Fifty-Two Pickup: Threes (Jessica Rogers Book 3)

by Jayden Hunter

  I filled my lungs to capacity and held my breath as he dove to the bottom, just to see how close I could come to holding my breath, sitting on the boat doing nothing, compared to how long he held his.

  It wasn't even close.

  I felt a spell of anxiety each time Brad disappeared under the surface. It’s funny how the mind can imagine all kinds of terror and horror. Sharks, eels, killer whales, Kraken, poisonous jelly fish, sting rays, barracudas, sea snakes, giant clams capable of grabbing a man's foot, and lastly, just running out of air and drowning.

  I imagined being all alone in the middle of the ocean…

  Then I imagined being all alone, period.

  I shivered.

  After pacing for a moment, I decided to relax. He was probably safer out here diving than driving Southern California freeways, especially in the rainy season. But, perhaps this kind of thing was just something we tell ourselves when we’re afraid?

  Everything dangerous is always 'safer than driving.'

  I jumped when he spoke my name.

  “Jess, were you asleep?” Brad asked.

  “No, just day dreaming,” I said. “Did you see anything?”

  “A couple halibut, but not legal ones,” he said. “I could probably find one if I spent more time searching. But I figured you’d be getting bored.”

  “I don’t mind,” I said.

  “No, I’m done.” He started undressing.

  I realized, once again, what a beautiful and fit body he had.

  BRAD TASTED LIKE THE SEA. Salty and primal.

  “I can rinse,” he said.

  “No, I like it,” I told him while kissing his neck and tasting the mixture of salts and minerals produced by his body and deposited by the ocean. I felt his hands on my body, one behind my head, in control, the other in the small of my back, pushing my hips tightly to his. I was down to a tee-shirt and underwear, but he was completely naked. His rigid spear poked my belly. I had become his prey, instead of the fish swimming below us in the kelp, and I was happy to be hunted.

  As much as I wanted him to fuck the tension and anxiety out of my body that exact second, I knew it would be better if I let him work up to it.

  He ran strong fingers into my hair and thrust his tongue into my mouth, first quickly and powerfully, but then slower, methodically, and tenderly. I moaned, leaned into him, and grabbed his ass. His skin was still icy cold in places.

  “I want to warm you up,” I said.

  “I am where it counts,” he whispered in my ear.

  I dropped to my knees and cupped his balls with my left hand while guiding his shaft into my open mouth with my free hand.

  He signed and moaned.

  I took him deeply, his cock sliding like a piston into my throat. I kept it there, caressed his balls, and imagined I was diving to the ocean bottom. I held my breath and gently moved my head. Like a slow series of waves coming to shore, I rocked my whole body, counting down from ten.

  “Oh, God,” he said. He groaned something else, but I could no longer hear his words.

  I became dizzy and light headed.

  I didn’t want to stop, but I had to breathe.

  The sensation of being oxygen deprived while fucking has caused a few unfortunate accidents, but used correctly and cautiously, it's pretty fucking intense.

  I needed air.

  I released his cock, rocked back, took a deep breath, exhaled, and dove again onto his shaft like a seagoing bird diving at a school of bait fish. I lost control and took even more of his generous flesh inside me. Again and again and again.

  I released him.

  Inhaled air.

  Exhaled air.

  Inhaled his dick.

  And repeated.

  I was a woman driven by need, lust, and desire.

  His ball sac tightened. His breathing rate and moaning increased. I could hear his moans transform into a scream. He tensed. I felt the veins in his shaft run along my tongue. Each bumpy ridge was a reminder: his boiling blood pumped from his heart to his dick.

  His mind received a jolt of pleasure, and I could feel his entire body stiffen and tense.

  I was experiencing a similar high. My head was fuzzy, my lungs were burning, and my mind screamed for oxygen. My pussy throbbed for attention.

  Again, I felt him tense. Harder.

