by Bebe Wilde
COLD HARD CASH
A Story of Erotica
ALSO BY BEBE WILDE
Sexual Tension: A BDSM Erotica Story
The Weaker Sex: BDSM Erotica
Adults Only: Seven Erotica Shorts
Sex Story: An Erotica Short
Sex Story - Part 2: An Erotica Short
Merci: A Story of Erotica, Sex and Romance
At the End of the Day: An Office Sex Erotica Short
On the Same Page: An Office Sex Erotica Story
COLD HARD CASH
A Story of Erotica
Bebe Wilde
Abernathy and Monroe
Cold Hard Cash: A Story of Erotica. Copyright © 2012 by Bebe Wilde.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher. For more information, email [email protected]
Published by Abernathy and Monroe.
eBook ISBN–13: 978-1-938107-20-7
eBook ISBN–10: 1-938107-20-9
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
For those who occasionally drop trou.
COLD HARD CASH
His name was Cash. Cold Hard Cash. He was hot and he was hard, most all the time. Good for me, I know.
He was the best looking man I’d ever seen. He was the kind of man most women would kill for, with the body to match. He stood tall and proud and dark and handsome, like a Greek god with abs to match. His black hair was cut short so his gray eyes really stood out and they stared with this intensity that was at once hard to define and impossible to look away from.
And he was mine, mine, mine. Well, at least until I had to catch a plane back home.
“Go on,” he said and waved his hand at the door. “Leave. If you can’t handle it, just leave.”
But I didn’t want to leave, not just yet. If I left, I certainly wouldn’t get what I wanted and what I wanted was more sex. He stared at me, looking hurt and a little sad. That was my fault. Well, it was my big mouth’s fault. But I couldn’t do anything about what I’d said. I’d said I was sorry and I wanted to make amends, if only he’d allow me.
“Go on, Myra,” he said. “You need to leave.”
I shook my head. Nope, that wasn’t going to happen. I mean, you can’t give a girl super hot sex one night and then take it away from her the next, can you? That would be downright cruel. It would be bordering on inhumane.
“Please,” he said, looking at me. “I don’t want to do this.”
I watched him closely. He was taking in my body, my face, thinking about all the wild things we’d done last night. He liked what he saw and what he saw was a young woman full of lust for him. Couldn’t he see that? Didn’t he know how much I wanted him? Did it matter if he did?
He sighed and looked away from me. I didn’t like that. I wanted him to look at me, to see me, to see my tight body, my pretty face, and the blue eyes that longed to meet his. He’d told me I was hot, beautiful even. He said he liked my body and my face. He liked me, how I looked, my personality. He’d run his hands through my dark brown hair and pulled it as he made love to me not too long ago.
I wanted him. I knew he wanted me, too. So, I walked over to him, leaning against the wall, and touched his arm before tiptoeing to whisper in his ear, “Do it.”
He didn’t respond but I could tell he didn’t really want me to leave; he didn’t really want to “never see you again,” like he’d said not even a minute before. There was definitely something between us. It was electric and it made me go against my better judgment. But what did good judgment have to do with this? Nothing much. This was about sex. It was about me and him fucking like crazy and… Not much else.
I slid my hand up his arm and it went to the back of his neck before going into his hair. He narrowed his eyes at me and gave me a look caught between lust and frustration. On one hand, he wanted to do me. On the other hand, he wanted me to pay for being brutally honest with him. He was being cold. He was shutting himself off to protect himself. I could understand that. And I was honest; it was my fault. I’d told him what this was and it was a fling, that’s all. Why make it more than that? Couldn’t he understand that?
But maybe I was the one who was misunderstanding things. Maybe I couldn’t see what he was all about. Maybe it was me and my preconceived notions that had put us in this prickly spot. He was Cold Hard Cash. He thought I only wanted him for his body, to use him. He was like this because of his past experiences, which had nothing to do with me, really. However, that was his line of thinking and his line of thinking was to never let anyone in. If someone got too close, they could judge, they could hurt.
But that wasn’t my intention. Never. I only wanted to please him and I wanted him to please me. He wanted something more, but was I willing to go the distance? Was he? Could he come out of his shell for one moment and take my hand and maybe lead us in the direction we were meant to go? And where was that? Did it matter? Not now it didn’t. What mattered now to me was having him, allowing him to take me. That’s what I wanted in that moment. It’s all I could see.
I whispered in his ear, “Fuck me, baby, fuck me hard.”
He took a deep breath but ignored my request. Fine. I’d get him started. I got down on my knees and tugged at his zipper, wanting to free that big, hard cock. It was in there and it was already ready for me. Why couldn’t he just let it do what it wanted? He put too much into this, too much thought, too much worry, too much rumination.
I released his cock from captivity and took it in my hands, rising up on my knees to lick the tip just slightly before putting it into my mouth. That got him going. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. What man could? In two seconds, he had me lifted up by the arms and thrown against the wall with my back to him. Oh, so this was how it was going to be? A little rough, a little dirty. A little like the way I loved it.
