by R. R. Banks
I shrug and take a pull from my bottle. “Can't it be both?” I ask. “After all, we can live on beer alone. Don't think I didn't see you sneaking out of here with that little brunette the other night. Where'd you grab her, the local PTA meeting?”
She laughs. May is not the only one who sees all.
“Bored housewife,” she says. “She wanted to try something different. Who am I to judge?”
“Or deny her the experience.”
She taps an empty glass she's holding against my bottle. “Damn right.”
An older man at the other end of the bar signals for her, so May gives me a smile and a wink before turning and heading over. I turn around on the stool and lean back against the bar, looking around and getting a lay of the land.
Lots of couples in here tonight. But, there are plenty of women on their own as well, sitting in clusters, whispering back and forth to one another. I catch the eye of a blonde sitting a table with a couple of friends. She has a soft, round face, smooth skin, and hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She's dressed a little conservatively – pink sweater over a white maxi dress, and very sensible shoes. She’s a cute little thing. A soccer mom if I’ve ever seen one. If I had to guess, I'd say she's got a mini-van or SUV out in the parking lot.
The woman gives me a shy smile before turning her attention back to her friends. Give or take a couple of years, I figure I’ve probably got about a decade on her. They're leaning over the table, doing their very best to avoid looking over here while talking to each other in hushed, excited whisper like schoolgirls. The petite blonde can't quite help herself and continues to cut timid glances in my direction.
After ten minutes, I set my empty bottle down on the bar and May quickly brings me a replacement. I turn to her and she's smiling wickedly.
“Target acquired?” she asks.
“I'd say so.”
“I've been trying to flirt with her for a couple of weeks now,” she says. “She just needs a little more time.”
“Well, I'll make sure to put in a good word with her later,” I say and laugh.
“Appreciate that, Connor.”
“I'll make sure to give her your number.”
May smiles at me. “Let her know that I'd definitely show her a good time.”
“I have no doubt, love.”
I laugh and stand up. That's another thing I love about May – we have similar taste in women. I carry my beer over to the table and when the blonde sits upright, a familiar flush creeping into her cheeks. I set my bottle down on the table, sitting down in an empty seat.
“Evenin' ladies,” I say, thickening my Irish brogue for their benefit.
The two other women give me a meek hello, but the blonde remains completely frozen, her eyes wide, her cheeks scarlet.
“I'm Connor –”
“Grigson.”
The blonde finally seems to snap out of her stupor and turn to me. I see uncertainty in her eyes along with a healthy dose of desire. The other two women quickly stand up and excuse themselves, hurrying toward the bathroom, leaving me alone with their friend.
“I always come and see you when you perform here. I was such a big fan of FUBAR when I was younger,” she says before quickly adding, “not that I'm saying you're old or anything. I didn't mean to –”
I laugh and reach out, putting my hand on top of hers. I didn't think it possible, but her body stiffened up even more. I was half-afraid that if she wound herself up any tighter, she might shatter into a thousand pieces.
“I've been called worse things than old,” I say. “Don't stress about it, love.”
“Well, you're not old,” she says. “Not at all.”
“What's your name?” I ask, just to change the subject.
“Maggie,” she says.
“Nice to meet you, Maggie.”
“Nice to meet you too,” she says, stifling a squeal. “I can't believe I'm sitting here with the Connor Grigson.”
“Oh, lovely of you to say, but I'm not 'the' anything anymore,” I say, doing my best to sound humble. “I'm just Connor these days.”
I take a swig of my beer, my eyes never leaving hers. She falls silent and starts fidgeting with her glass. Then the napkin on the table. How cute. She’s nervous.
“Married?” I finally ask.
She starts to roll her eyes before catching herself. “Separated,” she says and looks away again. “I have a son, as well.”
“Oh, good for you,” I say, hoping that some small talk will relax her nerves.
