by K. S. Adkins
In fact, when I hit reception a very pretty, very excited woman is waiting in front of her desk. Judging by the effort it took for her to stay still, I was positive if I gave the green light she would launch herself at me.
“Taylor!” Ah, the infamous Janice.
“Hi!” I wave enthusiastically, happy to finally meet her.
Meeting me halfway, she latches on. “Mr. Church cannot say enough about you! And to finally meet you! Thank you!”
“What are you thanking me for?”
“Making him smile, honey.”
Well, that’s fucking awesome, isn’t it?
“I take it he’s not normally a smiler?”
“He’s not normally anything,” she whispers. “Until you.”
Great, now I’m going to cry.
“I was hoping to surprise him, is he in?”
“No surprises I’m afraid, he saw you on the elevator camera and is waiting for you. I’m just happy he allowed me to meet you first. Mr. Church is…impatiently waiting for you.”
“Is he now? Maybe we should grab a coffee and keep him waiting?”
“Woman,” he booms from his door. “Get in here.”
“That’s my cue,” I grin at Janice.
“I’ll just, um… turn on my Pandora. Loud.”
“I like where your head is at, Janice.”
Sauntering into his office, I feel his lust when I run my finger along his chest. I’m not even ten steps in when I’m lifted off my feet, rotated, and tackled to the leather sofa.
“Hi,” I moan into his neck.
“You came to see me.”
“I missed you and I wanted to see where the magic happened.”
“You were sweet to Janice.”
“Uh, yeah?” I question. “Because she’s sweet? She takes care of you, and I’m sure you noticed she’s hot.”
“Hot?”
“As in sexy.”
“She’s married.”
“So?”
“She’s my employee.”
“She’s still hot, Van.”
“I don’t see her as hot, Taylor. You, though,” he says, grinding between my legs. “Are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Flattery will get you blow jobs,” I whisper. “No, wait. Flattery gets you laid.”
“What does loving you get me?”
With my heart in my throat, I answered, “Forever?”
“Give me your mouth now,” he demands.
Without hesitation, I comply.
I can never deny him.
Breaking the mouth-fuck, I ask him, “Speak lawyer to me.” When he blinked, I elaborate. “I’m on my back in my man’s office where he does law stuff.”
“That, you are,” he moans while shimmying my pants off. Want to know the beauty of jeggings? Easy removal.
“While you fuck me, I want you to use big lawyer words.”
“Big lawyer words?” he grins seductively.
“Real big.”
Running his finger along the seam of my panties, he whispers, “Abscond.”
“I don’t even care what that means,” I moan arching up for more.
“Res ipsa loquitur,” he says, placing his lips on my belly.
“Was that Latin?” I ask and sink my fingers into his scalp.
“Shh,” he orders, sliding his hand down and slipping his finger in. “Uberrimae fidei.”
“Van,” I beg.
Adding another digit, he plunges deep. “Without prejudice.”
Riding his fingers, I plead, “Fuck me.”
Crawling up my body, I watch him free himself with heavy lids. Working his length, he growls, “Reasonable force.”
“Uh huh,” I moan loudly. “I want that. I want that so bad.”
Surging forward, he buries himself deep and wastes no time fucking me.
“Stakeholder,” he grunts, planting his palms on the arm of the sofa. “Procurement, mandate, shell company…fuck, I’m going to come.”
“More,” I cry out, digging my nails deep. “So close, Van.”
“Delegation, autonomy, liquidated damages, separation of – ”
“Of?” I beg.
“Powers,” he pants. “Come for me, Taylor. Do it now.”
“Keep talking,” I say while wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him close.
Pumping into me with great strength, he bites out words like compliance, pro rata, defamation, and franchisor.
Screaming my release, he does the same, roaring, “Claim!” as he shuddered above me. I definitely had to visit more often.
The first rule of attending a concert with Taylor is getting the name right.
While standing in line, I casually mentioned I hadn’t been to DTE Energy Music Theatre since I was kid seeing Neil Diamond with my parents.
To which she literally tensed up, pointed at me and announced (loudly), “This is forever Pine Knob, not DTE. Talk like that could get you cut, Church.” Another thing about Taylor, she took shows seriously.
Shrugging it off, I agreed, “Pine Knob it is.”
Addressing the crowd, she says, “I am so sorry, don’t hurt him. He’s not from here.”
The woman was fucking amusing.
Crowd control is definitely in her wheelhouse because she has no issues plowing her way through and never once offered an apology. We have even maneuvered our way to the front of the pit or rather, Taylor forced us to the front when I explained, “I don’t fit in here.” And I don’t. At all.
“Pssh,” she waves me off. “There’s no dress code for mosh pits, Van. Plus, I left my underwear on the floor in your office, we’re even.”
“Your underwear aren’t on my floor.”
“No?”
“No,” I lean in to kiss her. “They’re in my desk. I’m keeping them.”
“Nice,” she beams, taking a sip of her double vodka with red bull while I sip my draft beer.
“Who’s the headliner again?”
