“You’re not going anywhere!”
His grip on her like a vise, she jerked hard and spastic beneath him, her legs shaking. Then, he slowed for a spell, needing to feel her orgasm vibrate from her temple to his… After a few moments, she wrapped her long legs tighter around his lower back while he regained his momentum. The unceasing thrusts continued on and on, his cock pushing within her to the limit.
“Ahhhhh!” They sighed against each other’s lips, grasping and gasping each other’s resolve.
Faster and faster he went, thrusting, pushing and fucking her with all of his might. Their bodies twisted about amongst the sheets and the headboard slammed repeatedly into the wall—loud, thunderous—bruising the paint and marking it up with each plunge. She screamed at the top of her lungs, making him impossibly hornier as he manhandled her pussy, showed it who was boss. Her voice grew hoarse with each scream, and her long fingers raked urgently through his hair.
“Nick! Baby! Baby!” she cooed.
“I’ll share you. I’ll share you with him! You’re killing me baby, but I’ll share you with him!” His hips dipped and gyrated almost out of his control, while the bed squeaked and rocked violently beneath their thrashing bodies. He traced his fingers along her slick pussy, making his way to her engorged clit. The sweet little nub greeted him at the door, protruded from its sheath and bumped against his digital stroke. “What you tryna do to me?!” He nestled close to her, rendered her speechless, and she squirmed about, her body demanding more, but retreating from his intensity all the same.
“Stay still!” He pinned her down by the wrists, made her take it… made her feel what she’d given him, complete… control… over her heart.
“Nick… baby I love you! I love you, baby!” She wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice choppy and wanting.
“Mmmm!”
His hips strained, contracted between her thighs as she vibrated beneath him. Her eyes fluttered when yet another orgasm took her away, stole her from being fully present. He kept on, fucking her with due diligence, ramming into her. And he swallowed his pride, no longer caring that he was fucking her hard and weeping at the same goddamn time. Sitting up, he placed one hand on each of her shoulders, and forced her into each and every lunge. “Uh shit! Shit, baby! Fuck!” he roared, his groans guttural and croaky between each expulsion.
His cock stiffened and jerked within her, his emulsion leaving him a mere fraction of his prior self.
“Uhhh…” his abdominal muscles compressed, drew in, and his breath was nearly taken away. “Uhhh!” He paused, looked between their legs at his thrusting dick, refusing to let go and release her just yet. His cum and her delicious nectar intermingled, covering his cock, leaving slick, copious designs all over his nature. Designs that changed over and over as he thrust back inside of her, then pulled out, time and time again. He kept on until he had nothing more to give and he slumped onto her body, melted against her. She moved her hands against his sweaty skin, then through his hair, causing the strands to spread and coolness to hit his scalp in a comforting sort of way. After a few minutes, her voice broke through their mutual trance.
“I can feel your heartbeat… it’s beating so fast.”
He held on to her, wanting to make a pillow out of her and drift away. His lethargy gave way, but as soon as he entered into a dream state, she gently shook his shoulder, then whispered, “Baby, I’m going to do the dishes.”
“Nah, I’ll do ’em. You cooked.”
He tried to gather his bearings, pull himself into the land of the alert. In a half daze, he reluctantly rose from her, softly patted her hip, then covered her body tight and snug with the sheets. As he stumbled out the room, he leaned sluggishly against the hallway wall, a terribly mischievous smirk cursing his face. Navigating further up the way, he re-entered the living room and looked about almost as if he’d never seen the place before. He glanced in the direction of the kitchen, at the table covered in their empty dishes while the scent of garlic and rich seasonings still hung in the air. Glancing over his shoulder down the hall, he could partially see the woman with the sheets wound tightly around her naked body, one of her legs hanging over the edge of the bed, the light skin of the sole of her foot contrasting with her tawny flesh. There lay the scene of the crime, reminding him the monsters that had made him do it… With new eyes, he caught sight of the pile of drawings—the other man. He swallowed and made his way over, needing to have a word with him. Sitting down on his couch, legs spread far apart, he got comfortable and delved deep in thought as he ran his hand along his hairy legs. The fine hair moved to and fro from his light massage while he stalled, bought a bit of time. He had no idea what stood behind door number three, what else the woman had in store. Taking the plunge, he yanked the sketchpad from the table and turned the page from the drawing that proved the culprit to his most recent emotional detriment.