Her friends didn’t come back. After coming out of the bathroom, they chose to sit at a nearby table, casting envious glances in our direction every so often. We talk for a good half hour, and by the end of it, I'm bored as hell. There's only so much I care to hear about her mundane suburban life.
“Listen,” I say. “Do you want to get out of here for a little while? Go somewhere a little more, private?”
She swallows hard and clears her throat. I can see her trying to convince herself to succumb to her passion and lust. Do what she wants for a change. My guess is that her husband is the lights-out, missionary only kind of guy. He probably gives her a couple hard pumps, cums, rolls over and goes to sleep, leaving her unsatisfied and having to get herself off.
Which is such a shame, really. Good thing she met me.
Her hands are trembling as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Maggie gives me a shy, but flirty smile, and bites her bottom lip, her big, blue eyes fastened to mine.
“My – uhh – my car is parked outside,” she says.
A car isn't the most desirable place to have sex, but hey, I'm not going to be too picky. It's a policy of mine to never bring them to my place, for obvious reasons. I usually either get a room somewhere or go to them. But, I've certainly gotten it on in far worse and more uncomfortable places than a car.
“Well, let's go then, love,” I say.
We get to our feet and she looks around, her eyes wide with uncertainty. Her friends – when they think I'm not looking, of course – both flash her a thumbs-up sign and giggle to each other. Maggie looks around, like she's afraid she's going to be spotted by somebody she knows. I understand the need for discretion, so I lean forward and whisper in her ear.
“Why don't you go ahead?” I say. “You go out first and then I'll follow you out. Just flash your lights at me so I know where you are. Okay?”
She gives me a weak smile and nods. She's scared. This is probably the first time she's had sex since separating from her husband. I watch her as she walks away, a smile on my face as I drain the last of my beer. I wait a few minutes and then follow her out.
On my way to the door, I catch sight of May, who gives me a big smile – and the finger. Clearly, she's upset that I'm getting a chance with Maggie before she does. I blow her a kiss and step out into the cool evening air, entirely ready to prove Henri wrong.
Once outside, the flashing headlights of a mini-van – of course – draw my attention. It’s parked near the edge of the lot, well away from the lights. I hustle over to the vehicle, the automatic side door already sliding open as I approach. I get in and she pushes a button, closing the door again behind me. Thankfully, the windows in the back are tinted, which – combined with the darkness outside – should give us a bit of privacy.
I throw a couple of kid's toys over my shoulder and drop down into the middle row seat, joining Maggie on the bench. Her eyes are wide, and her body is trembling with nerves, or anticipation. Or both.
“I – I've never done something like this before,” she says softly.
I take her hand and kiss the back of her knuckles, then give her a smile. “Don't worry, I haven't either, love.”
She laughs and playfully slaps me on the shoulder. “I somehow doubt that.”
I lean forward and press my lips to hers. Weird. I feel nothing.
As I look at her – as I touch her – my cock doesn’t stir. By now, I should be hard and ready to fuck. The craving is there, b
urning a hole in the back of my mind, but as I look at Maggie, I don't feel it.
I close my eyes, desperately trying to work up the mojo needed to get my cock hard. I'm immediately confronted by images of Zoe. I see her smile, hear her voice – hell, I can even taste her on my lips.
As images of Zoe float through my mind, I feel my cock grow rigid in my pants. That's more like it. But, when I open my eyes to see Maggie sitting on the seat next to me, it deflates again.
This can't be happening. Not to me. This cannot be fucking happening.
“I – uhh – I actually need to go,” I say.
She tilts her head and looks at me, a confused expression on her face. But then I see a light in her eyes, and she looks she’s figured something out– something, I apparently haven’t.
“Are you having a little bit of – trouble?” she asks.
There it is. There's my out. That'll do – though, I hate the idea of it getting around that I can't get it up.
“Yeah,” I say. “Embarrassing as it is. But, when you get to be a certain age –”
“Don't worry, baby,” she says, reaching for my belt again. “I'll get you hard in no time flat.”
