Reckless Point (BBW New Adult)

by Brent, Cora

  “Well, thanks for the help, I guess. I think I’ll go change.”

  Marco didn’t answer me as he deposited the glass remnants in the mustard colored garbage can. I rounded the corner and stood in the living room for a few seconds with my back to the paneled wall. I needed a moment.

  True, I’d been secretly hoping to engage in some bawdy sexual abandon to recover from Briangate. But was I really considering Marco? He’d been a wild one in high school and time seemed to have intensified his rough edges. I recalled his brief mention of prison and shuddered deliciously.

  I’d never taken a bad step in my life. Staid guys, reliable guys, nice guys, were my goal. And, well, look where that had gotten me. The brand of Office Cuckold.

  I was betting Marco Bendetti didn’t fuck with the lights off.

  With a small headshake I turned down the hallways towards my bedroom. Who the hell knew what was going on in Marco’s head anyway? Sweeping broken glass off a puckered linoleum floor might have just been his version of friendliness toward an old buddy’s sister.

  My hand reached the doorknob at the exact second I realized he was right behind me. I turned around, rather startled. Marco looked at me mildly.

  “My room,” I said, motioning inside.

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “You know?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. I’ve been through your place enough times with Tony.” It was a tad unnerving the way he peered into my innocent lilac-themed bedroom and grinned. He lowered his voice. “Of course I couldn’t tell your brother about how I used to rifle through your underwear drawer.”

  My ass hit the door jamb. I couldn’t breathe. “You did?”

  He nodded and brushed past me into the room. “I did.”

  The bedroom was small and in two steps Marco stood squarely in the middle of it. He looked around curiously as if he were visiting a strange new country and then peered out my window at the colorful activity in the street. When he turned to me and smiled I knew he had seen me watching at the window the night before. And that he had watched me too.

  “Good year,” he said, motioning to the ‘Class of ‘82’ felt banner which hung over my closet.

  “For some people,” I said.

  And then I did it. I shut the door softly behind me.

  Marco heard the click and his expression changed. He passed a hand over his chin, regarding me thoughtfully. Then he shook his head with his old cocksure smile and spoke teasingly. “I haven’t had a good fuck in a while.”

  My back was against the door. I was deadly serious. “I can be a good fuck.”

  Perhaps he’d meant to shock me with such crude talk but I could tell that in fact my response had shocked him. I cast a long appraising look at his pants, letting him know that I liked what I saw. And that I’d meant what I said.

  Before I even raised my eyes Marco was on me, his rough hands groping my breasts, his hips grinding deeply against mine so I could feel exactly how hard he was. His tongue instantly invaded my mouth and I responded with equal urgency. Marco forced a knee between my legs and I opened my thighs willingly, feeling the hem of my gauzy dress ride up.

  I grabbed his muscular backside and pulled him more closely against me. Then with a shock I felt his fingers inside my underwear, pushing and massaging until I was damn near to climaxing.

  Marco abruptly broke the embrace and forced my head up to meet his eyes.

  “Angela,” he warned. “Last chance.”

  I knew what he meant. Last chance to pull away, last chance to say no. Because once he started Marco Bendetti sure as hell wasn’t going to stop. I didn’t want him to stop.

  With a tug he unleashed his immense organ and suddenly I was a little uncertain. I’d wanted this and wanted it bad but, as he tore my panties away, I was dimly aware that this was a whole new level of risk and I wavered. It seemed I wasn’t quite far gone enough to abandon all sense.

  Until I felt the tease of his shaft between my legs. He was lingering lightly at my entrance, just the tip, perhaps expecting me to call the whole thing off. I was wet. I was pulsing. I was ready. And I couldn’t stand it. I hauled myself up using his wide shoulders as leverage and wrapped my legs around him. Marco considered that an invitation, exhaling as he pushed himself into me.

