The Navigator (Mountains Series Book 5)

by Phoebe Alexander

  Ordinarily, he’d jump at the chance to play with a couple, particularly one with a bi male—it was the best of both worlds, and he loved the look in the wife’s eyes when he impaled her husband with his enormous cock—but not tonight. Tonight, he only had designs for one bedmate. And she was standing in front of him with her hair still tightly coiled in that sleek black bun she’d been wearing when they’d met earlier in the day. He wanted to unravel that tight, dark coil so badly. His cock ached thinking about it.

  He didn’t need to answer Anjuli’s offer for another drink because she poured him one without waiting for a response. He joined her in her small but efficient-looking kitchen. The appliances were all stainless, and the only illumination was a strip of LED lights beneath the cabinets, which reflected on the shiny flecks in the black granite countertop.

  “Cheers,” she said, swallowing it down.

  “Damn, what is this?” He shuddered as it burned his throat.

  “It’s Indian,” she answered with a sly grin, licking the remnants of the bitter drink from her lips.

  “Thanks for having me here tonight,” Garrett said, stepping closer to her. He was prepared to lift her chin toward him and press a soft kiss on her lips, but before he knew it, she threw her arms around him, tugging his face down to suck his lips into her mouth as if starved for human flesh.

  That was all the encouragement he needed to lift her by the legs and slam her against the wall between the kitchen and living area. Her deep moan resonated through his ears as he lowered his lips to her neck, feasting upon the curve that extended to her bare shoulder. This dress is history, he decided, and that was the next move he made, setting her on the ground just long enough to whip it off her head according to his best-laid plan. So to speak...

  She stood before him, her bronze skin glowing under the soft lights cast from the kitchen, and her full, luscious breasts held in place with jade-colored satin and lace. When his eyes traveled down her sumptuously curvy torso, they fell on matching panties clinging to her hips in the most delicious of ways. All he could think about was ripping those babies off her thighs and feasting on the succulent fruit that lay between them.

  “Fuck,” he murmured as she reached behind her back to unclasp the bra. As gorgeous as it was, lifting her beauties high and proud, the end result was even more spectacular as her luscious mounds fell softly against her ribcage, revealing two dark, erect nipples pointing directly at him and begging for the attention of his mouth.

  He was so mesmerized by her, he must have frozen, his eyes stuck to her like super glue. She broke him out of his reverie when a single word expelled from her lips on a soft sigh: “Please...”

  “Where?” he asked, innocently enough.

  In only her jade-green panties, she led him down the hall to her bedroom, the one room in her apartment he had not dared to explore during the party. He hoped he’d see it, though; he’d hoped for the grand tour. Actually, the only part of the room that interested him was the bed with her in it. Just as she was now in all her curvy beauty, except for the panties, of course. But those Would. Come. Off.

  Now I have a body to strip. My own.

  Before he could begin to work on the buttons of his shirt, her fingers were on the scene, deftly sliding those round plastic disks through the holes with the dexterity of a surgeon. Once the last one was undone, she tugged at the sleeve, and he finished the job. He took a deep breath, puffing out his chest, and yes, he had to admit, tightening his abs just a bit as her fingertips trailed over them, inciting all the hairs on his arms to bristle. He doubted she could see much in the dark, but her fingers certainly seemed capable of sending the message to her brain about how badly he wanted her. They marched right down his rippled abs to the button on his pants and twisted it impatiently. She let out a deep growl of a moan when it came free, and she was pulling down his zipper with her next breath.

  He maneuvered out of his pant legs, and now they matched each other, his cotton boxer briefs against her silky panties. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he drew her body close to his, feeling the heat of her skin soak through his pores and igniting every one of his nerves. He’d had a bulge in his pants since their kiss in the hallway, but now his whole body was flooded with desire. He couldn’t wait to release the beast from its confines and sink it deep within her soft, honey-soaked folds.

