by Karr, Kim
Tess
THIS FOURTH OF July when Nick moons me, there’s no doubt that I’m his intended target because he pulls his shorts all the way down, making sure I see every inch of his fine ass.
And see I do.
Breathing hard, I lick my lips a little, and my heart skips a beat.
Seriously, his ass is so tight. So hot. I shove the lemons aside and wipe my hands, just so I can gawk.
“Well,” he says over his shoulder.
“Your ass looks very fine, sweetheart,” I giggle, circling the island to get a closer view.
“You know I’m not talking about my ass,” he grumbles.
I pucker my lips. “I’m sorry?” I suggest.
Then with a sigh, he turns around to show me his very erect cock. “Sorry! That doesn’t work, baby.”
I shrug. “I was just trying to have a little fun. You looked so serious sitting at your desk.”
“I was working, and this,” he points down to his penis that is now jutting straight out, “is what you,” he points to my bikini, “did to me up there with your lap dance.”
“Oh my.” I cover my mouth. “What are you going to do about that? Everyone will be here in an hour, and although you are always the life of the party, I don’t think our guests will appreciate you walking around looking like the hotdogs are in your shorts.”
Nick steps out of his shorts and strides toward me. “You’re hilarious.”
Feeling playful, I shimmy my bottoms down and let them fall to the floor. Then I run a finger down my stomach and around my clit. “Is this what you want?”
His dark gaze darts to my pussy. “You know it is.”
“Ask me what I want?”
He narrows his eyes. “This isn’t a negotiation.”
I hop up on the counter with my legs spread wide and start to play with myself. “Oh, this feels so good.”
“Tess, it isn’t funny. We’re having company in less than an hour, we don’t have time for your games.”
I throw my head back and continue circling my clit. “But you love it when I play games.”
He’s inbetween my legs now, his gaze so heavy with desire, that I almost give in, but this is way too fun. “Yes, I do, when we have time. Right now we don’t have time.”
I lift my finger and swipe it over his lips. “I can make myself come in less than three minutes. I’ll even let you watch. See, I have plenty of time.”
He licks at my finger, greedy-like. “Okay, what do you want?”
I remove my finger from his mouth and cross my legs. “I want to watch you make yourself come.”
He shakes his head no. He still refuses to do that one thing for me. “I don’t get why that fascinates you. If I needed to jerk off, why would you be there? It makes no sense.”
“You’ve watched me make myself come.”
“Yeah, because it’s hot.”
“See.”
He just stares at me.
I uncross my legs and continue circling. “Oh, yes, this feels so good.”
“Fine,” he mutters, and moves his hand to cup my pussy.
I push it away. Tsk. Tsk. “Tonight, after the party?”
“Yes, after the party I’ll put on a porn show.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
I give him a smug smile.
“You’re such a dirty girl,” he growls.
I untie my top and let it fall to the ground. “Good thing that’s how you like me. Now let’s take care of your little problem. See how easy it is when you just play along.”
He shakes his head at me. “You’ve been a very bad girl. If we had time, there are so many things I’d do to that sassy mouth. But I’ll have to save those things for later. Now stand up and turn around. And I don’t want you to come until I say so. This is for me.”
I never knew how good being bad could be—until him.
I turn around and bend over, so wet for him that I swear I am dripping down my leg. He shows no mercy when he thrusts deep inside me. I gasp, loving the feeling. Loving that we can make love or fuck, and sometimes do a little of both. We’ve determined we’re both living the horny teenager years we never got to experience. Him because he was taking care of his brother, and me because I was trying to do what my parents wanted.
Now we do what we want, when we want.
As he pumps into me, I look around our kitchen, at the bright white cabinets and pale yellow walls, the dark hardwood floors, and the marble countertops, and then I glance at the diamond ring and wedding band on my finger. I still can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life with this man.
True to his word, Nick married me and bought us a house in Lincoln Park, both before the first day of summer. The house is one we picked out together. It’s a four-bedroom, two-story house with a huge backyard, a swimming pool, and a basketball court, of course. In truth, I’m pretty sure that is what sold him on the house. What sold me was the white picket fence, and the hope of a life I never even dreamed of.
We got married in a church because I knew it would make my parents happy. It was a small ceremony, and we threw a huge party afterwards at the same place Ethan and Fiona held their engagement party. Nick says it’s where he fell in love with me, and that celebrating our marriage there would bring us full circle.
How could I argue with that?
Nick’s thrusts become faster, and he goes deeper, and I want to come, I want to come so badly, I can’t help but moan. “Don’t you dare,” he whispers in my ear. “Not until I say.”
I hold back, and I can feel how close he is, but even as he comes, calling out my name, he says nothing to me.
My punishment.
Don’t worry, what comes around goes around with us—always.
When he sags into me, he bites my shoulder, and then he places one hand on my belly. I’m six weeks pregnant, and although we should wait to tell everyone, we’re too excited not to tell them today.
I moan again, the pain of the impending pleasure almost too much to bear.
Giving in to me, his hand goes to my clit. “You were a very good girl for waiting. Do you want to come?”
“Yes, sir, yes I do.”