  His voice, raspy and desperate, spoke a firm command, “Go slow now. Slow. Slow. Ahh, I’m coming…”

  I moved like a calm breeze across a glassy ocean. I slid his cock all the way out of my mouth, just leaving the tip of my tongue connected to the tip of his shaft. With the skilled hands of a gourmet baker, I kneaded his balls while they contracted. I could feel the shot as it exploded. I followed the ridges of his dick back to the base, my tongue hungry to taste his primordial salt. As the length of cock, lubricated in his sticky fluids, reached the furthest depths of my throat, I could feel the last pulses of his come being driven up his still hard shaft to be spit out by his swollen purple head.

  He moaned and gasped, “Oh, fuck... I…I…oh, God, I need to sit…” His legs, wobbly and unsteady, worked well enough to get him to the small onboard bunk which barely served as a bed for one, much less for two. “Come here,” he said.

  I obeyed.

  “Kneel over me,” he said. “Please, I need to be on my back, but—”

  “Shut up,” I said. “You need to save your tongue's strength.”

  I mounted him as if his face was a saddle. He certainly was a stud, and he wasted not a second before plunging his tongue into me. I gasped with pleasure and leaned back, my knees and legs holding me in place, his hands firm on my ass. I had some control of the movement and pressure, but he was working beautifully with his tongue, lips, and mouth, like a well-rehearsed team. I could feel the tip of his tongue fluttering over my clit. Then he slid it down and plunged it into my wet hole with all his strength.

  I arched back, and he tightened his grip on my ass.

  He circled my pussy with his tongue, working the edges, and digging his fingers into my ass, hard, tight, just to the point where pleasure turned to pain, he circled my clit lightly with his tongue. First one direction, then the other, and all at once he hit a spot of such intense mind-shattering pleasure I felt the universe explode in my mind.

  “Right there!” I screamed. “Oh! Fuck! Damn!” I felt my eyes roll deep into my head and my dizziness turned from joy and explosion into a brief unconsciousness. I lost all ability to think, talk, or move. I could have been in the deepest reaches of space, or perhaps, at the bottom of the ocean.

  My body ceased to exist except for an awareness of my pussy crowned by my clit which sucked all the life out of me and sent it into oblivion.

  I came back to reality sometime later, moments, perhaps. Maybe minutes.

  It seemed like a day had passed.

  I moved down onto him and placed my head on his shoulder.

  I extended my legs, which buzzed and tingled as the nerves received blood again.

  The feeling of his cock grew against my skin, and its stiff eagerness to come again apparent as it slipped inside of me, I whispered in his ear.

  “I want to feel you.”

  His hands squeezed my ass while he guided us both together.

  I pumped slowly, methodically, and with a growing lust to come once again.

  As the pace increased, I surprised myself with my strength.

  To reach climax, I had to go back to my knees and straddle his hips and thighs. I worked myself up and down.

  I watched his face as he peaked.

  He bit his lip, which was sexy as hell. I wanted to tell him that, but I couldn’t speak.

  I moaned myself as I peaked again.

  "Oh, my... Ah!" I came while working on top of him and staring at the ceiling. My eyes rolled back, and I gasped.

  The climax vibrated through my core.

  As the waves receded, I collapsed.

  Our energy spent, our bodies wasted, I laid next to him. On that lit
tle bunk, we both fell asleep for a time.

  When I awoke, he surprised me with a delightful boat-cooked meal. I don’t think it was a small task to prepare what seemed like a gourmet dinner, considering the tiny size of the galley. I would have been happy with a cold sandwich; the day had given me a ravenous appetite.

  He lit a couple of candles and played music.

  “It’s amazing what stars you can see in the sky when you're out here on the water away from the city,” he said.

  “Oh, I saw stars already,” I said. “Some new ones, too.”

  “Damn,” he said smiling at me. “You really are beautiful.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Being in love with vampires is never out of fashion.

  ~ Vianka Van Bokkem

  INVARIABLY, staying at my sister’s house for an extended period leads to resentments and hurt feelings. But I agreed to help for a few days until Ray could return home from his business trip.

  On Friday afternoon Midori caught the stomach flu from Abby.

  “You two look so sad,” I said. Abby was curled up at Midori’s feet like a kitten. Midori—who was rarely sick—kept running off to the bathroom.