  A small cry escaped my lips as I felt the full brunt of his impact. It was hotter, more immediate than anything I had ever known. I opened wider and felt Marco harden even more in response. There was a twinge of worry in the back of my mind but as I spiraled closer to orgasm it was lost. I didn’t care about the risk. I didn’t care if Marco finished inside of me. In fact I wanted him to.

  Dimly I realized I was likely to sport some serious bruises from the pounding my back was taking against the door. I moaned and Marco quickened his pace.

  He breathed in my ear, plunging harder. “Christ, you feel so good. You know how long I’ve wanted to fuck the hell out of you, Angela?”

  Who would have though such crass language could make a proper New England girl shudder to conclusion that much faster?

  Distantly I heard the whine of the screen door. My mother’s high pitched voice echoed from the kitchen as she complained to my father that no one was eating her onion dip. I bit my lip to keep from screaming as the waves of bliss pulled me under. I heard my father’s voice call my name twice and then give up.

  Marco kissed me hard, thrusting impossibly deep. Then I felt it. The hottest spurt of irresponsible pleasure that I had ever known. My hips ached from abuse but still I widened myself further as the tremors consumed us both.

  When Marco finally withdrew I uttered a little moan of complaint. My legs buckled and only his quick hands kept me from falling to the floor.

  “Steady,” he grinned wryly.

  I pulled down my dress, blushing. Already I was suspended in utter disbelief by what I had just done.

  “I can be a good fuck.”

  God almighty in a tin cup on Tuesday, had I actually said that???

  His kiss caught me off guard. It was deep and passionate, full of insincere promises. I melted into his arms. Hell, if he was game to take me again, I was ready.

  Instead, Marco zipped himself back into his pants, gave me a little wink and quietly exited my bedroom. I stared after him. I was fairly sure my parents were no longer in the house. If I was wrong, things were about to escalate quickly.

  After several moments of quiet I assumed Marco had managed to exit the house unscathed, which was a good thing for both of us. I shudder to consider the shock Grace and Alan Durant would suffer if they caught the neighborhood bad boy zipping his fly up as he left the bedroom of their virtuous (in their minds, anyway) daughter.

  Raucous laughter drifted in from the party outside. If I didn’t make an appearance soon my folks were sure to come looking for me. I couldn’t exactly explain that I needed a break after having just screwed Marco Bendetti against my bedroom door.

  I took a deep breath. Then another. The room began to spin. I thought about calling Lanie in search of advice.

  “Hey Lanie, how does a girl behave after casually boning the boy across the street?”

  But I couldn’t explain this, not to Lanie, not even to myself.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After replacing my dress with a pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt, I used a scrunchie to tie my hair into a ponytail and slipped on a pair of red flats. I would have to fake it. I would spend the next handful of hours in a blur of smiling until my cheeks ached while feigning interest in nonsense like Aunt Becky’s new tennis bracelet.

  “Angela,” my mother frowned as she centered a jello mold on the table. “You changed your clothes. Where have you been?”

  I popped the tab on a Coke. “Well, you can see I changed my clothes. That’s where I’ve been. Changing my clothes.”

  I sounded idiotic but my mother was too distracted to notice. My gaze wandered across the street several times to where Marco was bullshitting with a few blowhards I dimly recalled fr
om high school. I looked at their moving lips and tried to imagine their conversation.

  “Remember Angela Durant? Yeah, Tony’s sister. Screwed her brains out. Just now.”

  A folded vinyl lawn chair was propped up against the food table. I grabbed it and set it up in the shade of a weeping willow tree in front of the Johnson’s house. I was staring sullenly at the freshly cut grass and trying to banish unmentionable thoughts, like how Marco’s body felt as he sank into me like a knife into butter, when Krista skulked to my side.

  “Hey Angie,” she said, plopping down on the grass with her arms crossed.

  I tried not to roll my eyes. “Hey Krista.”

  “Your mom is holding Ethan.”

  “Who is Ethan?”

