I have the buttons undone so fast it’s amazing none of them popped off.
She arches her back for me to lift her shirt and then sits up so I can remove it. Her bra is a lacy, short purple tank.
I trace the small curves of her breasts with my index fingers. “Pretty, but let’s lose this, too.”
I slip a finger beneath the lace and discover it’s stretchy. “Feel free to wear this around me anytime.”
The lace joins my shirt on the floor with her other clothes.
Gently I lay her down in the center of the bed. “Still too many clothes.”
After some shimmying and flopping around like a fish, I get her jeans off.
Smartly, I keep this thought to myself.
All that remains is her underwear. I leave it in place. For now.
I crawl back up her body and retrace my previous path from her mouth, to her jaw, down her neck and over her collarbones.
This time, I give special attention to her breasts, swirling my tongue over one nipple while my hand squeezes the other.
I’m enjoying the slow torture when she threads her fingers into the hair on the top of my head. The pain stills my movement with my teeth pressing against her nipple.
Not willing to relinquish my position, I wait her out. My fingers trace her other nipple in a slow, concentric circle.
“I was wrong about your foreplay skills.”
“Hmm?” I hum around her nipple before releasing it.
“You’re mean.”
“Why?” I press a kiss to her left breast and gaze up at her. “I thought I was being very nice.”
With a sigh, she grabs my hand and places it over the lace of her underwear.
She doesn’t need to use words. A woman telling me what she wants is hot.
I cover her mouth with mine, sliding my tongue against hers while my fingers explore her. Her body responds, opening, and allowing me more access. I slip a finger, then another inside of her.
A breathy moan encourages me to keep going.
I have a better idea.
I kneel on the carpet at the end of the bed and slide her closer to me. Hooking my fingers below the band, I tug the lace off her hips and down her legs. She rests her thighs on my shoulders. Kissing my way from her knee to her center, I take my time.
The fantasy of her has lived in my dreams for far too long to rush this. Dream Cari has nothing on the sounds and feel of the real woman.
She smells of raspberries. I’m not sure if it’s a lotion or perfume, or simply her. I inhale the scent along her inner thigh.
Her breathing stills when I brush my nose where her thigh meets her center, licking the same path a moment later.
It’s a relief I came already. There’s no way I wouldn’t be dying for release right now. As it is, I’m almost fully hard again.
With every sweep of my tongue or pressure from my fingers, I memorize her response. I want to learn what makes her heart race and the small muscles inside of her clench. Her breath catches and she tenses when I apply more pressure with my thumb and speed up my tongue. Soon, her fingers tangle in my hair, and she’s not gentle with her silent command.
“Oh, oh, oh . . . I’m so close.”
I hum against her skin while my hand seeks out her breast again. Locating her nipple, I pinch it hard enough she arches and her thighs flex.
“Ohmygod . . .”
She bucks as her orgasm builds and flashes through her.
I release her nipple, but draw out her pleasure with my mouth until she stills me with a soft touch to my head.
My imagination sucks. She was more incredible than my fantasies.
She jerks when I kiss her hip, brushing my beard along her skin, and withdraw my fingers.
“God, I want to be inside of you now.”
“Yes, please yes,” she whispers.
I’m not sure I have a condom in my jeans. “Um, I don’t think I brought anything.”
“In the bathroom caddy. Bottom basket.” She scoots herself toward the pillows.
I kick off my sneakers, socks, and jeans before walking into the bathroom naked.
“You really do have a very nice ass.” Cari giggles.
“If you’re nice, I’ll let you grab it.” I locate an open box of condoms. The thought of her using them with someone else bugs me. Not to the point of anger, but a fuck-that-bullshit kind of annoyed.
No, I know she’s not a virgin, but I don’t need the reminder she’s been with other men when I’m sporting wood naked while she waits for me in bed.
But I have enough sense to realize I have zero claim on her past or her future. This is about an itch and scratching it to make it go away. I roll the condom on and join her in bed.