“The Prophets of Rage.”
“Never heard of them.”
“Ever listen to Public Enemy?”
“Yes.”
“Cypress Hill?”
“Seriously?”
“Rage Against the Machine?”
“Of course.”
“Then you’ve heard of them.”
“I’m telling you, I haven’t.”
“You’ll see,” she smiles, leaning into me and minute by minute the pit continued to fill. “These are our spots. We defend our space by any means necessary.”
“No one is stealing our spots,” I vow.
With an evil grin, she says, “Oh, Van, but the fun is when they try.”
And then the lights went down and all hell broke loose.
When Chuck D hit the stage, Taylor goes nuts. Jumping, screaming, and raising her fists. It doesn’t take long for the pushing to annoy me, and I brace myself on either side so she wouldn’t take the brunt.
Then to my right I see… “Fuck, is that…”
“B Real!” She wails and I’m getting more beat up by her body than anyone else’s at the moment.
At least until they play “Bombtrack.”
I have not been expecting the crowd to get violent. And let me say, I don’t like it. Unconcerned with the chaos, Taylor is in her own world of music and mayhem, when the crowd shifts and sends us both straight into the rail. In doing this, my body positively crushes hers, yet she couldn’t care less.
Still not giving a shit because she is focused on the stage, I manage to slide my phone out and get a picture of her shaking Chuck D’s hand. Slammed again, I throw an elbow to get the asshole off of me when she shifts and sets her sights on B Real. Sticking her palm out, he captures it, tugs her closer and puts the mic in her face. Quickly switching to video, I film her rapping “Take the Power Back” while keeping her safe, too.
Whirling around to face me, she screams, “Did you see that?”
Which is when I am nailed from behind, thus sending her into
the rail again, I see fucking red. Threats to my future wife will not be tolerated. Not at a fucking concert. Not ever. Stowing my phone, I‘m turning to meet the assholes head on, when suddenly she’s there, cocking back, and sends the man closest to me flying backward. I want to point out he wasn’t the culprit, but it’s too loud and she wouldn’t have cared anyway. Honestly, I don’t either.
“The rules are,” she says, wiping her hands on her jeans. “There are no rules.”
Caging her back in, I manage to enjoy the hell out of the rest of the show. Especially Taylor pressed into me.
When B Real reaches for her again, she goes nuts, and I find myself feeling jealous.
Moving her hair away from ear, I inform her, “I have more money than he does.”
Facing me, she scrunches up her beautiful face. “I’m a fan of the group, Van. But I’m a bigger fan of you.”
Before I could kiss her, the band starts to play “Insane in the Brain” and I brace for impact.
Ducking under my arms, Taylor yells, “Don’t lose our spot!” and throws herself in the mix.
I stand there, watching her push, get pushed, all the while whipping her head around to find me and smiling while she does.
On and on she goes, and not having heard these songs in years, I could see why she let go.
These guys are really fucking good.
And the second I let myself truly enjoy it, she gets hit.
Hard.
This isn’t my first rodeo, but it is Van’s. If I was in his loafers, odds are high I wouldn’t be taking it as well as he is. Then I was mollywhopped and couldn’t recover fast enough and well…he lost his shit.
So, let me amend: Van isn’t taking it well. At all.
And can I just say, watching a man like Van destroy a crowd with his bare hands is all kinds of hot?
Because that’s what he is doing.
He is tossing men around like they weigh nothing.
All the while I cheer him on, feeling so proud of him, when they transitioned into “Killing in the Name” I am front and center for his transformation.
Grabbing me around the waist and caging me in, he yells loud, “I fucking love this song!”
Behind me, Van let-fucking-loose.
To be sure he has the full experience, I hold onto the rail happy to go along for the ride.
He knows every lyric, has incredible rhythm, and though the crowd is at a fever pitch, he never lets them touch me.
At the top of his lungs, he wailed, “Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!” And I feel his freedom as if it’s my own.
I’ve never seen him like this before.
Wild.
Amped up.
Pure aggression.
Van’s juggernaut is having a big boy night.
And two songs later, when the concert ends, the crowd starts to disperse, Van spins me into his arms, and growls into my mouth. “I’m not going to make love to you. I’m not going to fuck you. I’m going to own you.”
“You already do,” I manage on a moan.
“You don’t understand,” he says, backing me into the rail. “But you will.”
Okay, so mosh pit Van is hot, but this Van is primal.
I am so going to be sore tomorrow.
“—did you get these sheets?” she moans with closed eyes.
Ending with a lick, I raise my head. “I’m eating your cunt and you want to know where I got my sheets?”
“They move with you,” she explains. “And good sheets are hard to find.”
Though I can’t argue this, I decide to get back to what I was doing.
Soon after, clutching anything she can get her hands on, Taylor announces she’s coming and does so while screaming my name.
Spreading her legs apart, I’m sliding home when I tell her, “Pottery Barn.”
“Yes!” she cries out then asks, “Full price or clearance?”
Gripping her hips and thrusting deep, I grate out, “Full price.”
