by Dylan Heart
“Fuck…” he moans. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuckin’ fuck.” His ass rises from the seat as he sprays thick, warm cum against the back of my throat. I squeeze every last drop out of him and think to myself, why isn’t there cum-flavored candy. A dick-shaped lollipop that squirts creamy white spunk once you lick it to the center would make somebody a millionaire.
His fingers curl through my hair as his body comes down from the euphoric high. “You do that again, and I might have to marry you.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” I pull his shorts back over his penis and wipe my lips clean. “Or do. Whichever.”
Chapter 17
My sneakers tap against the tile floors of the lobby as I wait impatiently for Jensen to finish filling out the damn paperwork for our room. The Pink Motel is a shady operation of a motel parked on the beautiful shores of Carolina Beach.
The town of Carolina Beach exists within the confines of the greater Wilmington area. It’s one of two major beaches in the area, and is the poorer, but more alive version of Wrightsville beach further down the way.
I pictured Jensen as more of a Wrightsville beach kind of guy—the people there are more affluent. Wilmington, oftentimes referred to as Wilmywood by film executives and locals, is one of the largest film production hubs outside of the bigger cities. Dawson’s Creek, One Tree Hill, Under The Dome, I know What You Did Last Summer and the pilot episode of Revenge were all filmed here.
Currently, there are a band of newly-adult hooligans making fools of themselves across town and on the air. The Rules of Innocence is filmed here, and if I can find the time to sneak away from Jensen for an hour or two, I might hunt down a producer of said show and demand money.
Jensen pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head and leans across the wooden counter. “How long is this going to take?” he asks the middle-aged attendant.
“Just a few more minutes, Mr. Moon.” She turns and fetches a sheet of paper from the printer behind her. She pushes the paper toward us, and hands Jensen a pen. “Is this your wife?” she asks with a naïve smile.
“No.” I shake my head and shift my elbow onto the tall counter. “He’s my teacher.”
Her eyes roll to Jensen, and she swallows an uncomfortable lump in her throat. “Oh…”
“Don’t listen to her,” Jensen snarls and gives me a death stare. “She likes to make jokes.”
“He thinks what we’re doing is wrong.” I smile at the attendant and stroke his back with my hand. I’m ornery and I’m bored. “I’m going to be eighteen soon.”
“Knock it off,” he scoffs at me and signs the dotted line on the bottom of the sheet. “She’s joking, I promise.”
“Uh huh.” She’s not having it, and will probably be on the phone with the appropriate authorities before we’ve even made it to our room.
“I’m kidding,” I assure her and reach to grab my clutch out of my purse. I pop it open and slide my license to her. “See? Not seventeen.”
“I told you.” Jensen shakes a finger at me. “She’s trouble.”
“Aren’t they always?” She grins and slides us two keycards. “You’ll be in room 212. It’s the last room on the second floor.”
“Are you proud of yourself?” Jensen asks as we push through the double-doors of the lobby and out into the warm, afternoon air. He carries his bag in one hand, and my bag in the other. A perfect gentlemen.
“In general, or just right now? You’re going to have to be more specific.”
We turn left and reach a flight of iron stairs. “Do you want to get caught?”
“Calm down, Moon. We’re not doing anything illegal.”
“That’s questionable. “ He drops the bags on the first landing and backs me into an open corner. To the front of me is a peeved Jensen. Behind me is a railing he could push me over. He licks his lips and speaks quietly. “The laws are fuzzy about this kind of thing. It might not be illegal to fuck you in the back of my car, but the school sure the fuck would take issue with it. I just handed you an ‘A’ for a class from a previous semester that you didn’t earn.”
“Fucking in the back of a car in a public space is illegal,” I point out.
“I could lose my job,” he huffs and picks the bags back up into his hands.
“We are four hours away from all that bullshit.” I follow him up the remainder of the steps. “Lighten up.”
He turns to me with grievance stricken across his face. His lips are thin and his eyes narrow in on me. Oh, and he has a boner pitching a tent in his shorts.
“Jesus Christ,” I shriek. “Are you serious? It was two hours ago.”
“Your point is?”
“I don’t know.” I race past him and snatch my duffel out of his hands. It’s not a good look to be seen in public standing beside an erection. I spin back to him. “Aren’t you and your wingman,” I say, pointing to his cock, “down there supposed to slow down with age?”
“How old do you think I am?”
“Thirty-five? I don’t know.”
“Thirty.”
“Seriously?” How is this not public knowledge. All the girls on campus refer to him as a daddy, and he’s barely old enough to have graduated from the first class of Teen Mom. “You’re only eight years older than me?”
“Hard to tell, right?” He winks and shifts past me. “You’d think with the way you behave, we’d be decades apart.”
“Says the man who pops a boner when his own cock brushes against his own leg while ascending a flight of stairs.”
“You have a point.” He slides the keycard and pops the door open, holding it for me as I pass through. He drops our bags onto the floor, closes the door behind us and claps his hands together. “So, do you want to go get an early dinner, or do you want to fuck?”
“Really?”
“Nah. I’m just playing.”