My mood has darkened. If Cari notices, she doesn’t react. When I kiss her, I crash my lips to hers. My tongue invades her mouth while I pull her hair to tilt her head to the angle I want. I grip her ass hard enough it might leave bruises.
The urge to claim her slams into me. I know she’s ready. There’s no need to check after the orgasm I gave her a few minutes ago. I settle between her legs. She meets my gaze with hooded eyes. Her cheeks and chest are pink from my beard and touch.
She’s more than beautiful.
I thrust into her until my hips meet her thighs with one long, powerful movement. I lift her calf and rest it on my shoulder, opening and angling her so I can go deeper, harder, faster.
This isn’t making love.
No, we’re not in love.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Some itches get worse when scratched. Like mosquito bites. Or poison ivy. Better to leave them alone and forget about them because once the scratching begins, it feels too good to stop.
I lose myself in her body’s response. Her sounds fill my ears along with her breath. My hands roam her body, touching, grabbing, squeezing, in an attempt to get enough.
She feels amazing wrapped around me; her warmth enveloping my cock. I rock and grind against her, not wanting to break contact.
This might be our one and only time together. I need to make it worth it.
“Cari,” I whisper as I reach the point of no return. She opens her eyes and I’m lost in the deep green.
I lose my rhythm and can’t get deep enough as my muscles tighten and begin pulsing. “I . . . fuck.” Words spill out of my mouth before my brain figures out I’m speaking.
I have no idea what I meant to say. All thoughts disappear. Pleasure replaces everything else as I come.
No way will once with her ever quench my fantasies.
Some itches are scratched to the point of bleeding. Or scarring.
Some never go away and can drive a man insane.
Cari’s definitely in the latter group.
I lower her leg and rest my head on her shoulder. Her hands rest on my ass. I need to get rid of the condom, but I’m not sure I can walk right now.
She gives my butt a squeeze. “You should do less talking.”
I chuckle and kiss her again. “You’re amazing for my ego.”
“You’re welcome.” She slaps my ass. “Your ego needs me.”
My ego needs to go to the back of the line.
I exhale and head to the bathroom to take care of business. Flushing, I stare at myself in the mirror. Marks from Cari’s hands and nails are scattered over my arms. Turning, I see a few faint scratches on my back and near my ass. My ego should be happy she was so into it, but I don’t feel like high-fiving myself for screwing her brains out.
She’s wearing a dress with no bra and sitting on her bed when I return. I pick up my boxers and jeans to put on, secretly hoping she’ll ask me to stay for another round. The dress looks like a big red stop sign telling me “no.”
“I guess I should go.” I pull on my boxers.
“Yeah. Okay.” Her voice is quiet, but she gives me a small smile. “Thanks.”
“For leaving?”
“For the sex.”
“I think that’s a first for
me.”
“Having sex with an actual woman?” She grins at me.
We’re back to friendly fire. “From the way you were screaming, you know that’s not true. I meant the thank you.”
“My parents raised me to be polite.”
The idea of her mother telling her to say thank you for orgasms makes me laugh. “Then, you’re welcome. I’ll let you out of writing a formal thank you note.”
This time when she flips me off, we’re both laughing and smiling. Orgasms are great peace-makers.
I pull my shirt over my head and run my hands through my sex hair. “I’ll see you around.”
“Sure. It’s an island.” Standing, she steps closer to me.
Her signals are all over the place like my thoughts. I lean down to kiss her cheek and she gives me a soft kiss on the mouth.
I return the kiss, but keep my mouth closed. “See you later.”
“Not if I see you first.” She pecks my cheek.
As I walk up the driveway, I turn back to see the curtains swing closed. An afternoon walk of shame feels dirtier than an early morning escape.
Or maybe the dirty feelings have nothing to do with a spying landlady.
Tsk, tsk, pretty girls.
Not one of you has shared the goodies.