  She was just as voracious as he. He had gotten used to Mara—who could be forward to a point, but then as soon as clothes came off, she was coy and submissive. Not this fully bloomed rose. She obviously felt at home walking the thin line between control and mind-shattering rapture. Her hands and lips were everywhere, and for a moment he wondered what he had gotten himself into.

  Then he remembered that in spite of all of his failings, all of his miserably pathetic attempts at making a life for himself, crawling out of and away from the shitshow of his youth, the one thing he had always been proud of, confident of was his sexual prowess. Male or female partners. Young or old. Experienced or inexperienced, he prided himself on his ability to transcend his lowly terrestrial stature and deliver an experience that bordered on the divine. When he bragged about his abilities, some called him cocky. But afterward, they were typically too breathless to speak. Put up or shut up, he always said. And the cliché go big or go home seemed to apply as well.

  He worked Anjuli’s body toward the bed. If anyone had ever wondered how much kissing two humans could possibly do, they were answering that question. His lips never broke from hers as he pushed her onto the mattress, swallowing the sigh that escaped her mouth when her backside made contact. She felt solid beneath him, a writhing mass of curves and need, and he wondered when she’d last been fucked.

  If I had to guess, I’d say it’s been a while, he thought as he slid down her damp body. Desire was oozing from every pore, or maybe it was sweat. Some combination thereof. He’d know more once his mouth made contact with her pussy, which he was not at all surprised to find had soaked her silky panties. He could have wrung them out, they were so wet. He worked them down her quivering thighs with the flourish of a performer. Which he was. Through and through. She had no idea what was coming. She had just purchased a ticket to The Navigator Show, and her body was his stage.

  “I want to taste you,” he growled once he resumed his position between her full, luscious thighs. He was already envisioning them wrapped around his head, squeezing him senseless as she rode waves of ecstasy under the direction of his mouth, but he was trying not to get ahead of himself. Despite the ache of his cock as it pressed into the mattress, craving a wet, warm refuge, he would reach deep within himself and pull out his patience. It was in there somewhere.

  “Fuck yes...” Her words were so breathy and desperate for his tongue that there was barely any voice behind them.

  She lifted her hips to him like an offering, serving herself to him upon a silver platter. His instincts told him she was the type of woman who wanted a quick release and was probably capable of multiple orgasms. Impatience radiated off her, but he knew making her wait...gradually edging her...would pay dividends. He intended to see if his theory proved true by lowering his face to her wanton mound and slowly, intentionally breathing in a deep whiff of her, then exhaling it like a burst of radiant heat, inflamed by the moisture on her skin.

  He was pleased when her hips bucked against him. She threaded her fingers through his hair, forcing his chin to graze against her neatly groomed triangle of dark curls. His beard was growing and would likely be too scruffy if she were clean shaven, as were most of the women he’d been with. But against her soft, springy adornment, the extra friction drove her wild. He took his time delineating all three sides with kisses and delivering additional blasts of heat with each breath he exhaled.

  Her entire pelvis lifted off the mattress. “Garrett...please...”

  He wondered if she felt his wicked grin spread against her sensitive flesh. “Please what?”

  “Please just fuck me,” she begged, her voice dr
ipping with need, with desperation. “Fuck...”

  His cock twitched as that syllable escaped her lips, then he delved his tongue out to collect the pool of desire dripping from her sealed slit. The tip of his tongue parted her sex, and she let out a gasp. “You want my tongue or my cock?” he asked, raising his mouth from her.

  She answered by grabbing his head and pushing him back down onto her mound. He liked that. That she knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to tell him. He’d always appreciated that about older women. Sarah Lynde—the sociology professor—had been like that...yet she was submissive in her next breath. He loved the layers of her, the complexity. Maybe Anjuli would prove to be the same.

  He was careful not to give too much attention to her clit. Her back pressed into the mattress, and her thighs squeezed around his head, trying to control his speed and pressure. But he’d have nothing of that. He recalled one partner who quipped, “They must call you The Navigator because of how you know your way around a pussy...”

