by Liz Crowe
“Thanks, gorgeous.” He leaned into her. “What a scene, huh?” He sipped, not looking at her but sensing her gaze on him. He knew he looked great. Between the pure physical labor he put in daily on the job sites, lugging drywall, holding up trusses, hammering, and carrying every manner of tools around, he also ran every morning without fail, and did three hundred sit-ups and push-ups no matter how tired he was. The routine of it soothed him, helped him forget, for a moment, his fucked-up family life and that he had but a few more weeks before he could escape to college.
Worry about leaving his sister behind tickled at his conscience but Mo seemed at ease with her relationship with their father for now. She was a tough cookie and had a solid set of friends around.
The discipline Jack imposed on himself felt great. The punishing exercise coupled with the long hours of work and determined study so he could achieve beyond what his asshole father expected of him centered him, gave him purpose. Well, that and what he was about to do with the lovely female now under his arm, giggling and running her hand up his thigh.
He tugged her inside, down to the basement, needing a connection so badly his teeth ached. She sighed as he eased her down on the couch, kissing her gently but with purpose, increasing his pressure slowly as his cock sprang to attention under his swim trunks.
“Mmm…this feels promising,” she declared, reaching into his shorts.
He smiled into her mouth. He’d found one with a little experience—a pleasant change of pace. She brushed her thumb across his head, making him shiver. “Hope you’re prepared, big boy,” the girl said with a touch of awe in her voice when she looked down at what she had in her hand.
Jack sighed and leaned over to snag a condom from the supply he kept in the drawer of an unused table in the corner. “Like a Boy Scout, sweetheart,” he said, handing it to her.
She grinned and stood, slipping out of her barely there bikini and standing in front of him in all her curvy glory. He licked his lips, sat up, and yanked her hips close so he could bury his face between her legs. She gripped his hair then pushed back, forcing him to flop over onto the couch so she could straddle his face.
He groaned and flicked at the tender button of flesh. He loved pussy, loved looking at it, licking it, watching it come to life under his careful attention. The girl was moist, her folds were soft, and she tasted like the sweetest honey.
He sucked her clit, slid a finger inside, and moaned as she gripped him hard. The knee-jerk girls were the best, he had discovered. They came fast and typically had no clue that they were among the rarest of women—the multi-orgasmic—and his favorite.
He looked up, watched her cup her own breasts and tug her nipples. Perfect, just perfect. He reached in at an angle, seeking that bundle of nerves most women possessed, right behind her pubic bone.
“Jesus,” he yelped, nearly coming out of his skin when a soft set of lips encircled his dick and a finger traced down his balls and lower. “Baby, I didn’t know this was gonna be a party,” he whispered.
The girl looked down at him and smiled, angling her hips so he kept going as the other girl sucked his cock like a pro, until he couldn’t hold back another minute. The girl on his face came again too, completing the moment. The other girl still palming his balls moaned and jerked forward again, and again. Girl number one climbed off him, and Jack put his arms under his head and watched girl number two get fucked by his friend from behind. “Nice,” he said, admiring the way her tits bounced.
“Her idea,” Brandis ground out then closed his eyes and pounded harder. Jack reached down to fondle girl number two’s clit, making her eyes fly open at the last minute. Her lips were so full. He had to kiss them. So he did, and all was well for everyone in the room.
“You are gonna kill me,” Brandis groaned as he slipped into the pool later, once the party had calmed. Their two girls of the night had gone home after another round of mutually beneficial playtime.
Jack drank a beer and squinted into the moonlight. His body was sated once more, but his heart still hurt. It was a feeling he was getting a lot lately, but sublimated, unwilling to acknowledge his own need to connect beyond the physical.
He was fine, he loved fucking, and he was damn good at it. So be it. “Quit your bitching, ya big baby. I didn’t hear you complaining earlier.” He heaved the empty beer can at his friend. Brandis caught it without a glance and tossed it to the side. Then he swam to the other end of the pool, leaving Jack with his aching heart and sore cock.
