Luna Exposed

by Kristin Leigh

  Chapter 8

  I cut myself twice in the shower and trim my pubic hair back until it’s almost completely gone. I consider shaving it, but I know from past experience that it itches when it starts to grow back and I’m really not committed enough to shave it regularly. If I want to go bald, I’ll suffer through a wax.

  I lotion and perfume and trim and pluck until I can look at myself naked in the mirror without cringing. I plow through my underwear drawer, eyes on the clock, for something sexy. I have a pale blue set of panties with a matching bra that I bought just after Gabe and I met last year. They’re the exact color of his eyes, and I’ve never worn them. It never felt right, but it does now. Just as I shimmy into the underwear, light taps come from my door followed by Dad calling, “Eluned? Your company is here.”

  I hate when he calls me Eluned, but I try not to scold him too much. He liked it enough to name me that, so telling him it sucks might hurt his feelings. “Almost ready!” I call back.

  I yank the bra on and adjust my boobs until they’re just right, even amounts of cleavage on each side. Then I have to pick something to wear over it, useless though it is. I pick through every dress I own—pants take too long to take off—before deciding on a short grey dress with a thick teal belt. I slide on my peep-toe black heels, make sure my hair’s still brushed, and practically skip out of my room.

  Dad’s standing in the living room with Gabe, both of them smiling and talking about fishing. They turn as I enter and Gabe’s friendly smile dies down to one that’s predatory. Intent. I suppress a shudder and give Dad a quick hug.

  “See you in the morning, Daddy.”

  “Have a good time, squirt,” he responds, squeezing me gently. He looks up at Gabe, who has a couple of inches on him, and warns, “Take care of my girl, now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gabe replies respectfully.

  Dad makes a joke about going deep sea fishing, and Gabe replies that he’ll schedule a boat, and I wait, tapping my foot. With a smile, Gabe turns and wraps an arm around my waist calling a final farewell to Dad as he leads me out. The door closes behind him and I look for the Tesla. It’s nowhere to be found. “Where’s the Batmobile?”

  He lifts an eyebrow but responds, “I brought the Rimac. That all right?”

  “The what?” What the fuck is a Rimac?

  He smiles. “Rimac Concept One. Only eighty-eight were made. I managed to get one because I have the money and I’m in the right business.” He puts a hand on the small of my back and leads me forward. “That,” he says, pointing to a car that I couldn’t see around the edge of the house, “is a Rimac.”

  “Well good, then.” I don’t know what else to say. It’s just another sporty car. But then, to me, they’re all just a way to get from point A to point B.

  His lips twitch and he asks mockingly, “Are you impressed?”

  I shrug. “Not really. Honestly, it’s not much better than my Corolla.” I point to my little bucket of shit and try not to laugh at the deeply horrified look on his face. He looks like he’s about to stroke out. I decide to dig it in a little deeper. “Yours is just shinier. Sparkly.”

  He looks down at me suspiciously for a moment before shaking his head with a chuckle. “Bite your tongue, woman. Your car would fall apart if you took it through a car wash.”

  “Probably,” I admit. He walks me around to the passenger seat and opens the door. I climb in one leg at a time, letting him get a glimpse. I look up at him, and his knowing gaze tells me I’m not fooling anyone. I grin at him and hear quiet laughter as he shuts the door.

  He climbs in beside me and starts the car, pulling away before I even realize it’s been turned on. It’s a little disturbing how quiet it is.

  “Do you have any more of these nifty cars?” Weren’t rich men supposed to have fast sports cars? Hot rods? Big SUVs and trucks?

  “I have a Fisker Karma too, but its range is only fifty miles before it converts to a hybrid.”

  I don’t ask what that is, because it’s obviously an electric car, and so far out of my price range that I don’t even recognize the name. I also don’t bother asking why he drives only electric cars, because now that I know who he really is, it’s obvious.

  I look out the window and watch the neighborhood go by for a few minutes then start to fiddle with buttons on the dash until I find the radio.

  I don’t like the song that comes on so I turn it off again.

  “Nervous?” He doesn’t take his eyes from the road, and I watch his hand on the steering wheel, wondering what’s got me so unsettled.

