The ache was back, just like I hadn’t even come, like I'd had blue balls for a month. I twisted our bodies, laying her down on the couch below me, and lifted somewhat to unfasten her skirt and pull it gently down her hips and legs, leaving her completely bare except for those awesome fuck-me boots. I retrieved my wallet from where I’d dropped it earlier on the floor by the couch and thanked my lucky stars that there were still two condoms inside.
Looking back down to Sophie, I handed her a foil packet, then reached for the fly of my jeans while she ripped it open with a flash of her perfect, white teeth. Shucking my jeans off, I lowered back down onto her, pausing while she sheathed me and guided me back into her warmth. As I slowly sank into her, she bent her knees, giving me a peripheral flash of her thigh-high boots, and it was all I could do not to go all animal and start pounding furiously away. I wanted to savor her. It seemed to go so fast the first time, so frantic and nervous, and I wanted to absorb every shiver and tremor as I fucked her long and slow. Precise, measured strokes that drew a quiet, repetitive whimper from her throat.
The small rotation of her hips shifted, and I hit a sweet spot that shook both of us. A few more strokes, and there it was again. Sophie cried out against my chest, her fingernails digging into my glutes as she beckoned me deeper.
The burn began to wear at my arms and legs. Every muscle in my body began to ache as I tamped down my impending need to blow. I had it under total control, fucking her with a smooth and steady rhythm that had her tightening around me so perfectly, when Sophie began to meet my thrusts. Hard. Fast. Awesome. She contracted around me and tipped her hips, making the tip of my dick hit her in just the right spot for both of us. And at the very first quiver of her body surging into release, I too let go and fell into oblivion.
Spent, completely and totally exhausted, Sophie slept lightly there in my arms. Her body shifted, and I heard the faint squeak of her boots rubbing together.
“Soph, baby,” I whispered. “Let’s get your boots off.”
She murmured an incoherent, sleepy sound that I decided worked as some form of assent, and I slid down her body to unzip the back of the boots and slip them from her feet.
In my own sated lethargy, I looked down at her naked body, illuminated by the neon glow. Fuck, she was a stunner. I'd thought so the second I first saw her a few years ago in the park. And to have this moment to study her now seemed surreal.
I'd done some pretty ones in my day, some girls had been simply gorgeous. But I couldn’t recall a single one ever giving me a thrill like this one did.
Finally, I couldn’t fight off sleep any longer. My eyes began to drift shut. I carefully slipped off condom number two, tossing it in the trash can that I’d had the foresight to move to down near our feet.
Then I gathered Sophie close, pulling the blanket over the top of us, and drifted off into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
When I woke up the morning after, my entire body ached from the wild, rampant sex with Sophie the night before. Just thinking about her got me rock-hard all over again, and I damn near rubbed one out as I lay there buck naked in a blanket on the Mofos’ couch. If the sore muscles hadn’t been enough proof, my state of undress was a reaffirmation that I had totally gotten laid. That tended to be the reason I woke up bare-assed from time to time. Although, there was generally a bare-assed chick right there with me.
But Sophie had gone without a trace. Except for the condom wrappers on the floor.
And the scratch marks on my back and chest.
Like a sick bastard, I studied them in the mirror, almost wishing they would scar. A permanent reminder of the night before. I felt pretty fucking off-center about it all. Unsettled and annoyed. I didn’t want to think about her, but I couldn’t seem to stop.
So, I lay there for a while in a groggy haze, fighting the urge to relive every moment. I hadn’t been hitting the hard stuff, only beer and was only on my second one at that, so I was far from hammered when she showed up. Certainly nowhere near blackout drunk. I almost wished I had been, though. It would have been so much easier to blow it off if I’d been bombed. It could have been blurry and dreamlike, as though it was something I’d conjured up in my mind.
But instead, I pictured her body in the faint neon glow. I heard her voice whispering in my ear. Everything about the experience with Sophie that night seemed crystal clear. I could remember it all in high definition… 3-D… XD type shit. Every moan. Every gasp. Every tight little squeeze of her pussy around my dick.