Somewhere out there must be a picture of our golden HAG from the front.
We’ve seen the buns. Where’s the sausage?
Sure, there’s a shadow that could be the package we’ve been waiting for. Or a light saber. Or a baby’s arm. Check out the pink circle in the pic below and comment to share your theory.
Photo fail, ladies.
Like the Justice Booker sex tape (oh, come on, you know he’s made at least one), this is the Big Foot, the Loch Ness Monster, and Roswell Aliens rolled into one special package. The truth is out there and we must Mulder-Scully the sh*t out of every detail to find it.
It’s up to us, ladies. We’re our only hope.
Don’t go being greedy. Share with the rest of the class and I promise to be your best bestie forever. I’ll get your name tattooed in a heart on my chest.
In the meantime, here’s some celeb full frontals to keep us occupied. Hello, Big Fassy!
Smooches,
Gomez
I’VE NEVER BEEN a jealous guy. Why should I be? There are plenty of beautiful women in the world. More than enough to go around. I’m certain of it even though sometimes it feels like everyone on this island is paired off. Or male.
Dan flirting with Cari bugs the shit out of me. He’s too old for her. Not like Hugh Hefner and the bunnies old, but older than me.
The worst part is that she’s flirting back with him.
Could be she’s really starving and flirting for some free garlic knots, but I doubt it.
Dan’s all smiles and charm with the girls at Sal’s. Hailey and Diane giggle and flirt right back. Tonight he’s focused on Cari. Fresh meat. Turns out he lived in New Mexico after college, back in the stone ages. The two of them are talking about green chiles like it’s code for sex. At least that’s my take from all the moaning and “oh yes” coming from them across the restaurant.
None of them have spotted me over here by the counter. I’m conveniently hidden behind his oversized, overpriced Italian espresso machine. The stack of imported tiny cups hides enough of me if I duck.
I only stopped by to pick up dinner. I’m not spying. They’re so loud, I’d have to be deaf to not hear their guffaws of laughter and “oh ha ha you’re so witty” compliments to each other.
If Dan weren’t here, I’d dub them the “No Boys Allowed” club. A pack of she-wolves if there ever has been one.
What is it about women and the need to be in a gang? One minute they’re strangers, the next they’re braiding each other’s hair and trying on clothes. At least that’s what I imagine girls do when they get together. Eat, drink wine or those frou-frou drinks, complain about their weight, eat some ice cream, talk about guys, complain about us guys, and repeat. Maybe they’re solving world peace in between. I’ve never gotten close enough to figure out their secrets.
Meanwhile, Dan’s a fucking, jolly old pizza pirate, charming them.
“Hey, Erik. Your pizza’s ready.” Jeff’s voice spooks me and I knock a cup off the counter. It hits the ground with a crash, shattering loudly on the cement.
The laughter and conversation stops when four heads turn to focus on me. I bend over to pick up the shards of broken ceramic. Another table with two old ladies whispers behind me.
“I’d like to gluteus his maximus,” one of them whispers to her friend. Only her whisper is as quiet as a foghorn.
What does that even mean?
With a sigh, I crouch on my haunches to grab the remaining pieces. Jeff comes around the counter with a broom and dustpan. Ignoring the whispers and silence from the two tables, I sweep up my mess. Embarrassment over being busted heats my neck.
When I straighten up, I catch the older ladies smiling at me. The one in the mint green tracksuit waves me over.
With a bit of trepidation, I smile and brace myself for whatever is coming next.
“You’re the young man who runs the roasting company, aren’t you? Our granddaughter told us we had to meet you when we came for our annual wine tour of Whidbey. Thought it was strange because neither one of us drinks coffee anymore. Stains our teeth and keeps us up too late.” No one can have naturally lavender hair, but this octogenarian rocks the color.
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“She told us your bottom was on television and on some websites. Alice and I had a look.”
Mint velour suit nods. “Then I had to have my grandson come over and remove the virus from my computer. Did you know a lot of those pornography sites are infected with the computer virus?”