  “No,” I decide. “Not nervous. Anxious, I guess.” He turns his head and gives me that half-smile but doesn’t respond.

  When he pulls into the parking lot of the Azalea Inn, I sit up straight and protest. “No, we can’t go here.”

  He parks and looks at me, that damned eyebrow lifted again. “Why not?”

  “Because Maggie Swanson owns it, and lives right across the street. Even if you don’t put my name down, she’ll see me go in and the whole town will know…” I realize belatedly that not wanting to be seen with him might be slightly insulting if he doesn’t understand why.

  “And you don’t want the whole town to know your business. Understandable.” He shrugs and starts the car again before backing out. When the hell did he turn it off? He pulls back out onto the road and says quietly, “You know the area far better than I do. Where can we go? I can’t wait an hour to get to my house.”

  I stare at his hand on the gear shifter as I think. Such a strong, masculine hand. Vague sprinkle of hair, long fingers and broad palm…I’d forgotten how much I like his hands.

  “Luna,” he calls softly, nudging me out of my thoughts. “Where can we go?”

  “Um, if you get back on the four lane and head east, it’s only about ten minutes to Herbert. There’s a nice little motel there, and it’s run by an Indian family. Good people. They’re not going to spread any gossip back to Corybelle.” I know because it’s where my dad goes.

  Gross that I know that. I found a receipt once, years ago.

  He nods and makes a turn to take us back out to the highway. I settle back in the seat and resume watching his hand. It moves, sliding over the bump in the seat and onto my thigh. He tugs my skirt up and slides his hand beneath.

  “Spread your legs.”

  I slide my butt down a little in the seat and part my thighs to give him access. He doesn’t go straight for the gold, but trails his fingers lightly back and forth from my knee to the leg band of my panties. Back and forth until I wiggle, trying to get him to touch me. He switches legs, the soft strokes barely a step away from tickling.

  “Are you wet, Luna?” he whispers, his voice so wicked in the dark interior of the car. Before I can answer he murmurs, “Don’t lie to me. Be sure before you answer.”

  I don’t know why I do it. The devil makes me, I guess. I slip my hand beneath the waist of my panties and plunge a finger inside to find out. It’s scandalous. And yes, I’m wet: wetter than I can manage by myself. I pull my hand out and lean over, holding my finger to his lips. “You tell me,” I whisper, hopefully in a seductive voice.

  His tongue darts out and his lips part. I slide my finger inside the hot cavern of his mouth and moan when he sucks my finger. “I believe you are,” he murmurs once he’s let go.

  Oh God, I want to grab his hand and press it against me, ride his fingers until I feel that bliss again that no one else has the patience to work me toward. But he just resumes the slow, torturous strokes, getting so close, but never close enough.

  Herbert comes into view just as I’m starting to ponder the difficulties of riding him while he drives. He pulls his hand away and asks, “Where’s this motel?”

  “Um, just up here on the right.” My voice sounds like a lounge singer’s, smoky and blatantly sexual. It never sounds like that; I couldn’t force the sound if I wanted to.

  He yanks the car into the parking lot and I realize he’s been breaking all k
inds of speed limits to get here. In the silence and smoothness of the luxury car, I didn’t notice.

  “Stay here.” He climbs out and slams the door. I watch in fascination as he adjusts himself to hide his erection before striding to the office.

  As soon as he opens the door and disappears, I fish the pearls and cash out of my purse and shove them under my seat. He’s already refused to take it back once, so this time I’m not giving him an option. I’ll send him a text after he drops me off so whoever cleans his cars doesn’t steal it.

  Mission accomplished, I tap my toes restlessly, watching the door with an unwavering stare. I want to be as turned on as I was last time, can’t wait to find out if I’ve built it up in my mind as the greatest sexual experience of my life out of some misplaced sense of closure for my marriage.

  After an eternity, he exits the office with a key card in his hand. He doesn’t climb back in the car, but circles around and opens my door for me. It’s all I can do not to launch myself at him.

  “You brought condoms, right?” I ask quietly, just in case we’re not the only ones outside.

  “Yes.” He doesn’t expound upon that, but then, he doesn’t really need to. It wasn’t a difficult question.