He groans with excitement whenever I say sir. And I know when I do, I always get my way.
As predicted, he makes his move. His hand slides up from my belly to my breast and he pinches my nipple. “Who owns this body?”
“You,” I purr.
With satisfaction, he inserts a finger inside me while his thumb circles me with just the right amount of pressure. “Who do you come for?” he asks.
“You,” I moan.
“Who always makes you feel good?”
“You,” I cry, moaning and twisting.
“There you go, baby, now come for me.”
And come I do, calling out his name over and over. I like to play games before sex, he likes to play them during sex. It couldn’t be more perfect.
Having worked himself back up, he whirls me around and crashes his lips to mine, sliding his tongue in to taste me.
When he pulls away, he inserts the tip of his cock only slightly into my pussy. For several long seconds, he plays, pushing in and out, going a bit deeper with each thrust.
I look down, enjoying the sight of his cock sliding from my pussy, wet and slick.
“You like that?” he whispers, thrusting hard and deep.
“Yes,” I breathe, running my hands down his hard abs.
“You’re so tight. So snug.”
I moan softly, and he pauses, withdrawing and then pushing forward in slow fucking motions. “Tell me what you like,” he says, looking down now too, watching the sliding motion of his cock in and out of my pussy.
I lean against the counter to get a better view. “Your cock inside me.”
He pushes in harder. “Where inside you?” he grounds out.
My body is spiraling as he continues to work me. “In my pussy, in my mouth, and in my ass.”
&
nbsp; I can’t help it, I’m a dirty, dirty girl.
Harder, deeper, he moves. His hips smack against mine and I cry out, my pussy convulsing around him.
“Oh, fuck, Tess, that’s it,” he groans.
My cry nearly splinters the room, as this time we both come together.
He closes his eyes, and then sags against me. “You undo me, Tess, “ he murmurs.
I sag against him. “You undo me, too,” I murmur back.
And once we’ve regained our strength, we head upstairs to shower and get ready for the party we’re throwing. We might live in a constant state of being undone, but for now it is time to do ourselves up, if only for a little while.
Later that night, once the fireworks have gone off and all the hotdogs and hamburgers have been eaten, I stand on the back deck with Nick’s arms wrapped around me and look around at all the people in our life.
Fiona, Ethan, and Jace are sitting together around the bonfire. Their threesome thing is over, but nothing between them seems to have changed. Fiona ended it, although she did so in that way that made it seem like it was mutual.
First, she suggested to Jace that he move Scarlett to The Preston School this fall and because it is the best around, he decided to. After he registered Scarlett, Fiona insisted Jace meet Max’s teacher, who will be Scarlett’s teacher next year. You remember, Miss Eastling, the pretty one who wears her hair in a chignon. And believe it or not, Fiona’s matchmaking skills might have worked this time. Jace and Miss Eastling have a date next week.
When I asked Fiona why she ended things, all she said was Jace was ready to have someone in his life that he doesn’t have to share.
Then I asked her what that meant for her and Ethan, and she told me that they were going to be just fine.
And I have no doubt they will be.
Shifting my gaze, it lands on Hayden, his girlfriend, and Ash, who are sitting by the pool with their feet dangling in the water. Hayden finally asked Allie to marry him last week, but they aren’t getting hitched until next summer.
Ash, on the other hand, says he’s not ready to fall in love. There’s still too much for him to do before he gets weighted down with the old ball and chain. His words, not mine.
The café is still on hold, and it might be that way for quite a while. Right now though, I’m content being Nick’s wife, lover, and soon-to-be mother of his child. I never thought that would be what I wanted out of life—but it turns out it might be just what I needed to finally feel like me.
Nick says, “Don’t be mad,” and then lets go of me.
I turn to give him a confused look, but before I even fully turn around, he’s streaking down the deck, running toward the pool, and jumping off the diving board, yelling, “Cannonball,” as he moons our guests.
All I can do is shake my head.
I told you he always has to be the life of the party.
So yeah, as for the big kid known as Nick Carrington, his business took a huge lose last quarter, but now that he is back in the game, it is finally getting back on track.
Oh right, I almost forgot, as for Bigelow, he was arrested last month on three separate counts of tax evasion. If he is convicted, he will spend fifteen years in jail. Ethan is certain he will be convicted. In truth, I’m pretty certain he helped uncover the felony. Also, the same day Bigelow was charged and released on bail, three men in ski masks attacked him on his way home. His injuries weren’t severe, but warranted that he spend the night in the hospital.
I didn’t have to ask Nick if it was him.
I knew it was.
Just as I knew he did it for me.
And if it makes me a bad person to say Bigelow got what he deserved, then I’ll make up for it in some good way someday.
It might be a warped sense of thinking, but I don’t care.
The truth is—I’m different.
Nick’s different.
We’re all different.
And for the first time in my life, different doesn’t feel bad.
In fact, it feels really good.
THE END
A LOOK INTO NO PANTS REQUIRED
Makayla
JUST THE MERE SUGGESTION OF karaoke gets everyone’s heart pounding. Whether it’s out of excitement or pure, blind panic depends on the individual and that person’s frame of mind at the time.