Wow… nice…
There, on the paper, stood a woman, showcasing a bikini.
Damn, she is good…
He kept on going, looking at sketch after detailed sketch of what he presumed were models, people sitting on park benches, and just everyday occurrences that she’d breathed new life into.
It was more than apparent to him that Taryn wasn’t on the outside looking in as she placed her work onto paper. No, with a talent like this, the woman stood on the inside looking out, becoming one with the scene.
Yes. Inside.
He had to be inside of her, for that was where he felt most at peace, comfortable, himself. A new erection formed, drawing a light laugh at the thought of his misfortune. He could hear faint snoring coming from down the hall now, and realized at that moment that any initiations of another romp, sexual solicitations and invitations would go unanswered.
She’s sound asleep… even her damn snore is cute…
Regardless, it was a struggle. He wished his libido would tamper down a bit, give him a break. He’d been pawing all over her since the moment she’d moved in, like some fucker who’d never had sex before, never touched a woman or tasted her kiss. Everything felt so new, yet so familiar and beautiful, and he couldn’t seem to get a hold of himself. He liked it, despite the torturous frustration it occasionally brought his way. If he were to desire a woman in the capacity that he did, he was grateful that it had to be a woman like Taryn. He finished one sketchbook, then began another, and then another until he landed upon one filled with the strangest, yet most intriguing illustrations of all.
“What is this?” he whispered aloud, his curiosity piqued. “What have you been up to, Taryn?”
His eyes narrowed as he brought the drawings closer to his face, turning the sheets in different directions, trying to decipher what he was seeing, taking in. Numbers and measurements lined the paper, swirling all about. The markings looked like something an architect would draft…only they manifested on a woman’s two-dimensional frame.
“This is mind-blowing yet also strange…hmmm.” He kept the conversation going, as if he had an audience waiting to hear his thoughts. He continued to turn the pages, seeing more and more of the same in many different styles.
“She’s gotta do something with this… She’s gotta do something about this… she can’t just sit on talent like this. This is your dream, isn’t it, Taryn? This is what has caused you so much frustration, hmmm?” He grew a bit aggravated on her behalf, wanted to make some calls, tell someone—but who? She was right. How could he help her? This wasn’t his field of expertise; he could barely draw a stick person, let alone some shit like this!
These are definitely drafted designs… and good ones, too…
He continued on, falling head first into the illustrations until he’d reached the last book, and nearly lost his breath.
Oh my God… so this is what all this is?! Taryn… shit!
She’d written out a series of names he’d never heard of, and made little notes regarding who she’d called and who she still wanted to get the designs in front of. He saw a long
ass list and he got a taste of her frustration, seeing why she was tired, so very tired. She’d been working so hard, yet just as she told him, it appeared no one was giving her the time of day…
Time? I’ll give you time, baby.
I’ve got your back, baby… You need money to get this off the ground? I’m nowhere near rich, but I’ll give you what I can. You need a studio? I can work on that… make some calls…
He set the drawing book down in the most careful of ways and got to his feet. Pausing, he looked down the hall and took notice to the fact that she hadn’t moved one damn muscle since he’d last spied her out. He smirked, loving the fact that he had fucked her pretty little ass to sleep. At times he felt spoiled, undeserving… but he took her nevertheless…drained her out.
