by Mary Potter
Brandon turns me around, facing the bench. His hands climb up my legs under the dress. He hitches up my skirt, and I lean forward. It’s a night I will never forget. We will look back forever, remembering our magnificent night in the botanical garden. I can’t breathe, and I can’t think of anything except Brandon’s cock.
I grip the back of the bench and arch my back. It doesn’t take much for Brandon to press the perfect round head of his cock against my opening. I feel his hardness through the soft flesh of his cock head. I welcome his hand, guiding the tip into me. He’s penetrated me, and there is that incredible taboo moment when I know it’s wrong, but it feels so incredibly right that it’s impossible to stop. I don’t want him to stop. I want Brandon to take me forever.
All that in just the tip of him breaching me and sending another electrical wave of orgasmic pleasure into me. It’s when he slides the entire length of his cock deep inside me that I have to expel the air from my lungs. He’s thick and long, and I can feel all of him in me. Brandon starts slow and steady. He’s enjoying the feeling of my slick walls wrapped around his shaft. I think about how my pussy pulls at his cock as he slides in and out of me. I reach down between my legs with my right hand. I hold the bench with my left, and Brandon pumps me harder and faster. I press my fingers against my clit and rub it in the way that only I can do to make me cum fast and hard.
Brandon feels me tightening around his cock. He knows I’m about to explode. He slows, holds my hips, and manages to push his cock right into that impossible spot that makes me cry out in a spectacular orgasm. I am shaking. My arm is trembling. But Need him to cum. I must have his cum.
“Please, fuck me. Fuck me, harder. Yes. Just like that. More.”
My hand reaches back, deeper between my legs. My fingers graze against his tightening balls. I know he’s climbing that point. It’s building in him. I turn my hand to accept his shaft, slick with my syrupy pussy and his precum. I bend more, spreading my thighs wide, and I hear Brandon’s cock smacking into me, his hips slapping against my ass. My fingers are touching the tight balls, and I listen to him grunt. I know he’s ready to explode because I’m about to have my third orgasm of the night. Its Brandon that I feel, only Brandon, and it’s a sensation that I know I’ll have forever.
I cum as Brandon cums, and he tenses, I press my hand up between his legs so I can feel him pumping cum into my through my hand and his thick cock ejaculating inside me. It’s the most intensely pleasurable experience I’ve ever had in my life.
When its over, when Brandon leans over my back but doesn’t put pressure on me, I feel his arms wrap around me. He sighs, his chin against my back. I feel his cock in me. I try to move, thinking he wants out of me, but Brandon tenses again.
“No, please, don’t move. Let me stay inside you a little longer.”
“Oh, yes, as long as I can have you.”
“You can have me as long as you want.”
Epilogue
BRANDON
O ur first night together is something that’s not an isolated event. It turns out Brianna loves to fuck, and she loves to fuck me. And I know I can do it right for her, I know I have everything she wants in a man. But that’s not what makes it so unique between us. It’s because, for the first time in my life, I have a woman who is unique and not afraid to go after her dreams. It’s not just me that Brianna wants for the rest of her life, she wants the place she can call all her own, and call all the shots. I support Brianna not because I have to do it, but because it’s what I want too. I want Brianna happy because when she’s happy, Brianna wants me more every day.
The day Brianna signs the lease on the catering kitchen, she’s nervous. It’s a big responsibility, and she feels it’s exactly what she wants.
“Listen,” I tell her. We’re embracing in the quiet of her large kitchen with five pre tables and for ovens. It has more space and stoves than I’ve seen before. “I am here. I am here for you, and we’re going to do this. I am so proud of you. You took a chance, and you’re going to make something incredible with this place.”
“I didn’t take a chance. I am a damned great cook. Everyone in this city knows my name.”
I grin and shake my head. “I meant you took a chance with me.”
“Don’t be silly,” she says. “You’re the reason I’m in here. You’re the guy that’s not afraid of anything. I get some of my courage from you. That’s what it means when you’re together with someone. We have each other to lean on when we’re a little scared.”
I kiss Brianna’s forehead. “You’ve got nothing to be afraid of,” I say. “Orders are starting. You’ve got your crew hand-picked and ready to start in the morning. We’ve got all the orders ready, and I am here when you need me.”
“I need you to be safe so we can stay together.”
“I am never going to leave you, Brianna. You’re too special. I knew the moment I saw you guarding your hors d’ oeuvres that you were the girl for me.”
We hold each other a while longer in the kitchen. I want her. I want to take her right there, and I feel my cock wake up.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says.
“What’s that?”
“You want to fuck me bent over this prep table.”
I laugh. “It’s true. But I will refrain from trying anything untoward in your new kitchen.”
It gets Brianna laughing. I love the sound of her laughter. “We’d have to sanitize everything again. I’ll make a deal with you, let’s lock up and we can find that bench in the botanical garden again behind the art center.”
“See, you know how to start something,” I say. How can I resist that offer? I embrace Brianna and squeeze her until she squeaks playfully.
“I love you,” I whisper.