  “I’m sorry,” Midori said to me in a feeble voice. “You don’t have to stay home. I’ll be okay.”

  I had a date with Peter Gray, the cosmetic surgeon from Los Angeles, and I knew I had to cancel. “No,” I said. “I’m not leaving you alone. Eve’s cranky, and God-only-knows what the older ones will do if I leave them with no adult supervision.”

  Eve could hobble to the bathroom, but she certainly couldn’t chase around teens or toddlers.

  “I’m sorry,” Midori said again.

  I knew she meant it, but it was one of those things. Peter would understand, I knew, so I called him once I realized for certain that Midori wasn’t going to jump out of bed like a Japanese Ninja Wonder Woman.

  “Hi, Peter,” I said when he answered my call. I didn’t think texting a cancellation at the last minute was classy.

  “Something's wrong?” he asked.

  I liked that he perceived this, although I also hoped I didn't sound whiney. “Abby came down with the stomach flu. Midori caught it. They are both sick and in bed. Eve’s okay, but with her leg in a cast—you understand?”

  “Of course,” he said. “But you’re not sick?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  “Let me bring over some things, and I’ll cook for you. I know a little Jewish Deli, I’ll grab Midori some soup on my way.”

  “I couldn’t ask you—”

  “It’s not a problem,” he said. “Assuming you're up for the company? Honestly, I enjoy cooking for others. I rarely get a chance.”

  “You certain?” I said, but I knew he meant it. Sometimes trying to be polite makes you sound silly.

  “I can get out of the office by five…”

  PETER GRAY WALKED IN THE DOOR carrying two grocery bags in each hand.

  “Give him a hand,” I said to Zack, who stood staring as if Peter was an alien. “You’re old enough—I hope—to not need to be told to be helpful.”

  “Sorry,” he said while reaching out.

  “Thank you,” Peter said. “You must be Zackery?”

  “Zack,” he said.

  “Ah, Zack. I like that name,” Peter said. With a broad smile, he continued walking towards me and planted a kiss on my cheek.

  Human contact coming from someone besides a sick child or my recuperating sister felt like a breath of cool fresh air after leaving a smoky casino. I wanted to hug and kiss him even more, but the groceries needed to make it to the kitchen. I wasn’t so sure my sister would appreciate the kind of PDA I had in mind at the moment in the middle of her house.

  “What’s for dinner?” I asked.

  “A simple lemon and garlic pasta, with fresh Parmesan. A coconut shrimp I’ve been meaning to try. I also brought a warm French loaf, some marinara sauce just in case, and stuff for a salad,” he said.

  “What no leg of lamb?” I teased.

  “Next time,” he said. “I wasn’t sure about the wine, so I brought a Cab and a Pinot Noir. Oh, and a six-pack of Mama’s Little Yella Pils, a lager that made me think of your poor sister.”

  “Yeah, she’s a bit…” I wanted to say ‘bitchy’ but being that Zack was walking right behind us, I thought better of it. “...Under the weather,” I said, finishing my thought.

  “Well, if you don’t mind,” he said setting down the groceries, “I’m going to have one before I begin cooking.”

  “I’ll take one too,” Zack said confidently.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Your mom would kill me.”

  “She doesn’t have to know about it,” he explained.

  “I’m not going behind—”

  “Dad lets me sip,” he stated.

  “Your dad's not here,” I pointed out. “I’m in charge, and I say not this time. Now be a good nephew and go ask your brother and your sisters—not Abby, leave her alone—to come and meet Peter.”

  “Yeah, the last thing they need is to walk in on a strange black man in their house,” Peter said with an ironic smile. “This is Newport Beach, after all.”

  “They’d just think you were an NBA star,” I said. “Don’t worry, they’re churchy Republicans, but there’s no guns in the house.”

  As soon as Zack left the kitchen, I grabbed him and pulled his face to mine. His mouth was minty—he’d recently been chewing gum—and as he kissed me, and pulled me close, he lowered his hands and cupped both my ass cheeks. My body reacted, in spite of my surroundings and the impending interruption of nieces and nephews, and I dropped my hand to his groin. I wanted him to fuck me on the kitchen counter—

  “Ewwwww,” a small voice said.