He woke with a start, not even realizing he’d fallen asleep and saw a different girl sitting on the edge of the pool. It took him a solid minute to realize it was Mo again. Her body had matured in ways that pissed him off, made him want to throw a blanket over her.
But Brandis and his sister Denise were laughing and joking with her. So he tugged a slightly damp towel up over himself and went back to sleep.
The morning he left for college he woke, ran the usual ten miles, did push-ups and sit-ups in his mostly empty room. At the last minute, Jack pulled open his desk drawer and found it—the photo he had planned on leaving behind.
It was of him, probably about age six, standing next to his mother. The woman was wearing her usual mysterious half-smile, but Jack was staring at her with pure adoration on his face. He touched the photo, trying to remember her.
But she was gone. He had let her go completely. That fact hurt his heart more than anything. He started to put the photo back in the drawer but at the last minute tucked it in the one remaining open box that held sheets and towels, ready to move on to the next stage of his life in East Lansing.
“Let’s get a move on, boy. I paid the tuition—you need to get out of here.” Jack looked up at his father, suddenly transported back to his six-year-old self, wishing the daddy who’d carried him on his shoulders, taught him how to fish, to hammer a nail, and fiddle around under the hood of a car, would come back. That boy’s father had morphed into something nasty, evil in Jack’s eyes and his heart hardened yet more. This asshole had driven Jack’s beautiful mother to drink, then to seek attention from a stranger next door. And then to death.
“Yeah. Fine. Thanks.” He refused to call the man anything.
“Jack!” His sister raced down the hall and flung herself into his arms. He held onto her for a second and wished for the millionth time that things were different for them. “Behave up there,” she said, her face buried in his shoulder.
“I’m pretty sure I need to say the same thing to you.” He put her down, sat on the edge of his bed and took both of her hands. “Listen, Mo, don’t, um…” He ran a hand around the back of his neck. “No dating and…stuff…you know, for a while, anyway.”
Maureen burst out laughing and hugged him again. Jack felt the distinct press of tears behind his eyes but blinked them away. Heart pounding like a kick drum in his chest, he kissed her forehead, then stood.
His father still leaned in the doorway, something like a smirk on his face. At least that’s how it appeared to Jack. “She’ll be fine. Won’t you, Mo-ster?” Their father held out an arm.
Mo hesitated then stepped close to him. “I’ve got your grandma and whatshername, the sitter, to keep her in line.” Mo rolled her eyes and gave their dad a quick squeeze around his thin waist. Then she ran out of the room.
Jack knew she was not about to let them see her cry. Growing up around the two of them with their extreme testosterone bullshit punctuated by bouts of actual physical violence had hardened her. Jack hoped not too much.
He grabbed the last box, turned to shoot his boyhood room one last look, then walked out to his truck. Moving on had never sounded, or felt, so right.
Chapter Eight
“Yo, Gordon, phone call.” A hand poked his shoulder.
Jack rolled, groaning when the sunlight hit his hangover right between the eyes. “Some girl again. Big surprise.” His friend’s laughter echoed as he retreated back into the hall. Jack sat, rubbing his aching forehead. It was Sunday. The
one day he allowed himself to sleep in, which was good, considering he usually woke up in a tangle of feminine arms and legs on those mornings.
But today he had woken up alone. He dragged a shirt over his head and stumbled out to answer the phone.
“Jack!” He leaned against the cinderblock wall of his shitty apartment painted a lurid yellow that week, as a fraternity pledge class prank. Assholes had broken in and done it, drunk all his beer, and left the place a huge mess. Trying to focus on the voice, to pretend as if he knew who it was so as not to hurt anyone’s delicate female feelings, he saw Rob, his roommate and self-appointed new partner in female defilement, standing around naked.
The tall blond guy gave him a mock salute and headed for the shower. Jack groaned, realizing that last sip of the last bottle of bourbon they had shared before pouring the rest over the naked torsos of the girls they were fucking on his bedroom floor had been one too many.
“Jack!” the voice yelped again. He frowned and straightened up.