She was really fucking with my carefree mojo.
She couldn’t have been that good. It didn’t seem possible. Nobody could have been that good, no matter how hot. And, yeah, she was really fucking hot. Even hotter than I’d originally thought she was. But the way she’d moved underneath me, over me, around me… Damn. It was like witchcraft, some pagan spell. Like there was a full moon or all the planets had aligned for me to have that incredible circumstance, that captivating moment in time that I couldn’t quite shake off. It just didn’t seem natural.
My thoughts turned to wonder why the fuck she was there in the first place. How did she even know Lily? I couldn’t figure it out. Sophie was high society. Country clubs and money. So far up from my level on the social scale, or Lily’s. Or anyone else at the party, for that matter.
She’d obviously been careening off the tracks for some unknown reason. Maybe something with her dick boyfriend. Something had thrown her, something shocking and unpleasant, to drive her so far out of her element. Out of her safe little world.
Which made me a total dick for taking advantage of her. She’d been nervous. She’d been erratic and unsure. Upset about something. Downright terrified by what she was doing. And I had just brushed that aside, thrilled as hell that I had the opportunity to get in her pants, to scratch the itch that had plagued me for quite some time.
For the first time in all my sexually active life, I felt kinda shitty. I wondered if she was looking back with regret. She’d clearly been using me, but I’d been using her, too. I felt pretty confident that I’d served her really fucking well, especially when I thought of that scream she’d let out when I fucked her. Damn. That was smokin’ hot.
But my guess was that I was a lot more familiar with casual sex. Maybe that was it. Maybe that’s what made her seem a little different than the rest. What made her better. Her trepidation. Her nervous energy. And the way she’d trusted me to give her what she was looking for.
All I really knew was that there was some kind of weirdness to this situation that I didn’t understand. Some form of crazy attachment that I couldn’t sever. Some connection I couldn’t shut off in my mind. I couldn’t block it out. It turned shit on its head, and everything around me seemed so complicated and unpredictable.
I’d wanted her for years, and, fuck me, I was thrilled I’d had her. Yet, I was insanely irritated that it may have been the only time I'd have her. I wanted more. Like the taste of her had only whet my appetite. I wondered for a second if this was my karma for all the times I had brushed off someone who’d wanted more from me.
Since we didn’t really travel in the same social circles, I had no clue how to just casually run into her. I wasn’t exactly a card carrying member of the country club. I didn’t have dinner every Friday night at the Uptown, and I didn’t spend my hard-earned money at the spa getting massages and manicures and wax jobs on my… um… well, just thinking about hers made my mouth water for a taste of what I had only seen and felt.
And Sophie didn’t hang out at the Copperline a lot.
Like ever.
Nor did she come to another party at the guys’ place.
I was in a ridiculous funk. So I kept telling myself that I was Brannon Forrester, for fuck’s sake. I was kind of a man-ho, and I sure didn’t give a shit about some girl I’d banged.
In other words, I lied to myself. Over and over.
Knowing actions speak louder than words, I worked my ass off during the day, hung out at the Copperline i
n the evening, and partied with the Mofos when the bar closed. I got drunk, I got stoned, and I got laid. I slept with Laura and didn’t turn into a complete asshole when she got needy, but I also got the fuck out of there while the getting was good because it wasn’t even remotely like it had been with Sophie.
No, I told myself. Sophie wasn’t any better than Laura or Ruth or Pauline or Maggie. I had just built her up in my mind to be this unreal smokin’ hot piece of ass.
She was unobtainable, that was all.
And I almost had myself convinced. I was so close to normalcy again, so close to my carefree lifestyle.
But, out of the fucking blue, after a month of sheer fixation, there she was. Sitting right up front in the audience at the Folk Festival, sponsored in part by Buchanan Investments. I.e., her dad.
This time, it was the former Sophie. The original Sophie. Not the hot and slutty Sophie who showed up and rocked my world, but the prim and proper Sophie behind the mask. Composed and serene with a polite, emotionless smile that made her seem as though she was in a bubble, untouched by anything around her.