  Reluctantly I stepped away, hoping the counter had blocked the slight-of-hand to the dick. “It’s not ‘ewwwww’ Ruthie. It’s kissing.”

  “Gross,” she said louder than before.

  “Peter, meet my sister’s fourth, Ruth—Ruthie—she’s eight going on eighteen,” I said.

  “Hello, Ruthie,” he said extending his hand. “I’m Peter.”

  “Do you play basketball?” she asked.

  “No—well, I do for fun sometimes—but I’m a doctor,” he answered.

  “Cool. Auntie, can I have a Coke?”

  “It’s almost dinner time,” I said. “Drink some water.”

  “Awww, please?”

  “She wouldn’t even let me sip a beer,” Zack said as he entered the kitchen. “Aunt Jess is a dungeon master.”

  “I am not,” I protested. “I’m trying to do my best—”

  “Don’t give her a hard time,” Bethany said entering the kitchen next. “You guys know how mom gets.”

  “Aunt Jess, I’m playing a game,” my nephew Peter said. “Can I say ‘hello’ and then go back to my room?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Peter, this is Peter, my nephew—who hates Pete, by the way, so we’ll have to go with Tall Peter and Short Peter.”

  “I’m not short,” he said giving me the evil eye.

  “Okay, what do you suggest?”

  “I don’t care,” he said. “Can I go to my room now?”

  “Shake hands like a gentleman first,” I said.

  He did and then walked the other direction.

  “Sorry,” I said to Tall Peter.

  “Don’t worry, I was a young boy once,” he said. “And if video games back then were like what they have today, I don’t think I’d have ever left my room.”

  “If I’d known you back when you were a teen,” I teased, “we both might have stayed…” I realized Ruthie, Zack, and Bethany were staring at me. “...Okay, never mind that. Peter, meet Bethany, she’s fifteen, and the oldest.”

  They shook hands. I instructed the three remaining brats—I mean wonderful children—to help unpack the grocery bags. As they laid things out on the counter, Peter gave simple instructions on how they could help him prepare dinn
er.

  “If you’d like to help, that is,” he said.

  “I do,” Ruthie said.

  “I can,” Bethany said while washing her hands. She’d been helping her mom lately, and I admired her maturity.

  “Can I go, Auntie Jess?” Zack asked. “I was talking to a friend online.”

  “A girl?” I asked with curiosity.

  He blushed.

  “Go on,” I said.

  My two nieces helped Peter with the meal preparations while I opened a bottle of wine. They followed his directions as if he was a culinary instructor and they were experienced students. I was imagining being his student while I sipped the Pinot and fantasized about how I was going to sneak him into bed…

  DINNER WAS EXCELLENT. The kids helped with cleanup. Bethany and Ruthie raved about the pasta. Whether it was because they’d been included in the preparation, or because they literally thought it was the best pasta ever, I couldn’t tell.

  Peter winked at me when I suggested he was a natural teacher.

  “So, how about a family movie and popcorn?” I asked.

  “Frozen!” Ruthie shouted.

  “No!” her siblings shouted.

  “I say we watch a vampire movie, Aunt Jess,” Peter the Short said with a slight hint of a challenge. The kids all knew I was a vampire addict—after their late grandmother—and that their mother hated anything vampire related.

  “I’m not sure we can find a vampire movie that will meet with your mom’s approval for an eight-year-old,” I said rubbing Ruthie’s head.

  “I’m old enough,” she said. “I watched Lord of the Rings.”

  “You weren’t scared of the Orcs?” Peter the Tall asked.

  “Nope,” she answered. “I know it’s fake.”

  “Hey, have you seen Da Sweet Blood of Jesus?” he asked me.

  “Huh?”

  “The Spike Lee film?”

  “No,” I said. “I can’t say that I have. A vampire flick?”

  “Yeah,” he said, “but not something they’d enjoy”—he pointed to the kids—“I’m trying to think if I can recall a Disney vampire movie…”