Even though I want to spend hours fucking her delicious pussy, lick every inch of her delicate skin, there’s no time for that. All we have is a few minutes and I want to make them count. I bend her over the front seat of my truck, lift her dress, yank her panties down to expose that plump, pale bare ass. I can’t help the groan that escapes my lips. I want to bite her ass cheek. Dig my finger into the fleshy mounds. She has the kind of ass a man would kill for.
I slide my raging cock deep inside her tight pussy, almost coming right then and there as she gives a startled yelp at the depths I reach. Her ass jiggles and bounces each time I slam into her and it takes all my focus and concentration to keep from blowing my load. We need to hurry, but not before she gets hers.
I reach around her hips and feel my way down her flat stomach until I reach her tiny hard clit. I rub the side of if in slow circles at first to get her used to the sensation. She pushes back into me, urging me to fuck her harder. I oblige without hesitation.
As I rub her clit faster, I start to feel her pussy tense up around my cock. She holds her breath, not making a sound. Just like a tornado when the rain and hail stops as it builds up speed and power just before touching the ground and destroying everything in its path.
“That’s it, baby, let it go. Come for me,” I say to her.
My words seem to be the key to her release because as soon as they leave my mouth, she shudders and cries out. I clamp my hand over her mouth and stifle a laugh as she lightly bites my hand. That seems to be a theme with us. I can’t wait to get her alone, away from others, so she can scream and be as loud as she needs to be.
My laughter dies away as her muscles flex hard around my cock. My own orgasm charges forward and I slam harder into her. She grabs the steering wheel and holds on for dear life as I thrust with crushing force until my cock erupts deep inside of her.
I stay there a moment, reveling in the feel of her, out of breath and out of strength as my orgasm ebbs into a shudder. When my brain finally returns function, I give her a good pat on the ass as I pull out and watch the cum drip out of her. We’ve made a hell of a mess together, but nothing compared to the chocolate disaster we made at the church. I still think about that moment every day, all day. That one time with her has me addicted, and now after a second time, I know there’s no going back. When it comes to this girl, I’m a junkie.
I reach inside the cab of the truck and find a towel on the front seat. I wipe us off and she pulls up her panties. Her face is bright red from exertion and she seems a bit unsteady on her feet. I keep my hand around her waist to make sure she doesn’t fall. Then I smooth her hair down so it’s not obvious she just got fucked hard in her father’s front yard.
“There,” I say when the job is done. “Beautiful.”
And she is. One of, if not the most, beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. When I look at her there isn’t a single flaw. Not even in that dress that she clearly wears just to do the chores around the house. Even then, without makeup, without her hair done, looking nothing like she looked at the church or that day at the store, she’s beautiful to me. Every time I look at her she takes my breath away.
“Thank you,” she says still out of breath.
“I have a question.”
She looks up at me, curious. “What is it?”
“If you’re unhappy living with your father, why do you stay here?”
“How do you know I’m unhappy here?” she says a little defiant.
“You balk every time he’s near.”
She relents. “I don’t really have a choice in the matter. He’s supporting me at the moment. My ex-husband cheated on me and left me and my son for his mistress. He left us with nothing.”
I take in her words with a calm demeanor, but the rage it brings out in me is sudden and unexpected. How does a man just up and leave his family? I know it happens all the time and there’s a lot of assholes out there, but I’m not like that and I can’t imagine being that way. Fine, so people grow apart, I understand that. But to leave your wife and child penniless and dependent on other people? That’s not a man at all. He’s probably some spoiled rich brat like the rest of the people her parents associate with. It’s hard to believe Pippa is a part of that world. She’s so down to earth and doesn’t seem hung up on money and material things like the rest of them. She was surrounded by those kind of people at the church brunch, and yet she stuck out like a sore thumb. Never in a million years would I think I could stand a chance with a girl like her, but after being with her and seeing that she’s not like those rich snobs, I know she’s different.
I should keep my mouth shut about her ex, but the words just come out. “What a piece of shit.”
If I was lucky enough to marry a woman like Pippa, I would do everything in my power to make sure she was happy and taken care of, and I sure as hell wouldn’t cheat. I want to tell her he’s a piece of shit again, but I think she got the point. I’d like to meet the guy and punch him square in the balls until he sees the error of his ways. But it’s his loss and my gain, I suppose. I shouldn’t hate the guy because of that alone, but I do.
“Yeah, he is. I won’t argue with you about that.” She shrugs like it’s something she’s used to and that she’s over with. I’m glad about that. At least I don’t have to worry about her pining over an ex.
“My sister has an ex just like yours,” I tell her.