She sat beside her mother who carried the exact same expression, except perhaps with a more eager smile. Her mom looked good for her age, although there was a plastic air about her, like she’d had a few too many facelifts. Sophie’s dad sat sternly next to her mother, radiating aristocratic power and wealth.
The Folk Festival progressed, and I sat there backstage and tried not to be a total fucking creep. I kept trying to focus on the sound board, but my eyes kept drifting back to her. Every time I blinked, her sexy body flashed before my eyes. Her smooth, ivory skin that glowed in the neon light. I heard her gasps and moans louder in my head than the music that poured from the stage. By the end of the set, I felt like a total stalker, trying not to look at her, but aware of her every movement. Waiting for a glimpse of that fuckhot sex kitten to peek through her cloud of composure.
As the Celtic band I was helping out finished up, I said a quick goodbye and slipped out from backstage, wondering where Sophie was headed now. The last I’d seen, she’d been getting up to leave with her parents. So I stood back and watched for her through the crowd. And bristled as I saw that dickhead boyfriend of hers walking over towards her and her parents.
He shook hands with her father and gave her mother a little cheek kiss, then turned to Sophie who stiffened for a split second. An angry flash lit her eyes. Evidently, something had gone very wrong between them. I wondered if they’d fought, if that was what had driven her into my arms back at the party. Or if she told him what happened at the band’s place, and maybe they’d fought because of me. Shitty as it was, I actually kind of hoped that was the case.
Sophie’s father seemed overjoyed that the dickhead was there, as did Sophie’s mother, and she cooed up at him, laying her hand on his arm while he patted her hand gently.
It was very odd to study the dynamic that existed in this family. Sophie was clearly an adult, yet I watched as her father obviously berated her, chiding her for her behavior as though she was a snotty twelve-year-old. He nudged her towards the dickhead, then pulled at his wife’s arm and led her way, leaving Sophie there with the dick.
The dickhead tried pulling her arm as Sophie’s dad had done to her mom, but Sophie stood there shaking her head. She obviously had no desire to go with him. I took a few steps in their direction, debating whether I should go all white knight and clock him between the eyes. I tried to be patient, to let her work it out, knowing I shouldn’t just go charging in, regardless of how badly I wanted to lay that bastard out.
But I hit my limit when he twisted her arm. Sophie pushed back vehemently, and he jerked her closer. My protective instincts took over as I shoved my through the crowd.
“Richard,” Sophie was pleading, “stop, you’re hurting me.”
“Just do what I say,” the dick snarled back, “and I won’t have to.”
“Let her go,” I growled.
Startled by my sudden appearance, Richard turned to me, but didn’t release her arm. “Who the hell are you?” he asked with a contemptuous glare.
Sophie gaped. Her face showed a myriad of expressions. Recognition. Surprise. Embarrassment. Heat.
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “Brannon…”
My name on her lips was pure and erotic. Sexy and breathless.
Fuck, yeah. She had remembered my name. They usually did, but, oddly, I'd been a bit unnerved that she might not.
“Brannon?!” the dick scowled, and jerked her arm again, yanking her close. “Who the fuck is Brannon, Sophie? You know him?”
I instantly bristled and closed in, grabbing him by the lapel of his little rich man sports coat. I had about four inches and probably a good fifty pounds of muscle on the guy. I felt like I could snap him like a twig.
“Let. Her. Go,” I repeated.
Like a complete pansy-ass, the dick instantly released her arm, and Sophie stepped quickly back, rubbing the bruised flesh as she drew in a couple large, shaky breaths.
“What are you doing, Brannon?” she gasped, her eyes still wide with shock.
“This fucker seemed like he was bothering you,” I replied, leveling my menacing gaze on the dick. “I’m here to stop him.”
A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.
Pussy.
“So leave her the fuck alone,” I snarled at him.
“Y-y-you have no idea who you’re t-talking to,” he stuttered back.