  She gave me a withering look. “My baby.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  The smug expression had returned. I wonder if it was ever wiped away for more than one hour out of twenty four. I would guess that Krista wore that self-satisfied sneer even in her sleep. “Your mother loves babies. She can’t wait to hold her first grandchild.”

  “Well, she’ll likely be waiting awhile.” I nodded over to where her husband standing alone and diligently consuming a plate of hamburgers. “Keith looks good.”

  Krista glanced at me sharply to see if I was full of shit. Of course I was. Keith French had descended into beer-gutted lethargy about ten minutes after the last strains of Pomp and Circumstance finished rumbling through the dingy high school gymnasium.

  But I smiled at my cousin to let her know I didn’t mean any harm. Another dollop of shit. Of course I did.

  “We’re all doing well,” Krista said haughtily and tossed her teased blonde hair. “Speaking of looking good,” she said and whistled low, looking at Marco.

  At that moment my eyes locked onto Marco’s. He gave me a brief smile and turned his attention back to Tom Hennessy. The former homecoming king turned Cross Point Village cop was now pudgy and prematurely balding. He laughed at something Marco had said.

  “He’s all right,” I finally said, keeping my voice placidly noncommittal.

  Krista leaned over conspiratorially. “He was my first, you know.”

  I’d forgotten. “First what?”

  “Very funny Angela. Anyway, I told Keith that one night when I was pissed at him. He just about punched a hole through the living room wall. Broke two knuckles. Like it fucking matters. I mean, it was all so long ago.”

  “It was all so long ago,” I echoed, though for me it had barely been an hour.

  Krista looked at me but didn’t say anything.

  “You happy, Krista?”

  She was startled. “What?”

  “Are you happy? With all of this; the bland husband, the tedious child rearing, squatting for all eternity in the same eyesore of a place?”

  Krista was unamused by my heartfelt line of questioning. “What the fuck is up with you? Too goddamn good for all of us now, huh?” She stood, wiping blades of grass from her tapered jeans. “We used to be friends, Angela.”

  It would have been a great parting line. If it were true.

  “We never were,” I called after her.

  She turned, her lip curled.

  “Friends,” I explained. “We never were.”

  And for once Krista Kaminski French had not a thing to say.

  It was well past dark when people finally started taking their toys and going home. The teens and the drinking crowd would be going full swing for hours yet but the potluckers were yawning their way out. With dull satisfaction I noticed that every crumb of my carefully baked pies was gone.

  At one point I noticed Marco had taken his cooler and his muscles and returned indoors. I could see his silhouette shadowed behind the yellow curtains in his living room. It looked as if he was fiddling with the television. Curious, because someone had begun blasting a boom box at the Gilliam house and once upon a time Marco was never one to turn his back on a party.

  Except you already gave him a hell of a party.

  I must have put up a good front because Grace and Alan seemed completely oblivious that anything was amiss. My mother was purple-faced over the fact that her Currier and Ives cake plate was now sporting a sizeable ship over the old grist mill and my father was busily trying to break a world record for Most Crap Shoved Into a Hefty Garbage Bag.

  “Well,” I said finally, wiping my hands on my jeans. “I’m super tired so I’m going to call it a night.”

  My mother looked at me oddly. “You feeling okay, Angela? You’re very pale.”

  “Genetics.” I touched my face. It felt cold. “Actually Mrs. Kilbourne’s fried chicken disagreed with me a little so I’m going to lie down.”

  My father looked up, staring at me curiously as my mother decided she was satisfied with my answer. “Good night,” she said tenderly, and blew me a kiss.

  “Good night, Angela,” my father said with an odd edge to his tone.

  The trek back to my bedroom was a full blown walk of shame. I felt like a piece of dog shit. Worse than dog shit. Elephant shit maybe.

  After flopping on the bed I stared at the low ceiling for a good two hours. It stared back at me. I heard my folks climbing the stairs heavily to their bedroom. Gradually, as one day prepared to melt into the next, the outside murmuring of voices and the distant music of someone’s Journey cassette began to dissipate.