He made his way over to his small dining area, cleared the table between stifled yawns, and set all the dirty dishes in the sink, one by one. Turning the music up, the volume a mere whisper so as to not wake and disturb his baby, he twisted the faucet, allowing a burst of water to come forth. Taking a light pink sponge from the counter, he then poured a generous helping of the blue, gloppy concentrated dish detergent in the center of it and went to work. A sense of euphoric peace took him over, enveloping him just like the warm water as it ran over his roving hands. The song sent him somewhere, on an excursion, and he welcomed the reprieve. It was one of his favorites—Jacoo’s ‘Memories.’ And yeah… the title was befitting to his newly simmered mood as he lulled between the past and present, feeling comfortable in his own skin, embracing both.
Ma…
He smiled; this time, no tears came, no pain… just peace. The music continued to play and so did his heart, to a happy internal beat.
Are you proud of me, Ma? I hope you are. I really do.
He rinsed a glass, set it on the rack, and picked up another…
If you’re up there watching, and you’re still worried, just sit back and watch… I’m going to show you something, Ma. I miss you so much, you know that. I know you do… but I’m happy, I’m free and I have everything I need to make it. You deserve this; you deserve a good son. Just sit back and watch me, Ma… I’m about to show you something and I know I’m late, yeah… I’m late, and I hate being tardy, but in some way, in some strange way, you know, I think … I think I’m here right on time…
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Her pussy wrote her a letter that afternoon with only four words:
STOP HIM AT ONCE.
She sat there at the restaurant with a smirk on her face, daring to cross her legs as her crotch throbbed and ached from the recent erogenous romping. She twisted ever so slowly in her seat, ass raised just a smidgen in the air as she gangster leaned to the side, falling into the private, hedonistic memories. Her mouth opened to release the lyrics of a song that paired with her mood so well, but all she could muster was a sigh as the kitty between her thighs whimpered and pulsed with a pleasing, dull pain. Nick had fucked her to infinity and beyond just two hours prior to her arrival at the café, but it was no damn toy story. She was a human being for goodness’ sake, not some wind-up machine… Hell, it had been her own damn fault, too.
She was part of the sensual nonsense, a secret society with only two members. They’d made a pact, an agreement that consisted of plentiful meetings at their home during rushed lunch hours. By all accounts, her Love was pushin’ papers by day and pushing her pussy to the brink by night. She couldn’t blame it all on him, however. At times, she initiated things by sending a playful text message or email, inviting the bastard to fuck her fast and deep, go on a tempting tryst and then return to their jobs. Jobs…
I’m unemployed again… shit.
For a moment, she pitied herself, recalling the day when she had so much work, she had been forced to turn down people. The pages of those chapters though were worn with time, the words faded, almost unreadable. The moment of movement had arrived now, to release and relate to reality. It was time to let up, let go, and let herself know the damn truth. Nick had been right all along.
Modeling was no longer her passion any damn more anyway and despite the occasional person sitting a few feet away taking her photo, as occurred right at that instant, she didn’t mourn her face and body plastered on glossy pages alongside perfume samples and expensive car ads. No… she lamented the love and devotion from her past admirers from time to time, but her life now screamed of something bigger and better, if only she could grasp it and keep it from escaping into the night. Time proved a cruel son of a bitch—and it let her know every damn day that hers was running thin.
I’ve got to come up with another plan. Maybe this just wasn’t meant to be… but no, I don’t believe that. I don’t really believe that at all. I can bypass an investor and do the shit myself, but that would take forever. I could go to my parents and ask for a start up loan, but then it’s not really mine, it’s theirs. This isn’t about pride or my damn ego though. This is about being able to do some shit without my dad’s money and mom’s backing. I want to utilize my own connections, make a way. Someone is going to listen to me damn it; they have to…
She refocused on the reason why she was sitting there in the first damn place. Today, her assignment had ended and she was waiting for her accomplice in modeling crime to burst through the door—Vicki Laurel, a woman she loved the hell out of. Vicki didn’t have many friends but didn’t give a fraction of a fuck. Reason: She had a loose mouth, ostentatious ways, but was envied by many despite these ‘brand defects’. Vicki was a ‘you need bail money girlfriend’ and money mentor all in one. A fellow model from London who’d moved to New York after being discovered at the young age of seven, she knew her way around a damn runway, as well as a boardroom. She’d taken a liking to Taryn for some strange reason, albeit initially, they’d shared little in common. Regardless, she liked the woman… Vicki had some magic, some star quality shit that you were either born with, or you simply made do and lived without. Taryn was partial to strange, shiny things that sparkled under the moon, and Vicki shimmered like freshly minted coins illuminated from a dancing candle flame.