Jensen took a quick shower, but his hair smells the same as it did before. If I had to make an educated guess, I’d say he stood under the showerhead beating his meat, flushing his seed into the sewer pipes that probably run-off into the ocean somewhere.
While he was showering—masturbating—I tried to reach Brick. When he didn’t answer, I tried contacting Cece. She also didn’t answer. There’s a decent chance he killed her and I’m four hours away with nobody left to identify the bodies.
Oh well.
Jensen and I sit at a bar in a seafood restaurant aptly named The Burning Pirate. We both ordered the same thing, at his insistence. You have to try their fish tacos, he said with no innuendo whatsoever, which was a tad disappointing.
There aren’t many things I know about Jensen. I know he’s a rather young professor—for sure not old enough to be tenured. I know he loves to fuck and get his cock sucked. He says that silence is the most beautiful thing in the world, but I haven’t seen proof from him that proves he truly believes that. And I know that when it comes to eating, he’s all business.
Other than the sound of tacos crunching in his mouth, he’s been silent since the gorgeous, blonde waitress in a short skirt brought us our dinner.
He wipes his mouth clean with a napkin and points to my plate. “Why aren’t you eating? Do you want something else?”
“No.” I push the plate away from me after only eating one of the five tacos. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Right.” He smiles and crumbles the napkin in his hands. “I forgot that you ate on the way down here.”
I nudge him with my elbow. “You’re disgusting.”
“I’m not the one who swallowed it.”
“Like you gave me a choice.”
He reaches for the pint-glass of beer that sits in between us—we’re sharing, how cute. “Is there anything in particular you want to do while we’re in town?”
I scrape my fingernail along my teeth, pondering the question. I decide against informing him about my plan to ambush the Rules of Innocence producers. “To be honest, I would love to just sit on the beach all day and all night.”<
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“A beach bum, eh?” He takes a long sip of beer. “I can get behind that.”
“Was there hidden subtext in there somewhere?”
He bites into his wet lip. “Do you want there to be?”
“Right now?” I shake my head and slide off the stool. “I just want to dance.”
He arches a brow. “Like, slow dance?”
Chapter 18
The bass rattles the walls of the compact nightclub. My body is drenched in sweat as a swath of souls are lost in a modern tango of bodies rubbing together. The beat is foreign, and the lyrics are nonexistent. It’s not the type of music I’m used to dancing to, but my body grinds against Jensen as if it were.
He’s hot behind me. His palm is clasped around my stomach tightly, using his strength as leverage to ensure he doesn’t lose me to the crowd. His erection swells against my back and his teeth nibble on the lobe of my ear. His breath is that of salty whiskey contaminated with sweet rum.
I run my fingers along his hand and lean back against him as his mouth hovers along the line of my neck. Both of us fumble forward as someone charges through the crowd, almost knocking us over.
The song comes to an abrupt halt and a new track kicks in. This song is different, with haunting strings bubbling beneath a thumping undercurrent of chaos.
The lights flicker out, and all that’s left are neon lasers that dance along the figures in the crowd. Jensen’s hand traces down my stomach and digs into the front of my jean shorts. My eyes dart open and I want him to stop—someone could see us. But, as his hand trails down further, and underneath my panties, I can’t bring myself to care.
Nobody knows us here.
When I moan, nobody can hear it, except me. It’s like chewing popcorn in a busy theater. I always think I’m making a scene as my teeth chomp into buttery goodness, but nobody ever notices.
He runs his palm along my clit and clutches my stomach tighter with his other hand. He whispers something in my ear, but I can’t discern what. The only reason I know he says anything at all is because his warm breath burns against my ear.
When he makes me laugh.
When his finger runs along my clit.
When he whispers in my ear.
For moments at a time, I forget that he’s nothing more than a target to me. It’s a strange feeling, one that courses through my gut with the stench of guilt. I’ve been here before. I can’t stay here for long.
I can’t forget what he is to me.
He whispers something else, and once again I can’t hear a word he says. It doesn’t matter though. One touch can scream more than a thousand words. It can say more than a college essay. A finger presses into my opening.
He’s fucking me to the same tempo as the music that blares around us and not one person is aware. I’m not sure they would even notice if he pulled down my shorts and panties and fucked me on slick floor. I also wouldn’t mind.
I throw my arm behind me and hook it around his neck, craving for him to come closer, an impossible feat without our bodies merging into one.
Another finger joins in on the pussy-party below, and he stretches me wide as he cuts through me with a scissoring motion. “I want to fuck,” he screams in my ear, and I definitely heard him this time.
I’m on all fours, staring at the mirror that hangs on the wall in between two dressers. Behind me, Jensen pounds against my flesh. His fingers curl into the skin of my hips. I’d recommend everyone watch themselves get fucked at least once in their short lives. Whether it’s in front of a mirror, or on the screen of a computer, it takes the experience to another level.
There’s nothing quite like it. It’s one thing to feel a cock driving into your body, it’s another to experience it with your eyes. It’s an amazing journey of intimacy when you look into the feral eyes of the man on top of you as he pounds away at your pussy. It’s something else entirely to watch it.