I briefly close my eyes and press my lips together. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s probably a good idea to avoid those kinds of sites. You can get a filter.”
Alice waves me off. “I had to ask Phyllis here how to get those filters removed in the first place. I’m eighty-two years old. I think I’m old enough to look at pornography if I want to, and nobody can tell me I can’t.”
This is my life.
Phyllis taps her friend’s arm. “Ask him for the selfie.”
“I left the selfie stick in the car. We can take turns posing with him.” They continue speaking like I’m not standing here, awkwardly shuffling from one foot to the other and praying the ground opens to swallow me whole.
“Um . . .”
“Oh, we don’t want to keep you. Phyllis, you go first.”
Phyllis scoots herself out of the booth. I stand stock still waiting to see what happens next.
I’m prepared for one of them to put her arm around my waist and pose together. Phyllis stands behind me.
I’m not expecting Alice to shuffle to the edge of the bench, but not stand up. “Move closer. I won’t bite.”
Their intent becomes clear. It’s not me they want to pose with.
It’s my butt.
Girlish laughter carries over from the other table when Alice’s arm wraps around my waist and her fingers tuck into my back pocket.
I’m being old-lady-handled.
“Oh, Alice. Don’t get too grabby.” Phyllis laughs and for a moment I think she’s taking my side. “Leave some for me.”
I roll my head back on my neck, stare up at the ceiling, and exhale.
“Excuse me, ladies?” Cari’s voice comes from behind me. “Can I steal my boyfriend from you?”
Excuse me?
“Oh, you’re the lucky girl!” Phyllis claps her hands together like she’s found out Clint Eastwood wants to date her.
Cari grins at them. “I am the lucky girl. So lucky.”
“Can we get a pic of the two of you?” Alice asks, peeking around my side, her hand resting on my hip. She gives me a squeeze as she stands up.
“Sure.” Cari pulls me toward her, wrapping her arm around my waist.
&n
bsp; I smile and talk behind my teeth. “What are you doing?”
Her grin never falters as she replies, “Cougar rescue mission. I saw them getting handsy and intervened before Dan threw you out of here for public indecency.”
“Put your heads together and show us the love.” Phyllis holds her smart phone in one hand and pushes Cari closer to me with the other.
We oblige the crazy old ladies. I don’t let go of Cari when Phyllis finally stops snapping away.
“Will you sign our menu?” Alice holds out a pen.
I scribble my name so it’s completely illegible.
Cari tugs on my arm, practically dragging me back to her table.
“You smell like dried flowers and talcum powder.” Hailey slides over on her bench to make room for me. “Did you get their numbers? They seemed really into you.”
“They wanted me to meet their hot granddaughters.”
“That’s totally a ruse, you know,” Hailey says.
“At least they won’t post their pics online.” I stuff a slice of pizza in my mouth.
Cari chokes on her pop and the rest of the table grows quiet.
“I know, I know. It wasn’t you.” I still hold her partly responsible.
“They’re going to be sharing those pics all over their bridge club’s Facebook group.” Diane giggles and then gets a look on her face. “I think I just peed my pants.”
She run-waddles to the bathroom.
Alice and Phyllis wave good-bye to us. Phyllis even blows me a kiss.
“Forget dirty old men, I think women get pervier with age.” Cari wads up her napkin and sets it on her plate.
I lean closer to her and whisper, “Speaking from experience?”
“I have a few decades to go before I get to their level.”
She snorts and I stare at her. Following her finger, I see what made her laugh. I’m parked in front of a sign that says “Parking in the Rear.”
“It must suck to be the butt of every joke.” She giggles.
“Welcome to my life. It’s one long, never-ending butt joke.” I roll down my window and slide the gearshift into reverse.
“Thanks for the ride home. You think they suspect anything?”
“Why would they?”
Anything but Love (Wingmen #3) Page 16