  She was clawing the bed, arching her back with deep primal moans gurgling up her throat, and yet he would not concede and let her climax. So I have a bit of sadistic streak, he thought, but only when it’s in my partner’s best interest. He suddenly didn’t want her to come on his tongue at all. He wanted her to build up every single ounce of need behind a huge, towering wall and feel it all explode around his cock when he finally slipped it inside her.

  Her wriggling only intensified, the begging too. “Fuck...please,” she gasped, barely coherent at this point. She was not a woman used to waiting, that much he could tell.

  “What do you want?” he asked, breaking contact. He felt tremors surging up and down her thighs as her body clamored for more of him, more tongue, more fingers, more anything if it would relieve her need.

  “Fuck me,” she begged. “I want you inside me.”

  He was impressed she was able to articulate her desire so emphatically in her compromised state. He nodded, leaning over the bed to retrieve a condom from his pants pocket. She was panting as she watched him roll it down his engorged shaft, the light from the hallway just enough to illuminate his silhouette.

  “How badly do you need to come, Anjuli?” he asked with an evil grin as he pressed the crown of his cock against her swollen pussy lips. Between her own juices and his saliva, he could tell it would only take a swift thrust to bury himself to the hilt inside her. He typically had to warm up his partners quite a bit to take his enormous cock, but Anjuli was as primed as could be. She was a case study on the results of masterful foreplay. This should be in a fucking textbook, he thought with a proud smirk.

  She shifted her hips, trying to impale herself on him, but he held back, waiting for an answer. This delay only seemed to intensify her frustration. She half-sat up, threw her arms around him, and pulled him down on top of her, her hands digging into his firm ass cheeks. “Fuck, please...I want to come on your cock,” she rasped out. Her nails were like daggers in his hips as she writhed against him.

  She’s ready. I’ve tortured her enough.

  He leaned back just a bit, enough to reposition himself at her entrance, and when he was sure he was properly aligned, he impaled her with one powerful thrust. The scream that tore from her lips probably landed somewhere near the Atlantic coast, 100 miles or so away, but it sounded like heaven in his ears as her legs wrapped around his hips. Her body tensed, a moan caught in her throat, then she exploded around him with the force of an undersea volcano, spreading her ash and ecstasy as far as the waves would carry them.

  Five

  Just like a drug, the high only lasted so long. He fell asleep in Anjuli’s bed like he had in Nigel’s and awoke feeling just as miserable and useless as he had before. His head pounded even though he hadn’t indulged in as much liquor the night before as he had in the days and weeks leading up to meeting Anjuli. His head throbbed from the inside out, like the monsters inside were trying to claw through his skull.

  If sexual conquests won’t dull the pain, then what next? he wondered as he sat up in her luxurious king-sized bed and his eyes adjusted to the darkness. All he could see were the glowing green numbers on her alarm clock until his pupils adjusted, then he was able to make out the curve of her hip. She was facing away from him, the sheet pulled up to her shoulders. He sat there for a moment, just listening to her breathe. Every once in a while, a soft sigh would come out with her breath.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed. She has no idea what kind of bullet she is dodging by me leaving, he thought as his size fourteen feet pressed into the fluffy rug.

  She reminded him too much of Sarah Lynde: older, experienced, accomplished, grounded. And he would be a completely disastrous addition to her life, just like he had been to Sarah’s. Good thing she isn’t an actress, he decided. That’s how he had met Sarah. They were both in the cast of South Pacific, then later, Chess, at the community theatre near College Park.

  He hadn’t given Anjuli his phone number. She’d jotted down her address on the back of an old grocery receipt, and he’d shown up for her get-together. So it was his choice if they ever saw each other again. The one fucking thing I can be in control of in this miserable, godforsaken universe. Well, that and my cock.

  He was out the door before she could wake.

  He’d done the math a zillion times and still couldn’t figure out how he was going to make his rent past the current month. Not if he wanted to eat. Eating isn’t overrated, is it? he questioned as he stared at the numbers again, hoping they’d inflated since he’d glanced away last.