“Mo?” He dropped onto the carpet, not seeing all the mess he needed to clean up. Guilt flooded his brain. He had not paid much attention to her in the last couple of years, other than to see her in the summers while he worked for his father and lived in a rented house near downtown Ann Arbor.
“Dad’s getting married.”
“Oh, um, okay.” He sat up straight, memories of Mindy so bright and clear they were like a knife slicing into his chest.
“You gotta come home,” she went on, her voice breaking.
“Mo, what’s wrong?” He tried to make his voice sound stronger than he felt.
“It’s Maimeo. She had a stroke. Dad’s freaking out. It’s the only reason I knew he was getting married. Some lady showed up, some…younger lady, and… oh shit, Jack I need you to come home. Just for a while, like a few days, I guess.” He heard her suck in a breath, holding back tears, as usual. His brain clicked in as he flipped through his list of schoolwork that week. Midterms were over. He still had the 4.0 GPA that he demanded of himself. He could take the time away and would even if he couldn’t. His sister needed him.
“Okay, honey, I’ll, um…when is the, I mean. Never mind. I’ll leave this afternoon, home by dinner, okay?”
“Okay,” the girl’s voice was quiet. “I told Brandis already so he’s expecting you.” His high school pal had stayed in Ann Arbor to attend the University of Michigan and was in the Air Force ROTC.
“Oh, uh, sure, thanks.” He got to his feet, his knees wobbly, his head starting to pound from emotion and last night’s excesses. He saw a slight female form emerge from the second bathroom, her bright auburn hair like a beacon in the early morning gloom.
He groaned. Shit, had they? He honestly could barely remember past the mini orgy he’d hosted early in the night.
The girl turned as if reading his mind, blew him a kiss that he knew was ironic, and started toward the door. “Wait,” he called out, needing nothing more than a solid reality session from his friend, the lovely, smart-assed, redhead Suzanne. He held up a hand.
She stopped but pointed to her watch.
“Mo, I’ll be there by dinner, promise. Gotta go sort out some stuff first. Loveyoubye.” He ran the words together and hung up.
“I’ve got study group. What do you want?” Suzanne asked from the opposite end of the hall.
He stayed put, hands on the wall, steadying himself. He had met Suzanne the first day of class, in freshmen English, not his best subject but he was too busy scoping out his targets to care. When he’d spotted her, he did not have his usual automatic thought about what her face would look like when he made her come. He had smiled at her pixie-like good looks, at the natural, easy-going way she observed him observing her.
She’d avoided him for a week or so, brushing off his invites to fraternity parties, for coffee, to even walk alongside him as if she knew he’d be bad news.
He jumped when she touched his shoulder, closed his eyes at her scent. He was falling for her. He knew it. So perversely, he kept turning his personality dial to “asshole,” hoping she’d get the message and give up on him.
He was not about to get attached to anyone. Considering how easy it was to channel his father when he wanted to, he figured it was for her own good.
“So….” He turned, looking down at her petite self. “Was I good?” His pulse raced. He sincerely hoped he had not gotten so drunk he would not remember having sex with this girl he considered his good friend. He couldn’t remember when she’d shown up.
She laughed, punched him hard in the stomach, catching him off guard. “You wish, lover boy.” She leaned back, crossing her arms and giving him a strange look. “You were in rare form across the hall for a while, with Freitag, but that’s nothing new. I just sat with Jeff and Mike, smoked a few and fell asleep on your couch. I think he likes me.” Her dark eyes brightened. Jack bit the inside of his cheek to resist telling her that Mike had a girlfriend.
He held out an arm, and she settled herself comfortably against his chest. His heart calmed and for the millionth time since she had finally agreed to “hang out” – never “go out” – with him. At that moment he had to use every weapon in his personal arsenal not to toss her over his shoulder and take her to bed.
Something in him wanted it so bad he ached, and he’d channeled the feeling into fucking a different girl every week, sometimes more than one. He couldn’t go there with Suzanne. He wasn’t ready. He was a shithead, and she deserved better. Jack had no intention of settling down. Not now, maybe not ever. But the pull of Suzanne’s looks and personality was very strong.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, making him sigh at her prescience.
