by Sienna Ciles
“Okay, that was intense,” I said, taking a long, deep breath. “I have never done that before in my life.”
“Yeah, you came,” he told me. “It’s the endorphin surge. I’ve gotten maybe one or two women to that level before--but I think with you it’s just sheer, physical relief.”
I rolled my eyes and reached down along his body absently. My fingertips found the hot, hard bulge at the front of his boxers, straining at the fabric, and I had the thrill of hearing Ransom moan softly in reaction.
“I think I remember you saying something about how you could make me come with more than just your hands and mouth,” I said, meeting Ransom’s gaze. “Besides, you should get some fun out of this too--especially after what you just did to me.”
Ransom grinned and kissed me, and once more I tasted myself on his tongue, on his lips. “You’re not ready for more yet,” he told me confidently.
“How do you know?” I was almost offended. I twisted around in his arms and sat up, looking down at him.
“I know because of this,” Ransom said.
Before I knew what he was about to do, he reached out and slipped his hand between my legs, and touched my clit. I gasped, shuddering; it didn’t actually feel good, or bad, exactly--it felt too intense, too sensitive. “I’ll give you a couple of minutes.”
“Well, we could work toward me being ready,” I suggested. I had come for the first--or maybe second--time in my life just a few minutes before, and I definitely wanted more. The thought flitted through my head that within a few days, Ransom would just be a guy I’d met and hired to be my boyfriend, and I probably would not find anyone like him back in my adopted home city, but I pushed it out of my mind.
“Come here, then,” Ransom said, reaching out and pulling me down on top of him.
He kissed me hungrily, letting his hands wander over my body in lazy caresses, and the heat built up between us again, the same way it had the first time around. I was shocked at how quickly I got turned on, and how intensely I felt it, my body heating up and that tension coming back into the spot deep down between my hips. Somewhere along the line, Ransom’s boxers came off, and all I wanted to do was touch his cock and taste it, feel it against my lips and tongue and even inside of me, large as it was.
I got my wish. Ransom let me meander down along his torso, to his hips, and didn’t stop me when I took him in my mouth. The taste of him spread across my tongue and somehow turned me on even more than it had the night before as I started sucking and licking. I almost had to pull back as a fit of giggles rose up in my throat in reaction to a random thought. Just like a cherry lollipop, but different flavor.
I could feel the tension mounting in his body, the same way that Ransom had known what was going on with me, but when I was sure I had him on the edge, he pushed me away--gently--and fell back against the pillows, panting for breath. “I don’t want to be done yet,” he explained in response to my hurt, quizzical look.
“You don’t?” When he’d been going at me, I couldn’t wait to get off.
“I want to wait until I get you off with this,” Ransom said with a little grin, stroking himself slowly. “And I think you’re ready.”
“I think I am, too,” I said. It was like someone had found some buried guitar string in my belly and plucked it, sending little vibrations all through my body. Just the thought of feeling him inside of me was enough to make me even wetter, even hotter.
“Get on, then,” Ransom suggested, giving my hip a playful smack. “We’ll start with you on top and then…” He grinned, and I caught the mischief in his eyes.
“I’ve never gotten off from being on top,” I told him matter-of-factly.
“That’s just how we’re starting. I can hold back better, and you can take me as fast or slow as you want.”
I nodded and straddled his hips, my thighs trembling as I felt him brush against me.
I took a deep breath and guided the tip of him, still slick with my saliva and his fluids, against my labia. I sank down slowly--achingly slowly--and groaned as I felt the thickness of him press against me, and then felt my body give way to him. Ransom reached out and steadied my hips, pushing with firm, gentle pressure as I took him inch by inch.
By the time he was fully inside of me, I almost felt as if I’d been skewered--but in the best possible way. I sat absolutely still on top of him, breathing, just feeling his thick heat buried deep inside of me, pressing right up against my pleasure center. It was amazing--there was no other word for it. I felt like I’d been stretched, so full and filled so deep, but it didn’t hurt at all. It felt perfect.
I started moving on top of him, rising and falling slowly, finding my rhythm, and as soon as I hit my stride--so to speak--Ransom started thrusting up into me, his hands moving from my hips to my breasts and back again, teasing and caressing me, pushing and pulling. I leaned forward, steadying myself with my hands over his shoulders, and the change in angle meant that every movement rubbed against my clit. “That’s it...good girl,” Ransom said, moaning.
Just as I was starting to get frustrated--perpetually on the edge of climax but not quite able to go fast enough to get over the edge, just like with the guys I’d been with before Ransom--he tumbled me over, somehow managing to stay inside of me all the while as he got me onto my back and pinned me there.
I thought he was going to pound into me, but instead he started slow, sliding out almost all the way and then pushing into me in a steady movement, filling me up inch by inch again. He kissed me hungrily and we started moving together, finding the perfect rhythm, like a tidal flow between our bodies. I clung to Ransom as if he was a life raft, twisting my hips and pushing them down to take him harder, faster, deeper.
