why, but the question makes me anxious. What does it matter to me if Zane reenlists or not? I hadn’t even seen him for years until the other day.
“I don’t know yet,” Zane replies. “Mostly because I don’t know what the hell I’d even do outside of the military, you know? At least there I know what my job is, how to do it, all that stuff.”
“Well, I mean there are programs,” I point out.
“Yeah, I know,” Zane says. “If I wanted to I could go into college or something after…” he shrugs. “I just don’t know what I want to do yet. Can we change the subject?”
“Fair enough,” I tell him. “Who have you kept in touch with from here? Obviously not me.”
“Not many people,” Zane admits. “Matty and James, but other than them, I just see everyone on Facebook.”
“I’m about the same,” I say. “I’m still friends with Jessica, but everyone else I can see what’s going on in their feeds or whatever and that’s it.”
“Well, you always liked books better than people,” Zane points out. “You used to tell me that.”
I chuckle. “I guess I’ve made a career of liking books better than people at this point.”
“Not much of a social life in it though.”
I roll my eyes. “I get out. The company hosts happy hour at a local bar almost every week.”
“Yeah, but how often do you actually go?” Zane raises an eyebrow to emphasize his question.
I feel myself blushing and I can’t quite look at him. “I have plenty of times,” I insist. “Besides, my standards are high. That’s all it is.”
“Now that I can see,” Zane says. “I could see you having impossibly high standards. Hooking up with some guy who’s got an art degree. With family money so he can be an artist or something.”
I snort at that. “Just because my standards are high doesn’t mean I’m some kind of snob.”
“Hey, do you want to get out of here for a bit?”
I think about it. “Where were you thinking of going?”
“Just down to the store. Dad forgot to get something Mom asked for dinner and I said I’d go.”
“Give me a minute,” I say, realizing that I never put on a bra after my shower that morning, “and I’ll tag along.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
ZANE LEWIS
I fall behind Harper a bit at the store, more than happy to enjoy the view from behind. I did promise Mom I would pick up a couple of things, but that was more of an excuse to spend some time with Harper than anything else. I’m glad it worked, watc
hing her push the cart in front of her, watching the figure eight of her ass showing against the dress she put on before we left.
“Do you dress like this in New York, too?”
Harper stops and looks at me with one eyebrow raised, in the middle of reaching for pickles.
“Mostly,” she replies. “Why do you ask?”
“You must get hollered at constantly,” I smirk. “I mean, if you look like that…”
“I keep my headphones on,” Harper tells me.
I laugh. “Oh, right. You don’t do much driving in the city,” I say.
“Almost none,” Harper says.
“Is the car a rental, then?”
We took mine, which was definitely a rental, but we’d had an argument about it for all of half a minute.
“It’s my car,” Harper says. “I just generally don’t drive unless I’m actually leaving the city. There’s no point in it, anyway.”
I remember, almost too late, that Mom wanted me to get mayo, and I grab it off the shelf and add it to the cart.
“So you just take the subway everywhere?”
“Or the bus sometimes, though it gets rougher on the bus in some respects than the subway. And of course, cabs are going day and night,” Harper replies.
“Where do you keep your car then, if you’re not driving it?” The idea is so weird to me.
“There’s a parking garage where I pay rent to have access to a spot,” Harper replies. She grabs some bowtie pasta off the shelf and puts it in the cart, and we move onto another aisle.
“You pay rent to be allowed to park somewhere?” I shake my head at that.
“Yeah, it’s not that bad, actually,” Harper says.
“You have to pay rent to park somewhere?” I shake my head again. “That just sounds crazy.”
“Well,” Harper explains. “There’s a limited amount of parking space in the city. So I pay one-fifty a month, and I’m guaranteed to never have to search for a spot.”