  The theatre maintenance job was perfect in some ways. He loved the hours. He didn’t have to deal with people for the most part. But it didn’t pay shit. Nigel had promised him a small stipend for being the understudy in Chicago, but he couldn’t really capitalize beyond that meager amount unless he was somehow able to slip into the lead role. Maybe I need to pull a Tonya Harding? he chuckled to himself as he locked his apartment door and headed for his car.

  Mara wouldn’t have even gotten that reference, he realized as he started up the engine and began to make the drive to the theatre. Gas better not go up. His eyes flicked to the needle on the fuel gauge, which was starting to creep into dangerous territory.

  Being an adult fucking sucks, he surmised. How did people do this? How did they settle down with one person and keep the same fucking job for thirty years? How did they pop out kids and pay bills and deal with in-laws and save for college tuition and finance new cars and vacations at Disney World?

  How the fuck did anyone live like that? Why the fuck was that “the dream?”

  The radio crackled into static as he began to make his way toward DC. He turned it off and let the thoughts creep up around him like a badassery of ninjas.

  Maybe if you are with someone you love, all of that adulting shit is actually tolerable, he reflected. Maybe it made life meaningful. Maybe some lucky married couples felt fulfilled in a way he never would.

  He wasn’t sure he’d ever truly been in love. Yes, he had loved certain people in his life; he knew what the state of loving someone involved. He’d loved his mother, a few girlfriends here and there, even a boyfriend or two. He loved Nigel, in a way. He had loved Sarah Lynde. He hadn’t loved Mara. He knew the difference between love and lust.

  But he hadn’t ever been madly, wildly, head-over-heels in love, the type of love where he might want to settle down and yoke himself to all of the seemingly unending responsibilities that went along with adult- and parenthood. He couldn’t imagine loving someone so deeply, so intensely that he would want to procreate with that person or to do life as partners together.

  But maybe if he did, if he ever found “The One,” then he’d be happy to get roped into mortgages and IRAs, planning out a nursery, and how to split time between all the relatives on holidays.

  He scoffed as he pulled his car into the mostly empty parking lot at the theatre. Maybe they aren’t having practice tonight, he wondered as he scoped out the
barren lot. The drive-induced epiphany was still buzzing around him like a swarm of bees, trying to sting home its point as he made his way inside the dark brick building. He struggled to find the light switch so he didn’t fall down the stairs beside the loading dock.

  I can’t even find a light switch, let alone find “The One,” he chided himself as it finally flicked on, illuminating the bleak gray backstage area near the loading dock, where traveling shows unloaded their set pieces and equipment.

  Though he’d felt on top of things the night before, mingling with intellectuals and hip, thirty- and forty-somethings at Anjuli’s party—and then afterward, basking in his sexual prowess, which never disappointed—the fluorescent glow lighting the dingy loading dock area reminded him of his station in life. He was thirty-two, single, a failed PhD student, accused of inappropriate sexual advances, and basically a glorified janitor. He had no money, no prospects, and no hope.

  How could he find The One when he couldn’t even find himself?

  The following night at work, the theatre was equally deserted. It wasn’t until the next day when Garrett arrived to a full parking lot that he realized why. The previous days were Saturday and Sunday. It was amazing how quickly he lost track of the days after he lost his job and found the bottom of several bottles of booze.

  He hadn’t spoken to another living soul since...Friday night, he realized. At Anjuli’s party. He got a warm feeling when he flashed back to her astride his cock, gyrating her luscious, full hips up and down, milking every last drop of cum from his balls. Just thinking about it gave him a raging erection. He forced his mind to return to its previous state of analyzing the absurdity of his lack of human interaction to regain control.

  Details from multiple neurological studies that showed deteriorating brain mass due to lack of human contact—the subjects being prisoners of war and those exiled to solitary confinement—arose in his own gray matter. I’m getting a roommate, he decided. It would kill two birds with one stone: facilitating human interaction and easing his financial burden. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought of it earlier.