BRIANNA
H ow can you stop when you go from zero to a hundred? I don’t want to stop, and I know Brandon doesn’t want to stop. We’re together, and its forever, and he’s a man who knows what I want in life. What an incredible experience I’ve had with him. Brandon is unlike any man I’ve known before, and I know he’s with me in it for eternity.
“I love you so much,” I say. Its words that make me feel complete. I’ve got everything that I want—more than I ever thought possible. Brandon came out of nowhere, and now he’s here, and our love is everlasting.
It’s so much more than I ever hoped. Love isn’t just about the unbelievable sex. Brandon is the best lover. It’s so much more, though. He’s thoughtful and encouraging. When I had second thoughts about putting my name on the least, Brandon was there to hold my hand.
It’s a joyous time. I am ready to start the rest of my life, and I’m in the business of making other people’s lives better. I can’t imagine not going another day without Brandon with me. I think about this astonishing moment, and we’re sharing it. I hear something clatter on the steel table.
I pull away from my ear to Brandon’s chest and turn toward the sound. It’s a small black velvet box. It’s a hinged box that fits in the palm of a hand. It’s a box full of possibilities and overflowing at that moment with love. Brandon’s great with his tongue. He’s articulate and mind-blowing when his tongue pressed against my clit.
But sometimes, Brandon does so much when he’s not saying a word. I shift and face the table. There is a boxful of dreams waiting. All I have to do is reach out and open it. I don’t care what’s inside. I don’t care if it’s a plastic band or an ‘I owe you.’ Brandon came with me on this journey, and I know whatever’s inside that little jewelry box is more than I ever thought before I saw those chuck hazel eyes.
“Are you going to open it,” Brandon asks.
“I don’t have to. You already know my answer.”
JACKSON
BOYS IN BLUE
SAN FRANCISCO
BOOK 6
MARY POTTER
Contents
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Cha
pter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Chapter 1
JACKSON
I think my neighbors like me. I think it has something to do with me being one of the Boys in Blue, with the badge and the gun, and the sensible disposition. I don’t mean to add anything provocative, but I know Mrs. Arbuckle likes to look at my ass when I leave for work every day. I don’t mind. If it gives the retired woman of sixty-seven a thrill, I’m happy to oblige a little rump-shake to make her whole day. I know they mean well. I know they’re good people, and when you live in a condominium with walls thinner than sheer nylons, you want to make sure your neighbors are not hard of hearing, sex addicts, or experiment with strange foods. With the Arbuckles, I got one out of three.
Fortunately, the condos on 19th Avenue afford me a little privacy, some height off the streets of San Francisco, and luxury care service for the property. It includes fumigation.
“Seems here you’ve got an infestation,” the property manager says. He’s one of those guys who looks like he belongs on a sex offender registration. But I’m not interested in his hobbies right now. Only what he can do for me in his line of work.
“The Arbuckles came back from Mexico with some tourist crap. They gave me that Mayan wooden mask on the side table.” I motion to the quaint and rudimentary wood carving. It’s a face of sorts, and it was a gift. I didn’t want to throw it away because the Arbuckles like to snoop sometimes when they take care of the trash. If I toss it, I need to wait a few years when they’re senile or dead.
“Yeah, I was afraid of that. It seems like they brought back some gifts for everyone around this building,” the property manager said. He pulled off his baseball cap and scratched his scalp with greasy fingernails. “I think you got the same mask as everyone else on this floor, and the floor below, and the floor above, and—”
“Great, so what do you need to do?”
“Well, I need to fumigate the apartment, that’s what. It’s gonna take a week. Stop by the rental office on your way out today. Tell them I sent you. They got a contract with the hotels around town. If you get there soon, you can get the coupons for a stay at the one on Beach Street. I like it there. You can see the girls on the beach.”
“Well, thanks,” I say. It’s one thing to think the guy a little creepy. It’s something else when the creeps want to share their hobbies. “You know I’m a cop, right?”
“Yeah, so, it ain’t a crime to look.”
And that’s my life in a nutshell.
KAYLA
T here is a rhythm and an art to housekeeping in a swanky hotel like the one where I work. I keep that rhythm on my hips, not just because I’m curvy. It has to do with my music I use to drown out the noise of the place, while I go from room to room, and scrub, clean, replace linens, empty trash cans and wonder where all these people are going.Can anyone really be happy cleaning up after other people?
I mean, I know it’s a job. It’s not a terrible job. There are worse things to do, but I have an intrinsic sense of accomplishment when I leave each of the chic suites in pristine condition. Especially after some guests take a lot more liberties than others, those are the ones I have to watch out for, and there are more than a few.
“Sometimes, I think San Francisco is a magnet for horny, bald, fat businessmen who would rather tip the help with their little, bent dicks than with a few dollars on the dresser.” That’s Maria, and she’s feisty. She’s the head housekeeper, and I love her attitude. She knows what it means to take coquettish to a level that works in her favor. She might complain about those frustrated businessmen and their lonely business trips, but she enjoys using what she’s got to get those compliments and gets better tips than most.