He pushed my legs open and ran his hands up my ass, enjoying its firmness before sliding his hands down my back and into my panties and squeezing it. Ahh, yeah, that felt soooooo fucking good! He bent down and began to eat at my neck as he played with my ass, running his hands up and down sideways before sliding one forward and holding it still on my pussy. Now I could grind, now I could find my groove and get off.
Not so quick. He wasn’t going to let me have it that easily. He pushed me against the wall even more and then began to undress me from the waist down. My shorts came off, then my panties. I was half-naked and that felt good. His hand went between my legs, fingering me for a long few seconds before he moved away and bent down behind me. He opened my legs even further so he could stick his head right on me.
“Oh, fuck, yes!” I moaned as he began to eat me, devour me, take me with his mouth. Soon, I was grinding against his face, getting everything I could out of it as he sucked at me like I’d just sucked at him. In no time, I was moaning loudly, with passion, and I came with a shudder.
Keeping me against the wall, he kissed his way up my back, then slid his hard cock between my legs. I tiptoed and he stuck it in, all the way in, and then started fucking me, slowly at first until he got some good traction and then with more fervor, harder and harder until I was about to explode once more with orgasm. I placed my hand on my clit and rode it as he rode me, as his mouth sucked at the soft flesh just below my earlobe. It was too much; it felt too good but I couldn’t get enough. I was coming and coming so hard I almost fell down. He was close behind, fucking me with everything he had and giving m
e the best of him. He shot inside of me and then fell onto my back, breathing hard. We stayed like that for a few minutes, until we both caught our breaths.
I turned around, sliding my arms around his neck and kissing him softly, running my tongue across his full lips until he opened his mouth and kissed me back, softly. I moaned, pulled away a little and said, “Aren’t you glad I stayed?”
He couldn’t help himself. He started to smile, then he cracked up. “Yeah, you could say that.”
Thought so.
* * * * *
Oh, so many good things to say about Cash. He was good looking; he was the best lover I’d ever had. He was smart and business-minded. He had a wicked sense of humor and cracked me up almost hourly. He had money. He had style. He had a killer black sports car and a to-die-for condo. There was only one caveat; he was a stripper. A male stripper. Well, I guess that much was obvious. But the thing was he didn’t have any of the sleaziness sometimes associated with that job. He, in fact, had a lot to offer, if only I was on board to take it.
However, I was coming off a bad breakup. Actually, it had happened a year earlier but I had a hard time letting go. My ex told me one day that I wasn’t the one. I had a really hard time getting over that, too. I wasn’t the one? Then why did we stay together almost seven years? I had wasted most of my twenties on him! I thought we were going to get married. I thought we had a future together. I guess I thought wrong.
It also didn’t help that my BFF, Becca, had met and married a gorgeous man who lived in San Francisco. And, yes, she moved from our small Georgia town to be with him. She and I had been besties since elementary school and had gone to college together, graduated and then went to work in the same factory as accountants. We saw each other almost every single day. Then one day, she’s like, “I’m outta here,” and she left. Well, she left after a fabulous wedding and too much cake.
Not long after that my boyfriend broke up with me and I was alone except for my family, of course, and my other friends. But I felt alone most of the time and pretty bad about my situation. Then, out of the blue, Becca called.
“Hey, bitch,” she said. “What’s up?”
“I’m still pissed off at you,” I said.
“What’s it this time?”
She sounded so casual. I imagined her sitting in her luxurious apartment twirling her dark brown hair while checking her pretty face reflected in her stainless steel refrigerator. Maybe I was a little jealous but mostly I missed her. I missed our lunches and I missed having her around.
“I’m waiting,” she said and sighed.
“You’re whooping it up in California and I’m stuck here in peanut land.”
She laughed. “Oh, yeah, everyone still grows peanuts there, don’t they?”
“They do,” I said.
“I’ve not been here that long,” she said. “Besides, I’m lonely too. It’s hard to acclimate to a big city when you’re a small town girl at heart.”
I rolled my eyes. “I hate the fact that you’re living in one of the most sophisticated cities in the world and still listen to your country music.”
“Hey, I love my country music,” she said. “Anyway, I have something to cheer you up.”
“What’s that?”
“I have a trip planned to Miami.”
“And how is that supposed to cheer me up?” I asked.
“Because you’re invited,” she said.
“I am?” I asked. “Who bailed?”
“Brent,” she told me. “He has to work. It’s sort of like our first anniversary trip but he’s covered up at work.”
“So, I’m the backup?”
“What’s wrong with being the backup if you get to go to Miami?”
I was still feeling sorry for myself, so I said, “I can’t do it either. I have a lot of work, too, since one of our accountants quit. Oh, wait a minute, that was you and they still haven’t replaced you. Yeah, double work load since you split.”
“You’re being a baby.”
“I’m mad, so I have the right,” I said. “And you would not believe the shit they’ve loaded me down with. I don’t get home until after eight every night and then I have to be right back at work by seven. It’s getting old.”