He led her back to his room. Rob emerged from the shower, damp, a towel around his waist. He shot the two of them a look. Jack flipped him off then slammed his door in the guy’s face.
“It’s my grandma. She’s probably dying. Apparently I’m getting a stepmother. I don’t know. Shit.” He sat and to his surprise, Suzanne slid immediately into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. His body reacted in a healthy fashion, but his heart hurt so badly he didn’t push her away this time. She felt so right to him. He had told her about his dad, his mother’s death, his drive to be better, to prove that he was everything John Gordon would never be. She’d chided him before, but now she just held onto him.
“Um, yeah.” She shifted when his erection made itself well known beneath her. “I should go. You need to pack.”
He tightened his grip and she didn’t resist all that much. When he found her lips with his, their instant familiar softness made him sigh. They’d been here before, on a winter break trip when they’d gotten drunk and high and ended up together more than once that long weekend. It had taken Jack weeks to work up the courage to call her after that and she’d avoided him too. Finally he’d seen her at a party, pulled her aside and they’d agreed that it had been a one-off, fun and all, but their friendship was more important. He knew it then—he probably did love her, should love her. They would make a great couple. So he had to avoid her like the plague.
She sighed as he parted her lips with his tongue gently, with no urgency, no rush, just a sweet moment, a perfect fit. He groaned as she turned to straddle him, lifting her skirt just enough so he could feel her heat against his. The kiss got serious then, as he ran his lips down her neck, cupped one of her pert breasts. The familiarity of it was a relief, and more of a turn-on than any challenge he could remember.
“Jack,” she whispered, her breath getting ragged. “We…I’m…oh…,” she sighed as he lifted her shirt so he could tug one of her peaked nipples into his mouth. She tasted like tart, redheaded perfection. His brain was flooded with a need so strong he couldn’t get his hands around it, couldn’t control it. That scared him, but he refused to slow down. Her hands were fisted in his hair, her petite body wrapped around him. He took her face in his hands and stared at her.
“I can’t do this again, Suzanne. It will…mean too
much. Not after…you know.”
Without a word she reached to his drawer and pulled out a condom.
“No,” he whispered.
She opened it, slid the thin latex over his shaft. When she stood and shed her shirt and skirt it was like a dream, a bizarre half-sleeping moment. She pushed him onto his back, leaned down to lick his nipples, making him groan and shift his hips involuntarily. He pulled her up to meet his gaze. “You’re sure?”
Suzanne nodded, but he stopped when saw the tears in her eyes. He would not make this girl cry, not for anything, not even if it meant cutting her off as a friend. They would never work. He was a shit. She was perfect.
Her lips covered his and his resolve broke into a million pieces. He flipped them over, slid his hands down her small frame. Cupping each breast, he lapped at her flesh, then slid his fingers along her sex. It was exactly as he remembered and had spent months trying to forget.
She sighed, spread her legs. He coaxed a lovely orgasm from her, teasing her G-spot as he stretched her flesh, remembering Mindy’s advice.
Stop. Gordon. This is a bad idea. Think with your upper brain for a change.
“Please, Jack….” She exhaled as the climax left her shaking and still pulsing around his fingers. He climbed up between her legs, covered her lips even as she told him, “Fuck me.”
That sometimes elusive upper brain closed down once more as he did as he was told, twice, before they emerged, her blushing and a little angry for missing her study group. Him packed and headed home to face the Gordon family crisis. He held her at his truck, kissed her hard, not caring who saw them. Just as he was about to ask her to accompany him home, to be with him, be his girlfriend, she spoke.
“Last time,” she said against his chest. “Okay? Because I still think we should not be more than…friends…you know, who can, um, have sex and stuff. Without any awkwardness.”
He laughed so hard she stepped away, frowning at him. He finally collected himself and yanked her close, taking in deep breaths of her, committing it to memory. Relief along with a strange sense of emptiness made him feel hollowed out. He put a hand to her face. “Good call, Peaches. Thanks for the mercy fuck.”