“I don’t give two shits who I’m talking to,” I shot back. “Leave. Her. The fuck. Alone.”
“Sophie,” he snapped anxiously, peering around me to see her, “tell him to let me go.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see that Sophie seemed to be having a little difficulty gathering her wits. Her blue-green eyes flashed wildly back and forth between the two of us. Her mouth moved, but she appeared too shocked to speak.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked, raising my pierced eyebrow. “Do you want me to let him go?”
“Um…” she finally forced out, “well, you probably should.”
“Thank you,” the dick snarled as I loosened my grip so he could step back. “Let’s go, Sophie.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going with you, Richard.”
“What?” he snarled, and I made a slight lurch towards him. He jumped back, shaking so violently that I thought he might piss himself.
What a complete and utter fuckhead this guy was.
“Fine, then,” he muttered in a shaky voice. “We’ll discuss this later.”
He backed away a few more steps as he fished his keys from his pocket. Pushing a button on the fob, a chirp sounded from a shiny new red Mustang that was parked nearby. With one last look, he whirled around and jumped inside. As if he hadn’t already gone total douche, he spun the tires on his way out of the parking lot, narrowly missing a crowd of people crossing the street before him.
I zeroed back in on Sophie who still seemed alarmed, but also obviously relieved that he was gone. She stood there gathering herself for a moment before her eyes once again met mine.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I, uh…” she stammered, “yeah.” She opened her mouth to say something else, but snapped it shut. Opening it again, she then released a deep breath and sort of smiled nervously.
Total awkward turtle moment. Hand-movement worthy.
“That was my ex,” she finally managed to say, “my ex-fiancé, actually.”
“Jesus Christ, you were going to marry that dick?” The words were out of my mouth before I even thought them through.
Sophie shrugged. “I was always expected to,” she said with a wry twist to her plump lips. “Sophie and Richard and a happily ever after. But then he slept with my best friend and gave me a pretty good reason not to marry him after all.”
“Richard, huh?”
“Yeah, Richard Banner…”
“Really? I’ve heard the name, but I always thought Richard Banner was old.”
/>
“You’re probably thinking of his father. My ex Richard is the fourth Richard Banner.”
I nodded with a sardonic grin. “Well, it’s a fitting name. He seems like a real dick.”
Sophie finally smiled ruefully, a mischievous glint lighting her eyes. “He is.”
“Fourth in a long line of dicks. Your dad seemed to like him though, and your mom.”
Her eyes lowered as she frowned. “My father and his are business partners. From a very young age, I was encouraged to like him. Encouraged to date him. Encouraged to marry him. They don’t seem willing to let go of their dream union,” she said as she gestured in the direction her parents had gone, “even if it’s more of a business merger then any kind of relationship.”
“Do they know he cheated on you?”
“What’s a little infidelity when compared with social standing and money, right? According to my mother, it’s all part of life, which gives a little insight into my father’s behavior, I suppose.”
I had an uncomfortable sensation in my gut, twisted and nauseous as it occurred to me that she had been going for a revenge fuck. And, as much as I really didn’t want it to, that bothered me.
“So, he fucked around on you, and that’s why you fucked me?”
I probably shouldn’t have asked that, especially the way I asked it, but it was like I couldn’t stop it. It was eating away at me, weakening that charismatic confidence that made me strong.
Sophie seemed a little shocked at the abrupt reminder of just what had passed between us, but she gave me a shadowy grim smile. “Actually, I was hoping he wouldn’t want me anymore. Especially since I didn’t stick to the upper crust of society.”
“Right,” I murmured with more than a trace of sarcasm, “would be a shame to belie the laws of social order.” This discussion was proving to be kind of brutal on my ego.
Realizing what she said and how it had sounded, she hastily countered. “Just so you know, that’s their perception, not mine. They have these messed up notions about wealth and prestige. It’s not feasible that an upper class girl would go pick up some pierced and tattooed stranger at a party.”
Post Breakup Sex Page 3