Because it’s not about seeing him. It’s about seeing you, on your stomach or on your back, exposed. It’s something you only see when you’re trying to see it, but it can tell you so much about yourself that you never knew.
I clench my eyes shut and focus on the pleasure as it ripples from my pussy and through the rest of my body. He hits the spot again, and again. He’s like an archer with impeccable accuracy.
He’s a sex God in a league of his own. He swivels from side to side, stirring my pussy—that’s such a weird thing to say. I snap my eyes open and cherish the view of his washboard abs slapping across my ass.
His gaze meets mine in the mirror and he cracks an impressively wicked grin. His fingers dig in deeper, forcing me to remain still and watch him as he raises a hand to his mouth. He runs his tongue along his hand, and I can’t look away. I’m intoxicated by the erotic view of his tongue against his own skin.
He lowers his hand and smacks my ass. I bark out a grunt, and drop my head against a pillow, trying to catch a breath.
Through a whiskey-induced haze, my wheels spin and I slip free from his cock. I slide off the bed, dragging the sheet to the floor with my foot.
“What are you doing?” he asks, out of breath and his chest heaving. “Come back.”
“Come and get me.” I rush to the screen door and rip it open. He reaches through the opening and intercepts me before I’m able to shut the door behind me. He spins me against the railing to face the ocean.
“I want you to look out into the distance,” he husks. “And when you’re done counting the stars, that’s when I’m going to come.”
“But there are a million—“
I’m cut off by the burn of his cock thrusting into me so deep his pelvis slams against my ass. I expect him to finish what he started inside, to fuck me so hard I’m unable to walk in the morning, but he does something else.
Each of his hands fondles my breasts as he pounds me with sweet, slow strokes. Every careful thrust can be felt, and a slow quake builds from within me. Inside, when we were on the bed, he was fucking me like an animal, and I enjoyed every second of it.
Out here, he’s more intent on making me wait. A cruel punishment that threatens to turn me inside out. My palms curl along the metal railing, clinging for dear life as I’m stuck in second gear along the chasm of an orgasm. I can feel it building, and bubbling from beneath. I know it’s coming, because I walk the wire along the ledge. Every time his cock pushes deep into me, I feel like a volcano ready to blow.
But, I never do. I’m in a constant state of waiting, and it’s the most euphoric thing I have ever experienced. I’m not in control for once, and I don’t care. I’ll grow to regret it, but right now, I just don’t fucking care.
When I become acquainted with this new tempo, he switches it up and spikes his cock into me, but continues to pull out torturously slow. He thrusts again, pulling out slow. A perfect pattern weaved with devious intentions. His fingers pinch my right nipple, and soon his hands trail to the hips.
I buckle myself up for the ride.
“How many stars have you counted?”
None. I had forgotten I was supposed to be doing math while my professor fucked me from behind. I had forgotten everything, to be exact, such as that we are on a balcony where someone could see us.
“Shit,” I mumble and point my finger to a trio of men who are camped beside a lifeguard tower watching us.
“Let them watch,” Jensen growls from behind me.
I’d object, but feral Jensen has once again been unleashed and he begins to pound into me at, what has to be, record speed. He’s like a fucking superhero, with a surplus of both stamina and strength.
I almost lose my footing and throw my hand back against the rail as I bow my head, too ashamed to show the voyeurs on the beach that a man can make me feel the way I feel right now.
I’m not in control of my own orgasm, nor am I in control of his. It’s a complete power shift, but I can’t bring myself to complain. My entire body turns to rubber, and every part of me bounces in sync with his thrusts.
Fuck. It occurs to me that in our drunken haze, we forgot to strap a condom on his cock. It’s too late. I feel myself breaking and bite into my arm, muffling my screams and my cries. My pussy tightens around his cock as I’m sent through shockwave after shockwave of relief, pleasure, and euphoria all rolled up into one.
Jensen howls, not caring who can see or hear us. He bucks up against me, driving himself all the way in, and that’s where he stays. His body shakes against mine as he empties his bare cock inside me.
He plants a short kiss against the back of my neck, but unlike the night in the car, he doesn’t stay inside of me until his dick softens. There’s a warm, burning sensation as he pulls out. He falls back into a beach chair, while I’m left looking out into the night sky. It’s an endless dark abyss. It’s a painting of what my soul must look like on the inside.
The three men on the beach clap loudly, and cheer Jensen on. He pays no attention, and neither do I. I roll my eyes and step past Jensen and walk back inside.
Jensen finds comfort in the silence after he fucks, and I can’t figure out why. He sits alone, naked and exposed on the balcony. He’s nestled in the beach chair, staring out into the vast distance while I lay naked on the bed, still too hot to cover myself in sheets and drift off to sleep.
I turn onto my side to get a better view of the balcony. He’s a robot, or something inanimate. His eyes are leveled against the night sky. His body is still, lost in the same internal shuffle as his mind. The imagery before me is what I often imagine solace to look like if words were portraits.
No, I can’t crack this man. I can’t figure him out. I am running on empty, and I thank my lucky stars that Cece crossed my path. She’s a distraction I’m going to need if I am to win this bet.