I scoot back on the seat and take her hands in mine – keeping them well away from my belt.
“Actually,” I say. “I'm a little bit too embarrassed to go on. I'm mortified, really. I should probably just go. Maybe I need to see a doctor and get that little blue pill.”
Her smile falters.
“Oh. Well – okay,” she says, her voice filled with uncertainty. “If you’re sure.”
“Absolutely,” I say.
“Well, let me give you my number in case you change your mind,” she says.
I hand her my phone and she programs her number into it, then hands it back to me. I slip it back into my pocket.
“Call me,” she says.
“Count on it,” I say, knowing full well I have no intention of calling her.
I open the side door and jump back out into the parking lot. Maggie is looking at me with a longing that borders on desperation. I don't know if it's because she wanted to fuck a former star, or simply someone other than her husband. Either way, I can't help her out.
“Have a good night, love,” I say.
“Don't forget to call me.”
I give her a smile and a wave before I turn and walk toward my car, my mind spinning at a hundred miles an hour. I've never had anything even close to that happen before. I've never been unable to seal the deal with a woman. When there's a willing pussy in front of me, I fuck it. That's just what I do.
Until now.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter to myself.
Maybe I am getting old. Or, perhaps even more troubling, Henri was right.
~ooo000ooo~
By the time I get home, I'm still frustrated and filled with an almost manic energy. I know I'm not going to be able to sleep, so I grab a beer from the kitchen and walk into my studio. I flip on the lights, illuminating the painting of Zoe up on the easel.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
My eyes take in the soft lines of the painting – and my memory fills in the blanks. My senses are suddenly inundated with memories of the night we spent together – the smell of her hair, the feel of her soft skin beneath my fingers, the warmth and wetness between her thighs. A soft moan escapes me as I recall how it felt to be deep inside of her, to feel her arms and legs wrapped around me as I drove my cock into her again and again.
I take a long pull from my beer and feel my cock stirring. I look down at my crotch and frown.
“Oh, now you wake up?” I say. “A fat lot of help you were tonight.”
I let out a frustrated breath and walk from the studio to my bedroom, setting the bottle down on my dresser. I strip out of my clothes and toss them in the hamper. Turning on the light, I step into the bathroom and start the shower. It's a large shower – one I'd worked with a private contractor to build – that can fit four people comfortably. There is a bench on either wall, multiple waterfall showerheads that let the water cascade down.
I step inside and let the hot water pour down over me, willing for it to wash away all my frustrations. As I do though, memories of Zoe flood into my mind once more. I recall the way I'd held her against the headboard, fucking her like she deserved. Her voice. The things she said. The way it felt to be inside of her.
And suddenly, I feel my cock getting stiff again.
“Give me a damn break,” I growl.
It's not long before I'm completely hard, my cock begging for a release. With a sigh, I close my eyes and let the memories of taking Zoe’s virginity flood my mind. I grab hold of my cock and start to pump it nice and hard. As I hear Zoe's voice in my head, begging me to fuck her, I tighten my grip, working my hand up and down the shaft.
What happened that night is so vivid in my mind that I can almost hear Zoe's voice echoing around the shower and feel her body pressed hard to mine. An animalistic growl escapes me as the memories of Zoe fuel my current fantasy.
I picture myself standing before her. She's on her knees, sucking my cock, those big, wide obsidian eyes of hers locked on mine. She's wearing nothing but thigh-highs and heels again, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. I reach down, cupping her full, round breast as she sucks me off, her hot little mouth furiously working my cock.
“Fucking hell,” I say and lean my forehead against the shower wall as I keep stroking my cock.
I picture having her bent over a desk, the soft flesh of that perfectly shaped ass just asking for me to fuck it. I grip it, squeeze it, and spank it nice and hard as I drive my cock into her. I hear her gasp and call out my name.