  Secret fling, check. Out of town motel room, check. Condoms, check.

  He guides me with a hand at my back to the staircase on the end. I look around quickly, too distracted to notice much. The motel is actually nice for what it is…an affair spot. Built in Southern plantation style, it’s all white banisters and potted greenery. We reach the second floor landing, and Gabe drags me a little roughly until we reach our room. He unlocks it and pulls me in.

  Before I can blink, he picks me up, firm hands biting into my waist for scant seconds before I go flying and land on the bed with a bounce. Instead of climbing on top and kissing me like I think he’s going to do, he jerks my legs apart, kneels between them, and pushes my skirt up.

  His mouth is on my pussy less than ten seconds after the door closed. A deep moan tumbles from my lips as my hips arch, and I don’t even have time to process how such a sound can come from me before he jerks my panties down and over my legs. He buries his face again with a groan and tongues me, pushing his tongue inside of me while I clench helplessly around an intrusion that’s not nearly big enough to satisfy.

  “You were right, moon goddess. You’re wet,” he mumbles against me, the vibrations of his deep rumbling voice moving all the way up my spine. He slides his tongue up one side of my clit and down the other. “Did you bring your pearls?” he rasps.

  I think about the strand of pearls stored under the seat of his car. He scrapes his teeth across my clit and I gasp, “In the car.”

  “We’ll get them later then.” He sits back on his heels and pulls me up. “Lose the dress.”

  I unsnap the belt and tug the stiff fabric up. It gets stuck, my arms in the air and only half of my head out. I’m blind, and flail around a little in a useless attempt to work myself free. Gabe just hums and pushes me until I fall backward onto the bed.

  “This is going to work out nicely,” he purrs. I’m still trapped by my dress, struggling to pull it completely off. But it remains above my head, covering my eyes and holding my arms captive. It’s very undignified and a little embarrassing. “Leave it. Be still.” He speaks softly, but the command is still present.

  I stop wiggling and try to settle, relax. It’s easier than it was before, though I can’t put my finger on why. Maybe because there’s a slightly deeper level of trust than there was a year ago. There’s a connection between us, through his brother and our friends. If nothing else, that alone guarantees my safety. The cynicism of last time is gone too. He proved himself—several times, actually—so the only thing that remains is the arousal spearing through my body and anticipation causing my limbs to quake.

  “Please let me come,” I whisper hopefully.

  He laughs, a deep bellowing laugh I haven’t heard before. “Sweet, Luna. Very nicely done.” The heat of his body brushes against mind and I feel his breath on my lips. “But you’re not ready yet.”

  Yes, hell, I am.

  I whimper as the mattress shifts beneath me and I feel him move away. Hard hands grasp my arms and pull, repositioning me until my head hangs about halfway off the bed. A warm brush against my lips and he says, “Open for me, sweetheart.”

  I do, and the plush crown of his cock slides over my lips and between them. I tongue the swollen head, licking over the slit when he groans. A warm hand slides beneath my neck, relieving the strain of holding my head up. Without having to be told, I relax into his grip. “If you can’t breathe, or need a break just lift your legs.” He pauses, slicking himself over my lips, spreading the salty taste of pre-come and whispers, “I need to come or I won’t last ten minutes. And you need a lot more than that, don’t you moon goddess?”

  He doesn’t give me time to answer before pushing forward, but I don’t need to answer. He’s right and we both know it. I’m achy, needy, and disturbingly eager to suck him off. He surges against the back of my throat and I gag for a few moments before he backs off slightly.

  “Relax, sweetheart. Breathe through your nose, remember? I’ll go slow and easy.” He’s thrusting, short, slow strokes that barely take him more than a couple of inches. “I won’t come in your mouth this time.” The strokes get a little more forceful, go a little farther back. “I’ll get bloodwork done, get you the paperwork so you know I’m safe. I’d appreciate it if you’d do the same. Birth control too, if you don’t mind.”

  I could tell him that I have an IUD in that has another three years on it. But I was taught to never speak with my mouth full. My vulgar humor causes a giggle, which in turn makes me choke. I breathe deeply when he backs off and relax when he powers forward. I focus, feeling the pulse and flow as he gradually works his way to the back of my throat. I take another deep breath through my nose and let the muscles in my throat go slack.