“Worth,” she says, digging her nails into my chest. “Every.” Throwing her head back. “Penny,” she moans bearing down on me.
“Take my cock, Taylor,” I order. “Fucking take it.”
Reversing positions, she forces me to my back and straddles my hips. “Oh, I’ll take it.”
And God almighty she did.
“Fuck,” I groan as she bounces on my cock. “You ride me like a well-choreographed routine.”
“You should hear the soundtrack playing in my head,” she pants.
“Don’t stop dancing on my cock, Taylor.”
“As you wish,” she cries out while coming hard.
Letting my own wash over me, I roll over, taking her with me.
“I have to get a set of these sheets,” she mumbles into my neck.
“I’d rather you sleep on mine.”
“I’d rather sleep on yours.”
“Good.”
“Van?”
“What?”
At her silence, I ask again, “Taylor, what is it?”
But she was sound asleep with a smile on her face.
Van is tied up in litigation tonight, The Shit all had plans, and I am done working, but have energy bottled up.
Which means I have a free night and a good idea how to spend it.
The plan is to start with wine.
Maybe take a toke of a joint.
Definitely watch porn.
Eat some snacks.
Masturbate until I pass out.
With my iPad propped up on the nightstand, I choose Good Will Humping because one, it had nineteen sex scenes. Two, the title is clever, and three I like plot surprises.
After stuffing my face with Salt & Vinegar chips, I chase it down with some pinot and settle in.
Wearing only my ultra-soft Victoria’s Secret boy shorts, I look down at myself and thought, not a bad view.
Seriously, I can see why Van likes spending so much down there. My puss doesn’t look a day over twenty-six.
Then I have the mental debate.
Give myself a handy or plug in.
When the busty blonde starts to take it in her mouth, I go with manual labor.
The more I watch her, the more I realize I hate my gag reflex.
Sure, I could suck a cock, but Van’s is thick and long, which means I can only take it so far without choking on it.
This girl has skills.
Or she is on meth.
Either way, she isn’t a gagger.
Kudos for her.
I however, am.
The more I work my clit, I pay less and less attention to the movie and concentrate on Van.
Van who fucks hard, kisses sweet, and eats pussy like it’s an Olympic sport. The same Van who takes my orgasms so seriously he demands I have as many as humanly possible.
Van who does not accept failure.
Arching my back, I listen to the moans coming from my tablet and work faster, loving that mine are louder. Mine are also authentic, and I am going to come incredibly hard.
Ready to do just that, I open my eyes to Van standing at the foot of my bed.
Seeing him there should have me screaming in terror, but the look on his face stops me. Because it’s savage. Feral. Expectant. And very much in awe.
“Do you want to take over?”
“No,” he says with a thick voice. “I want to watch you. I’ve never…”
“Watched a woman masturbate?”
“Correct,” he says, running his hand over his face. Then adjusting the bulge in his slacks. “But you. I need to watch you.”
“Okay,” I agree breathlessly. Right on cue, the actors are all grunting through their three-way and my fingers started working again. With my eyes on him, I ask him to, “Unzip your pants.”
When he does, I forget all about math problems and humping. Because Van is rock hard.
“Kneel on the bed,” I instruct, and once he’s in place I spread my legs wider. “You’ll watch me and I’ll watch you.”
>
His response is a nod because his eyes are transfixed on the party between my thighs.
“Wider,” he grates out while his palm sliding over his skin stole my breath. I am beginning to remove my boy shorts when he said, “Keep them on.”
Doing as he says, for the next several minutes the two of us take ourselves closer and closer to the edge. Not once did he glance at the tablet. If you ask me, he has forgotten it existed.
Because all Van is seeing is me.
“Finger yourself,” he orders and using my right hand, I slide not one but two digits in. “Now,” he says roughly. “Sit up and put those fingers in my mouth.”
Quickly getting to my knees, I place them in his mouth and when he sucks…time stopped.
Pushed to my back, Van pins my wrists above my head, gives me his weight and asks, “How many times did you come?”
“Just once,” I promise him.
“Once? Was the movie that bad?”
“No,” I counter. “Sadly, you’re just better at it than I am.”
Placing a kiss to my lips, he says, “This is true. Now ask me to make you come, Taylor.”
Wrapping my legs around him, I do as he says.
“Make me come, Van.”
Smacking my ass hard, Van growls into my face, “As you wish.”
This time, I saw stars.
Five times.
Taylor comes five times.
Twice with my cock, once with my fingers, once with my tongue, and finally because I come. Apparently, my release has triggered her own. I won’t forget that scream anytime soon.
Curled into me and currently running her fingers through my chest hair, Taylor is close to falling asleep.
And since this has been on my mind for some time, I take the opportunity to ask, “Why don’t you talk about your parents?”
Stopping briefly, she looks up and simply says, “Not much to talk about.”
“I disagree. Soon we’ll be sharing our engagement with my parents. Did you plan on sharing it with yours?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because they wouldn’t care, Van.”