“So, come to Miami with me.”
“I can’t.”
“You haven’t taken a vacation in years,” she said. “I know you have the time built up.”
“Maybe I plan on using it with someone else.”
“Fine,” she said. “Be that way. I’ll ask Nicki.”
“Who’s Nicki?”
“My friend,” she said. “She lives down the block. We go to the park and walk together. Her fiancé works with Brent.”
“You’re such a bitch to play that with me,” I said. “Like now I’m going to have to jump at the chance to go because I feel insecure that I might be losing my best friend to someone else.”
“Exactly,” she chimed.
“Fine,” I said. “You win. But you’re paying for the drinks on the plane.”
“I will,” she said. “And I’ll be happy to.”
“Say that after you start paying,” I said. “So, am I meeting you in Atlanta and we’ll fly down to Miami from there?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m email you the details.”
“Okay.”
“Well, don’t sound so excited.”
“I’m excited,” I said.
But I wasn’t. Not really.
* * * * *
Nicki came with her. I was a little put off at first but the girl was funny and really nice. She was also one of the most stylish women I’d been around and that was because she, herself, was a stylist. She had this great bohemian hippy meets city chic thing going on and it looked great. It went well with her perfect body and blonde hair that looked like she’d been hanging out at the beach to get the perfect color and imperfect wind-swept look. I was totally envious but listened to her suggestions, taking what I had—boyfriend jeans and flip-flops and switching them up with wedges and peasant tops. So, she and I clicked right from the get-go. Becca got food poisoning right when we got there so we left her in the hotel while we prowled the streets, going shopping, barhopping and having a generally fabulous time.
“So, how long has it been for you?” she asked at dinner the second night. “You know, sex. Becca told me you broke up with your boyfriend.”
For some reason, I wasn’t the least put off by her question. She was the kind of girl, like Becca and I, who talked about sex like most people talk about shoes. It was no big deal to any of us.
“Almost a year,” I said and looked out over South Beach. Ahh, it was so nice and we were eating at the yummy restaurant in front of our hotel. It was still hot but there was a nice breeze blowing in from the ocean.
“Wow!” she exclaimed.
“Listen, it’s not like I took a vow of chastity or something,” I said. “But in my town, inventory is low. If someone is single, there’s a reason and it’s usually because they’re old and kinda crazy or both. And, if they’re divorced, they have a ton of kids, which brings complications, to say the least. Otherwise, they’re married and gonna stay that was, which is fine by me. Getting married is just something you do.”
“But you didn’t.”
My mouth fell open and she cracked up, squealing with laughter. “Kidding! Kidding! Learn to take a joke, girl!”
“I’m sorry. I don’t have a sense of humor,” I deadpanned.
She studied me for a second then cracked up again. “You had me!” she laughed, holding the back of her hand over her mouth and looked around, spotting Becca coming towards us. “There’s the fuddy-duddy! Quick! Let’s pretend we’re talking about her!”
Becca flipped her a bird, then fell into an empty chair at the table. “What up bitches?”
“Feeling bad?” I asked and pouted at her.
“Feeling better,” she said. “I am never eating a sandwich out of a vending machine again.”
�
�I told you not to do that,” Nicki said and took a bite of sushi.
“I was so hungry I had to have something. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking,” she said and looked me over. “Wow, like the look.”
“We went shopping,” I sang and grinned then pointed to my dress. “But this is a loaner from Nicki.”
“The girl’s got a rockin’ bod that she totally hides,” Nicki said and pointed at me. “But we’re working on it.”
I almost blushed. Almost. It was good to hear someone appreciated my “bod” because I did run a lot and worked out in the gym when I could. Tonight, Nicki had lent me this killer mini dress that was covered in gold and silver sequins. It fit really loose but showed off my legs, which were lean and now getting quite tanned thanks to the Miami sun.
“She always did,” Becca said. “I don’t know how she wound up with that loser Trent.”
I groaned. “Because he was there, Becca, you know that. And we knew each other and I thought, for some reason, that it was time.”
“Time?” Nicki asked and took a sip of sake.
“Time to get married,” Becca said. “It’s what everybody does in our small town. Besides crazy Alvin Anderson.”
“Alvin Anderson?”
“He’s a nut, bless his heart,” I said. “He walks on the road talking to himself and has crazy hair and dirty clothes… Well, I explained that to you earlier. If they’re not married, usually there’s a reason.”
“And his reason is that he’s bat shit crazy,” Becca.
“You are so mean!” I said and slapped her arm.
“Oh, I forgot, he almost took you to the prom.”
I held up my plate, pretending to smash it against her head. “I am going to brain you over that!”
“What is this about?” Nicki wanted to know.
“She used to work at The Bean, this little diner, and he’d come in there and being the nice person she is, she’d be all nice to him, right? So, during our senior year, he started asking her about prom. She talked to him about it, of course, then asked her to it! When she turned him down, nicely, of course, he threw the cash register through the window.”