Vicki’s pale, porcelain skin glowed on a face framed by long, poker straight dark brown hair with natural auburn highlights. Her tresses were dramatically parted on one side and swooped over her right eye… and damn those eyes… Her almond shaped jade green windows to the soul gave her an exotic look that kept men and some women gasping and panting, wishing to sample her European wares.
Taryn had known the vixen for years, and was rather surprised when she’d reached out to her earlier that week, out of the blue, and invited her for lunch. She’d missed the woman terribly, but the lady had been so busy, they’d barely been able to touch base as of late. Vicki was all about business; even a lunch date with her typically had little to do with dainty, delicate appetizers and robust salads with home-made vinaigrettes… Whatever the cause for breaking French bread and dipping the damn thing in oil, it had to be something that would get her financial juices flowing so they could both toast to the concoctions cooked up in the vixen’s mind.
She took another sip of her unsweetened iced tea, caught a seed from a wedge of lemon between her teeth and cloaked a napkin over her mouth to spit the damned thing out. She huffed as time ticked away, then glanced out the window, watching the Manhattan crowd move up and down the streets like mission-driven work ants marching off to the meet the motherfucking Queens, or maybe they were headed to Brooklyn or Long Island… she simply didn’t care. She sat there in Manhattan, enjoying the scenery nevertheless. It had been a few days since she’d been in the city, and she welcomed the change of pace. Just then, Vicki’s long, lean body meandered her way, her arm swinging wildly with each rapid step and her hair bouncing and gathering across her shoulder with each carefully crafted movement. All eyes turned to the woman, and then the low chatter began…
“That’s Vicki Laurel!” someone screamed out.
Love or hate her, she was the official showstopper. Dressed in a pair of sa
ble brown knitted pants and a long matching vest that barely covered her flat chest, the lady approached, a kitschy smirk on her face, and her long leopard print clutch tucked securely under her arm.
“Taryn Jones!” She grinned as she leaned forward, her lengthy onyx beaded necklace swaying along with her willowy body as she kissed her on her cheek before taking her seat. Camera phones surrounded them from a short distance as people took the woman’s photo, snapping here and there, unashamed of their thirst for gossip and violations of privacy.
“So.” The lady set her purse down upon the table, picked up her menu, then tossed it aside as if realizing it was a mere coloring book. Scratching her nape, she took a quick survey of her surroundings and cocked her head to the side. “You may wonder what this is all about.”
“It’s not about lunch?” Taryn teased, knowing her friend all too well. She leaned back leisurely in her seat, wearing an award-winning smile. “Put me in the know. I’m ready.”
“Well,” she said with a smile. “Here it is. I’m working with Betsey Johnson right now.”
Taryn nodded in understanding.
“Next year, I’m doing Fashion Week with her as well. Well, it just so happens Taryn that she wanted to bring another model along for her upcoming show and not that she’s hurting for any recommendations, but she actually asked me to give her some suggestions… Apparently, she trusts my judgment.” The tips of her fingers swayed against the fabric of her vest. “Imagine my surprise.” Her lips twisted in a garish grin.
“I’m not surprised actually, Vicki. It was quite obvious that she was taken by you several years ago… I’ve never been in any of her shows, but I’ve heard a lot about them and her personally, actually. From what I hear, you two rub shoulders quite a bit.”
“We do, but she’s never asked me anything like that. You know her reputation; she runs her own show and knows what she wants. And… she wants some new blood, wanted to spice things up a bit. She asked, I answered. I immediately thought of you…”
In the Nick of Time Page 52