He reached down between our bodies and started stroking my clit in time with his thrusts, and every muscle in my body clamped down all at once. I cried out, my nails digging into his shoulders, and Ransom picked up the speed of his thrusts, steadily rubbing up against my g-spot even as his fingertips worked my clit.
Once again, I felt that tension hit a point that was almost unbearable, and then all at once it broke, exploding from somewhere deep inside of me, and I buried my face against his shoulder as I came, harder than even the time before, so hard that it almost scared me. Waves of pleasure didn’t just wash through me--they crashed against my brain, like one tsunami after another, until I was almost afraid that I would never stop coming.
Ransom managed to hold back, managed to keep going, and just as I felt the pleasure starting to slow down, starting to get less intense, I felt him shudder against me, heard him moan out long and low, and then he started really pounding into me.
The hot, sticky-slick gush of him deep inside of me sent me into another orgasm--or maybe just a deepening of the one I’d already been having--and we both kept moving until neither of us could budge an inch anymore. We collapsed to the bed, panting and gasping, tangled up in each other, and I felt that same feeling again--the electric, tingling caress throughout every nerve in my body, almost too much to bear, but so nice that I couldn’t quite wish it would stop.
I giggled, shaking my head and making myself breathless all over again, even as Ransom kissed me lazily and held me tight. I felt the way that I thought religious converts felt when they had their moment of revelation. I felt like someone who’d suddenly gained the ability to see colors they’d never known existed.
I finally calmed down a little bit, and Ransom rolled off of me, smiling. “Not bad, huh?”
“No, not bad at all,” I agreed, feeling warm and loose and utterly content.
“I’m going to get a shower,” he told me. “If you want to join me…”
I shook my head. I had a soreness between my hips, an ache between my legs--but it was a pleasant ache, a nice kind of pain that I hoped would linger for a little while, a reminder of what had happened.
“I don’t even have the legs to get up right now,” I told him. “Have fun.”
“I always do,” Ranso
m said. He gave me a quick, impulsive kiss on the forehead, and as he went into the bathroom, I thought--absently, and then made myself forget--that there was nothing for us after the weekend. We’d part ways, and while it was good to know that I could orgasm, I didn’t think it was likely I’d get another one with someone else. I pushed the thought out of my head and curled up on the bed, hanging in the golden pleasure that seemed to seep through my veins with every beat of my heart.
Chapter Twenty
Ransom
“So today’s the luau and the prom,” I said to Bethany over brunch the next morning. There were surprisingly few people in the hotel’s dining room. Probably a lot of them are at work preparing for the luau.
“It’s not really prom, but it’s a dance,” Bethany said absently.
I’d found her asleep on the bed the night before and instead of waking her up--it didn’t seem fair, somehow--I’d climbed in on the other side of the bed and just slept next to her. By the time I’d dragged myself awake in the morning, we’d been cuddled up, and Bethany had nearly jumped out of her skin in realization, shifting away from me like I might have the plague, and apologizing for intruding on my personal space.
“So, I was wondering something,” I said, glancing around the room to make sure that no one could be eavesdropping on us. I’d gotten eggs benedict and a load of hash browns, and the hotel had managed to do both pretty well. Alongside their coffee, I thought I could recommend their dining services pretty wholeheartedly.
“What’s that?” Bethany looked up from her pancakes and bacon.
“I know we technically agreed that you’d give me access after the reunion was over, but we might not have time--and anyway, I think we can both agree that I’ve gone above and beyond,” I said.
Bethany looked at me for a long moment, and I got myself ready--mentally--to argue with her about it.
“If you really want to get the information now, I can give you my login credentials,” she said.
I was stunned. “Just like that? No restrictions?”
“I want to know what you need the information for,” Bethany told me.
I thought about telling her--just for a second--and then shook my head.
“If I get the information I need, and I think it’s okay for you to know, afterward, I’ll tell you,” I said. “But until I know I can find what I need, it’s my business.”
Bethany crunched on some bacon and took a sip of her coffee. “You said you need access to the records for kids we’ve adopted out, and for the people who turned them over to us?”
“That’s all I need,” I said, nodding. I’d been itching for more information--to finally get my answers, or know that there was no way to get them--ever since I’d gotten my first taste, two nights before. I was so close to finding out what I needed to know that I almost couldn’t stand to wait any longer.
“I can give you my login credentials for those specific databases, but not for anything else,” Bethany said. “When do you want to do it?”
“Well if you were going to go do stuff at the luau, I could do it then,” I said. “I mean, just because we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, doesn’t mean we have to be together every minute of the trip.” My fingers were itching to get on a keyboard, my brain felt like it was being tickled.
“Once we’re done here, I’ll give you the logins, and the links,” she said. She sounded a little sad, and I wondered why. She’d gotten what she wanted--and it wasn’t like I was going to abandon her at this point. Even if I had wanted to, I couldn’t get out of town.
“Just tell them I had accounting stuff that came up, or something,” I said.
“It’s not that--it’s just that I’m kind of bummed that it’s the tail end of this,” Bethany said.