“I think they come to hotels to enjoy time away from their humdrum lives,” I say. Maria says I have the potential to get better compliment cards, to earn a little extra if I raise the hem of my housekeeping skirt and lower the neckline a little. Maria has the talent to use her attire and the surroundings to make everything work out in the end. I’m curvy, a lot on top, a lot on the bottom, and a little in the middle. And I am perfectly okay with that because I’m healthy. And I find that most days I am happy. It’s a living, and it’s a step in the right direction.
“You see that cop that moved into 412?” Maria asks.
“I’m on the third floor this week, remember?” I say. We’re in the laundry, folding fitted sheets together from the industrial dryer. Yeah, you can fold fitted sheets. It’s an art form, and I am all for a little style.
“Oh, yeah,” Maria smacks her lips. “Ooh, girl, I think he is right up your alley. He is older, and I know you like them a little older. He’s fit－I think I saw him bounce a quarter off that washboard stomach. He’s here for a week. You should check him out.”
“Well, I don’t have fourth floor this week,” I shrug, and keep folding. Maria does the scheduling and floor details. I follow the routine and never complain.
“You put in for that job yet?”
“No, I don’t know if I’m going to,” I say.
“Girl, don’t let the world walk over you. You’re perfect for that job.”
“I feel like I don’t have enough education. They want a degree—”
“They want experience. And you got all that and more. Don’t you let something get in the way of what you want. You got to seize it with both hands—you want to hope it’s big enough to grab it with both hands.”
“Says the girl who runs the hotel housekeepers,” I say. “Don’t you ever want more?” I ignore Maria’s perpetual innuendoes because I have to concentrate on work and not fantasize as she does.
“No, I like it. I know I’d like it a lot more if I had someone in charge that knows what it’s like to scrub toilets and take out the trash. We get these college graduates in here, and they think its all allegory rhythms and kissing ass.”
“That’s algorithms, and kissing ass is what it takes for the job.”
“Ain’t you kissed a little ass in your time?”
I giggle. “Not in a while.”
“Girl, you don’t know what you’re missing.” Maria hums. “You know what I mean.”
“Nope, honestly, I don’t.”
I’m happy, maybe that’s not the right word: content works. I’m not as bold as Maria. She’s my boss, but she’s my best friend. I’m not flirtatious like her. I’m amorous when I want. Sometimes it is about the right time and place, and even in a hotel with 360 rooms, millionaire playboys just don’t do it for me. I want a man who’s loud, confident, but not obnoxious or needy. There are a lot of rooms, but the choices are limited. And then, there’s always the gym.
Chapter 2
JACKSON
T he hotel is a dream, even if the room is a little snug. But it’s free, so I’ll take what I can get. As long as the roach infestation the Arbuckles brought back from their adventure south doesn’t follow me to the suite, I am all good.
The architects who designed the hotel wanted a sailor theme. It’s on the heart of Fisherman’s Wharf, the north waterfront touristy places that are always busy with police calls. I don’t have this district, but I hear some stories about the kind of criminal activity that comes with souvenir shops, crab stalls, and clam chowder. Tourists are fine when they’re not looking to make a name for themselves. Sometimes they come for vacation and leave on probation.
The hotel concierge is a major bitch. She complained that my coupons for rooms didn’t include any of the extra amenities like access to the gym or pool. She’s a skinny, haughty thing with curly hair and a bent attitude. She’s the kind of girl who graduated college with a liberal arts degree and thinks the world owes her a favor. So, for me to take advantage of the pool and the gym, I have to pay out of pocket. And I have to agree to use the gym during off-hours.
The room comes with a view of San Francisco Bay. I see the courtyar
d. I see the shores and the blue waters. It’s got double beds, a minifridge, and a 50” TV. I can forgive the maritime-inspired décor for the other amenities, even if I had to pay a little extra.
It’s the gym, the pool, and the view that makes it worthwhile. I’ll hold back from complaining to hotel management about the skinny-bitch concierge as long as she stays out of my way during the week.
So, I hit the gym when no one is around. I don’t mind. I can listen to my music, forget about the world, and just pretend it’s me, the free weights, rowing machine, and the treadmill. I wear my baggy-fitting gym shorts and loose fit tank tops. Both items are a little risqué in the gym setting because, well, sometimes things hang out. I try to pay attention, and I’m not trying to advertise. At night in a gym alone, I don’t have to be shy because there’s no one around, and I am an adult man, and I have a little more junk than some men my age. I’m not bragging, it’s just genetics.
KAYLA
I don’t mind working nights in housekeeping. It keeps me away from Sheila. I know Maria did me a favor by having me switch shifts and floors. I notice she put me on the fourth floor. She didn’t clarify which room one of the Boys in Blue occupies, but I’ll figure it out. I’ll make it into a game. I like occupying my brain with puzzles and fantasies, because it takes away from plunging toilets or pulling gobs of gross hair from shower drains. Yeah, we’re full-service housekeeping.
But tonight, a little after ten, I’m in the workout room. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’m outside the fitness center. It’s got full glass walls to see inside and a widespread area that includes most of the top exercise equipment that’s offered in membership gyms. It could be better, but it has potential. I have a notebook full of ideas about the way to make it all worthwhile and on a budget for the changes.