  But my heart still pounded like a jackhammer. There was no way I was going to find any tranquil sleep tonight. I pulled on a pair of flip flops. Though I wasn’t legally obliged to explain anything, I didn’t want to risk any questions. I knew my dad was bound to hear if I tried to sneak out the front door. Tony had tried that trick often enough and never seemed to learn that it always came to grief.

  So I did what I had never had a reason to do in my untouched adolescence. I opened my bedroom window and crawled through it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  There were some lights on at the end of the block, toward the Cortez house and the Gilliams’. I wasn’t in the mood for talk though. I thought it might be a while before I could manage a normal conversation. I crossed the street, avoiding a glance at Marco’s dark house.

  “Hey,” said a low voice in the dark.

  I jumped and then swore. “Damn, you’ve got to stop sneaking up on me.”

  “I didn’t sneak up on you. I’m sitting on my own front porch.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at The Cave serving up shots?”

  “Renovating this week.”

  Marco waited for me to speak but I was at a loss, folding my hands behind my back and looking at the sky. Sharp female laughter echoed from down the street. It sounded a bit like Krista.

  “Are you going to come over here and sit down?”

  “No.”

  “You’re just going to stand there in the middle of the street?”

  “I’m going for a walk.”

  “Well, walk on over here.”

  “No.”

  He let out a hiss of exasperation. “Why in the hell are you pissed?”

  I bit my lip. I didn’t want to risk having a public confrontation with nosy Mrs. Kilbourne and who knew how many other ears possibly listening. I stalked across Marco’s front lawn.

  “Here.” I heard him shift in the darkness.

  I squinted, barely able to make out his hulking shape casually perched on the edge of the narrow porch. The glare of a streetlight bounced off the six pack of beer beside him.

  Reluctantly I climbed the two short steps and sat down on the cracked concrete. There was a mild chill in the air but I could feel the warmth of his body nearby.

  “Marco,” I said quietly, “I don’t do things like that.”

  He played dumb. “Like what?”

  Like zipless fucks in my parents’ house.

  I shook my head. Who was I kidding? I’d been all eager to throw my careful past away and screw without mercy or a second thought. But maybe that sex siren I fancied was just a fantasy. That would never be me.
<
br />   I sniffed. “I don’t even know you.”

  “What are you talking about? We’ve known each other since we learned how to walk, Angela. I’m sure we peed in the same play pools together.”

  I buried my head in my arms and didn’t answer.

  “Angie,” Marco’s thick arm circled me and he pulled me roughly to his side.

  Beer and smoke. Smoke and beer.

  A fatal combination for any girl’s underpants. God, I wanted him.

  He nuzzled my neck. “It was fucking amazing.”

  “It was just fucking.”

  Marco’s hand found my leg. I locked my knees together but he resolutely pried them apart.

  “Tell me you didn’t love it,” he said softly, moving his hand higher.

  “I didn’t-“ I started to talk but his insistent fingers began stroking with more pressure and I couldn’t have even said what day it was.

  “Tell me,” he said more firmly, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling the zipper down.

  I didn’t answer. I willingly allowed him to push me onto my back.

  A set of boxy hedges lined the front path just beyond the porch, obscuring us from the street. But there were still people idling around and if anyone ventured too close…

  I helped him roll my jeans down as he pulled up my shirt, unhooking my bra. My large breasts welcomed the feel of his mouth as he tended to them one at a time, circling each nipple with his tongue.

  And there, on the Bendettis’ front porch, in full view of my parents’ house and basically in freaking public, I spread my legs again, guiding him into my slippery tightness.

  Marco moved deeply and deliberately, trying to push himself as far inside as possible. I’d never been wetter. I’d never wanted it more.

  “Tell me,” he said again, a faint warning note in his voice.

  “Yes.”

  “You love it.”

  “Yes,” I whimpered.

  “You want me to fuck you again and again. You’ve been wishing it for a goddamn decade.”