The pressure is building up low within me as I pump my cock harder and faster. I feel Zoe pushing herself back against me, grinding that sweet little ass against me, taking as much of my cock as possible. I throw my head back and cry out as I picture Zoe looking back over her shoulder at me, licking her lips seductively as I fuck her.
“Fuck me, Connor,” her imaginary voice taunts me. “Fuck me, baby. Give me your cock.”
“Fuck, Zoe,” I gasp.
I squeeze my eyes tight and clench my jaw, feeling my body begin to tighten. I throw my head back and call out her name as my cock pulses in my hand. In my mind's eyes, I see myself pulling out of her dripping wet pussy, my cock shooting streams of hot cum all over her beautiful belly and breasts.
My breathing is ragged as my cock deflates, and the water washes my cum down the drain. Obviously, my problem isn’t so much biological or performance-related, but about doing it with the right person. And clearly, my cock thinks that person is Zoe.
“Fuck me sideways,” I mutter.
I have no idea why she’s inspired this reaction in me, or what I’m going to do about it. The only thing I know for certain is that I need to see her.
Only by talking to her will I get the answers I want. The answers I need.
Hopefully.
Chapter Twelve
Zoe
“Tell me something,” I say. “Why are you and my dad pushing so hard on this case for Jay Hill? You know it's bunk as much as I do.”
“I don't know any such thing,” Bryant says, taking a sip of his wine. “He has a claim. We're just doing our due diligence and –”
“No, what you're doing is trying to shake down Connor Grigson for a pretty penny,” I say. “You can't sit there and tell me you don't know that. You're a lot of things, Bryant, but stupid isn't one of them.”
He smiles at me. “Well, thank you for admitting that,” he says. “Most of the time, I get the feeling you think I'm a total moron.”
“I do,” I reply, watching his smile falter and fade from his face completely. “But, that doesn't mean you're unintelligent. So why?”
He lets out a long breath. “I really shouldn't be talking about –”
“My father is the founder of the firm,” I say. “Eventually, I will be running the firm. I think you're safe to talk to me
about it.”
He looks around as if somebody might overhear us and then leans forward, pitching his voice low. And when he speaks, it's in an irritating, conspiratorial whisper.
“Look,” he says. “This case is potentially worth a lot of money –”
“It's extortion,” I say.
“This is between you and me, Zoe,” he says. “Can I count on your discretion?”
I look at him for a long moment, unsure if he's being serious or just trying to work some angle with me. Knowing Bryant like I do – a man who never gives anything without expecting something in return – I'm sure he thinks that by taking me into his confidence, I’ll drop my panties for him or something. Yeah, fat chance of that happening. Ever.
“Fine,” I say.
“The firm isn't doing all that well,” he says. “Your father's kept quiet about it, but we're on the verge of having to lay people off. That's, of course, just the first step toward closing the doors entirely.”
I sit back and let that news wash over me. This is the first I'm hearing about any financial troubles my father is having. As far as I know, he's still very much in the black. We've won tens of millions of dollars in judgements and settlements. How can we possibly have money trouble?
“Your dad would be humiliated if he knew I told you,” Bryant says. “So, make sure and keep this under your hat. But, that's why we're pushing on this Grigson deal so hard. We need a win, Zo. We need one bad.”
I sit there, absorbing everything he's said, sipping my wine. I’m so shocked by what Bryant just said that I actually ignore him using that stupid pet name he has for me.
“Why hasn't he said anything to me?” I ask.
“He's embarrassed,” Bryant replies. “But, it's nothing to worry your pretty little head about, Zo. It'll all work out. Always does. Just keep doing your thing and we'll all be fine. You'll see.”
I've been dreading this dinner date all day long, and so far, it's proving to be just as insufferable as I figured it would be. The news that the firm is floundering is shocking to me and only makes the evening that much worse. But, it explains why my father would be willing to cross the line into the unethical if it’s the only means of saving the firm.