  He grunts and I feel him shift against me, then another press and his heavy testicles rest against my nose. He’s exceptionally well groomed and clean so it’s actually kind of hot. A broken groan rumbles from his chest and he shifts and pushes again, until I feel the scrape of his short pubic hair against my bottom lip.

  A ridiculous burst of pride lights up in my chest, pride that I’m doing it, that on my second try, he’s managed to push himself completely into my throat. It’s not the most impressive thing I’ve accomplished, and certainly not something I’ll brag about. But it’s still pretty fantastic to me, and judging from the way Gabe’s breathing, it’s pretty awesome for him too.

  But my triumph is short lived. When he pulls back the slightest bit I gag, my eyes water, and my nose runs.

  “We’ll save that for later,” he growls. “After we get our tests done, that’s where I’ll be when I come. All the way in your throat. But for now, we’ll make do with this.” He sets up a slow pace, shallow plunges now, only pushing as far in as I’m comfortable with. He’s got a way of knowing what I’m feeling, how much I can take. He knew last year, but I was too lost in crappy emotions to realize it until later.

  His thrusts get faster, deeper and after just a few more strokes he jerks himself out and I feel the warm splash of cum against my throat and chest accompanied by the wet sound of his hand on his cock. When he finishes, he strokes my cheeks, sliding his fingers along the edge of the dress still keeping me blind and immobile until his breathing evens out.

  Then with gentle hands, he sits me up and pulls the dress over my head and tosses it to the floor. His lips press against my forehead, warm and so much softer than they look. “Don’t move, sweetheart.” After gently urging me to lie back against the pillows, he heads for the bathroom.

  I hear the water running and close my eyes with a little smile. I guess it’s the mark of a gentleman that he cleans me off after he comes. I snicker and jump when his voice comes from directly next to me.

  “What’s so funny?” He wipes my chest and
neck down gently, the cloth warm against me. His now flaccid penis still hangs out of his black slacks, heavy and thick even at rest. He pinches a nipple and I yelp and slap his hand. He gives me a challenging smile and pinches again. “What’s so funny, goddess mine?”

  The hard pinch turns to firm tugs and I hum softly. “I was just thinking how much of a gentleman you are.” I close my eyes and push my breasts up, hoping for more attention.

  The clasp of my bra releases and he pushes the cups aside to cover my breasts. His thumbs drag across my nipples slowly, over and over. “I take it your daughters’ father wasn’t much of a gentleman? Or was it good old Andy?”

  He pinches my nipples lightly, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger, sending electric pulses all the way to my clit. I shudder and try to shove my breasts into him.

  “Answer me, Luna.”

  I don’t want to. Thinking about my ex will spoil everything. Talking about him might bring the entire night to a screeching halt. Just the possibility of discussing Corey has killed my arousal. I’m not even interested, and with Gabe still kneading and plucking my breasts, that’s a damn shame. His fingers are more irritating now than anything, and I try to knock his hands away and sit up. He simply pushes my hands above my head and holds me down. When he lets go of my wrists, I don’t move them. I don’t know why, I just don’t. Maybe it’s the impenetrable gaze he’s flattening me with, the warning flashing in those eyes.

  “No, Luna. You’re going to tell me whether you want to or not.”

  I pout. “I’m not even in the mood anymore.”

  He huffs out a short, barely muffled laugh. “Don’t worry about that. Get it off your chest before we continue.”

  I sigh. It’s none of his fucking business how horrible my marriage was. He’s just a guy I’ve slept with once, that I’m trying to sleep with again. Nobody. But then again, he wants to get tested and lose the condoms. So he’s looking for a longer acquaintance than he was a year ago. And honestly…I’m ready for that too. But with him? I don’t know. He’s intense in a way I’ve never experienced with a man, so calm and cool at all times, but with a burning fire barely kindled in the depths. And I don’t know if he wants to continue this until Dan’s situation settles, or indefinitely. We should probably have that conversation sometime. But I can’t brush him off as easily as the men I’ve dated since my divorce, so agreeing to see him will be a hell of a lot more meaningful than a couple of dates with high school crushes.