“I didn’t know you were so into being social,” I said with a laugh.
“I like being social with you around,” she said. “But it’ll be fine. Jess will be at the event, and you’ll come over when you’re done--right?”
“As soon as I get the information I need, I’ll come find you,” I promised.
We finished up brunch just in time for some more of Bethany’s classmates to arrive, and I made excuses for us to leave. Bethany promised to carpool with a couple of the people in the group to work at the luau, and we stopped at the front desk to get a sheet of paper and a pen.
“This will only get you to the adopted children database,” she said, scribbling something quickly on the sheet. She added something else underneath it. “This is the records site for the parents who gave up kids. The login is only good for that. Don’t even try to use it elsewhere--you might get me locked out and then I’ll have to explain.”
She looked at me firmly and I grinned.
“I promise you, this is the only information I’m looking for,” I said. “Can I use your laptop, or do I need to use one of the hotel’s computers?”
“Better if you use mine--they know it’s authorized.” She sighed. “Password to get on is Adirondak4639. Capital A.”
“That’s an interesting password,” I said.
Bethany shrugged. “Just come to the luau quickly--if you’re not there, I am not in a million years going to do the hula class,” she told me, managing a smile.
We parted ways and I couldn’t get up to the room fast enough. I found Bethany’s laptop in her luggage, put in her personal password, and opened up a browser to check the first of the databases that I needed to look at. I logged in, holding my breath as the page loaded the verification, and there it was. Children Served by Us.
I pressed my lips together and tried to think of what name to search for. Would it be under the adoptive name, or the name before adoption? If it was the second one, I had no chance--I didn’t even know what the pre-adoption last name had been. I could--I thought--do a search just based on first name.
I thought about it a moment longer and made up my mind. I felt a tingle work down my spine as I typed in a name I had stopped using a good five years or more before. Patrick Nolan. At first, the results field said it found nothing, and my stomach sank halfway to my knees, making me regret getting extra hollandaise on my benedict. But a second or two later, I saw One result found!
I opened it up and saw a picture of a child, aged three. My heart leaped up into my throat and I scrolled down. Adoptive parents of record: Janice and Raymond Nolan. Those were my parents. I looked over my own file, feeling weirdly like a voyeur. I’d been given to the agency that Bethany worked for at the age of two, given up by birth parents. I’d been assessed at above-average intelligence for my age, diagnosed with minor behavioral issues “consistent with an unstable attachment to birth-parents.” Nowhere on the file were my birth parents listed, which disappointed me--but then I reminded myself that I had the other database to look through. I saw the records for the interview the agency had done with me and my new parents before I’d been sent home with them, and shook my head at my own childish answers.
I hadn’t been Patrick Nolan before that, though. I looked through the attached files until I found what my birth name had been. Patrick Cartwright. That, at least, should help me find at least one--if not both--of my parents.
I opened up a new tab and put in the web address that Bethany had given me for the birth parents database, and waited impatiently for it to load. I logged in, feeling tense but less full of dread, and when the search option came up I put in my last name at birth.
There were about a half-dozen Cartwrights, and I scrolled through the results until I found one attached to my birth name. Genevieve Cartwright, Alexander Cartwright. That was what I needed to know. That was what I’d been trying to find for years.
Relief flooded through me and for a second I just sat there, my eyes closed, breathing in the realization that the missing puzzle piece was finally there.
I wrote down the names and their information and closed out both databases, opening a new window and putting in the web addresses for some records searches I knew about, that I’d used in some
odd jobs in the past. I put in my parents’ names, opening a new tab for each search I wanted to run, and switched between them, waiting for information.
Genevieve Cartwright was dead. My heart sank as I read through her obituary. She’d died when I was about twenty, not survived by anyone--she hadn’t even still been with my birth-father, though she’d kept his name, and her other two kids had died before her in an accident at the home.
Alexander Cartwright, my birth father, was still alive. He was living in another state, about a day’s drive from where I’d been staying until I’d come back to my hometown in the hopes of finding something to get me back on the trail to finding him. He had a criminal record, but nothing too intense. Apparently, my parents had put me up for adoption right around the time my birth father had been getting ready to go to jail on a plea deal for grand theft. I couldn’t entirely blame them for that--but the note on my adoption file about unstable attachments told me there was a lot more to know about the situation. And there was only one person on the planet who could tell me.
I closed everything out and cleared the history, shut down the computer, and put it aside. I’d promised Bethany I’d catch up with her as soon as I was done, but for a few minutes I just sat in the room, trying to make sense of what I’d found out about my own past. It was a relief in one sense, to finally know. But I had no idea if I even wanted to contact my biological father to get the rest of the story, the stuff my files had left out.
“I’d better get back to her,” I told myself, more to stir myself into leaving the room than anything else. I tried to think of someone I could talk to about what I’d found out, but I couldn’t bring a single name to mind. My adoptive parents had died a few years before, leaving me with their estate. I didn’t have any siblings, and my friends weren’t the type that I would normally talk about something like this with.