The truth is that most people sing karaoke for the same reasons they go bowling—it’s a fun activity and they can drink while doing it.
With that being said, perhaps some of the people that are here can get up and confidently belt out their most favorite song in the world with no concern for the eardrums they are perforating or the notes they are destroying. Unfortunately, I am not one of those people.
To be honest, I can’t believe I even agreed to do this.
Then again, Bar On is not where I thought I’d find myself tonight. This Chinatown lounge may be packed full of eager-to-sing regulars, but my friends and I are not those people. We are here on a whim after a few too many drinks at a restaurant down the street.
Shuffling through the crowd, I stop when someone taps me on the shoulder. Thinking it’s one of my friends, I turn around to see a tall, leggy brunette with the most vibrant green eyes staring at me. Her face is stunning. She looks like Megan Fox. For a second, I wonder if she is.
She steps closer and right away I can see this woman is a bit younger, though—my age, I’d say. “Do you mind if I get by?” she asks with one of those affluent tones I know all too well from my days in private school.
Definitely not Megan Fox.
Without waiting for me to answer, she pushes past, and in her rush, steps on my open-toed pump.
Ouch!
I glare as her red Louboutin soles make their way to the front of the lounge.
“Come on,” my coworker tosses over her shoulder, not at all bothered by the woman who brushed past her, too. “Sandra found us a table.”
India leads the way, and I follow, making sure not to step on any toes in the crowd. Finally, she stops at the only available table large enough for our group, which just so happens to be right in front of the stage.
Fantastic.
The white leather banquette is awash in the neon light emanating from the human-sized letters that spell the establishment’s name across the back wall. The light is nearly blinding. I look at Sandra. “Are you sure you want to sit this close?”
She hands me a menu of songs. “Yes, this is going to be great.”
“Pour Some Sugar on Me” is coming to an end and once I’ve slid all the way across the bench, I look up to see a group of very pleased guys jumping off the stage in unison. The Def Leppard wannabes are staring at us.
This must have been their spot.
All clean-cut, all fuck-hot, all about my age. Immediately, I can tell by their walk that they are definitely Upper East Siders. Prep school, riot club types turned Wall Street wolves would be my guess. You know—the kind of guy your mother warns you about.
The type I should have stayed away from.
The guy closest to me is wearing a red tie and has his black jacket slung over his shoulder. The others are dressed in dark suits too. Hmmm . . . either dressed up for an occasion or still dressed up after the occasion. Not a wedding, since it’s a Thursday night. An office party maybe? Or perhaps this group of drunken men is here for a going-away party like mine. Who knows? Anyway, the guy with the red tie gives the eight of us girls a quick glance and a smile but doesn’t stop.
He’s cute. Really cute.
At least he doesn’t seem to mind that we took their table. Then again, he’s too focused on the guy without a jacket farthest away from me. “Cam,” he calls out. “Don’t bother with her.” His warning is too late, though, because this Cam, whose white, rumpled shirt and dark hair are all I can see, is already allowing himself to be dragged away from his group by that Megan Fox look-alike who practically ran me over minutes ago.
Fascinated by her assertiveness, I watch the
two of them. I have to crane my neck to catch sight of them, and soon, too soon, they disappear into the crowd. Squinting my eyes, wishing I’d changed my dirty contact lenses, I search for them.
In a matter of seconds, though, it’s not my poor eyesight but Sandra who prevents me from locating them. She stands in front of me with a huge-ass smile on her face. “What song did you decide on?”
Giving a cursory glance at my choices, the perfect one is the first I see. “‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’” I blurt out and point excitedly at the same time. This song I know, and know it all too well.
Sandra is my neighbor and is more than aware of all my woes. That sad smile she gives me borders on pity.
Not wanting to be that girl anymore, the one who got her heart broken, I grab Sandra’s arm before she heads toward the karaoke booth. “You know what, forget that song. Why don’t you pick one that represents the change coming in my life?”
At that her eyes light up.
Minutes later I’m being dragged up onstage by my friends and coworkers, and according to the screen, I’m about to sing a group rendition of “New York, New York.”
Okay, I can do this.
I know this song. Not as well as “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” but at least I know it. Besides, how hard can it be? I’ve sung it a million times—although admittedly mostly when I’ve been drunk.
Then again, I have had a lot to drink tonight.
The pressure is on. The eight of us gather around the microphone. The audience lights dim and a spotlight shines on us. I kind of feel like a star. No, I feel like Frank Sinatra himself without those penetrating blue eyes. But when the karaoke jockey asks, “Are you ready?” suddenly, I’m petrified. There is no way on God’s green earth I am going to be able to hit the high notes.
The music starts. It’s too late to back out. First, it’s just the piano, but then the trumpet and clarinet join in. It’s odd, but the familiarity of the sound eases my nerves. When the lyrics flash in front of me, all my worries are gone and I don’t care anymore.
I let all of my hang-ups go and sing.
This, what I’m doing right now, is a glimpse into the old me. Somewhere between college and the real world, I lost that fun-loving girl, and I hope I can find her again.