“That’s just men, I guess.”
“Not all men.” I say. “I would never treat a woman like that.”
“I can tell,” she says, stepping away from the debate of asshole men. “You take care of your son. My ex hasn’t seen Ian since he took off. Never even calls to check on him. How’s your son, by the way?”
“He’s good. I dropped him off at a nature reserve this morning with his preschool class before coming over here. It’s a cool place. You should bring your son sometime. I’ll bring Trevor and we can make a day of it.”
“I’d really like that,” she says, beaming.
“Let me take you out tomorrow night,” I say. I want to see her again. This quickie isn’t enough for me. I want to get her alone again, but not just for sex. I want to know her in every way possible.
She stares down at the ground, and the face she’s making has no written all over it. My stomach drops a little. “I can’t … I sort of have a date.”
“What?” I say, trying not to jump to conclusions. How could she just have sex with me knowing she was going on a date the next day. I don’t want to believe she’s the kind of girl that would do such a thing. Could I have been wrong about her this whole time?
She shakes her head like this is the last thing she wants to talk about. I don’t really want to talk about it either, but I need to know what the hell is going on before I invest any more time and effort into this. I want her in the worst way possible, but I want all of her or nothing.
“My dad set me up on the date. He dropped that bomb on me just before the doorbell rang and you showed up at my doorstep.”
“Tell him no.”
“Have you met my dad? I can’t tell him no. Not without him threatening to cut me off. I’m waiting from a call from the library where I might have a job, but until then, I have to do whatever I can to make my dad happy so I don’t lose my son.”
I sigh. Fine, so she has to go on this date, but I’m not about to give up on her that easily. I laugh even though I want to punch the side of my truck and tell her how much of an asshole her dad is for even threatening her. How can she ever trust anyone again when she’s had these dickhead men in her life?
“So what’s this douchbag’s name? Chad, Donavan, one of those rich asshole names.”
She laughs. “Brock.”
I laugh too because only people who make seven digits a year give their kids names like Brock. It’s a surefire way to make sure they’re financially successful in life. Happiness, on the other, maybe not so much.
“And let me guess, he’s probably taking you to some swanky
restaurant where they’ll serve your entire meal on a silver spoon and charge you the price of a car and be starving after.”
The sound of her laughter makes imagining her on a date with someone other me even harder to take.
“Yes, probably. My father and all his friends favor Saphron.”
I nod. Figures. Saphron is one of those places I’d have to take out a second mortgage in order to afford.
“This date means nothing to me,” she assures me. I believe her, but it still pisses me off that she has to go. “And I still want to see you.”
I want to see her too and I’m not letting some pampered dumbass named Brock stop me.
We exchange numbers and I pull her into another kiss. But it’s hard to just kiss her. My hands seem to have a mind of their own and I can’t help but explore her perfect little body, feeling her soft curves under the shapeless dress.
Just as I’m gearing up for another hot round of rigorous fucking with the hottest chick around, we hear the slam of the front door opening. Her father calls her name and she quickly jumps away from me.
“I have to go,” she says with a peck on my cheek to follow before she runs off.
I watch her go and wish I had more time alone with her. I realize that it’s not just for the sex. I’m really starting to like her. Really, really, starting to like her.
I sigh and climb into the cab of my truck. The wet towel beside me smells like sex and I breathe it in on my way home.
9
Pippa
I’m dreading every minute of this date with Brock. He shows up at my parents’ house to pick me up on time, of course. Anything to impress my dad. And of course, my dad praises him to the moon and back. My father looks at him longingly, dollar signs in his eyes. Probably thinking about all the different things he could do with my room if Brock could take me off his hands. Maybe my dad should date him. They’d be happy together, swimming in their loads of cash.
Brock is wearing an expensive Armani suit and has an equally expensive haircut. He even smells like money with his fancy cologne. It’s all very obnoxious and over the top. Brock was born into this world of wealth. He’s done nothing to earn anything for himself. He has no concept of what it is to struggle. I guess I don’t either, but I’m not living in the same fairytale that the rest of the elite world live in. I want to be on my own without the threat of my parents always looming over me. Brock will never know that kind of freedom, but I will. I’m determined to make it happen.
I smile politely and wait until his back is turned before I roll my eyes when he gives my mom the bouquet of flowers he brought her. What a suck up. Thing are already off to a bad start. And worst of all, I can’t stop thinking about Bernard and how guilty I feel for saying no to his offer of a date. I would be so much happier if I was with him. It’s going to be a long night, counting every minute until it’s over and I can see Bernard again.
We get into his Bentley. It’s a beautiful, sleek black car. Cream leather, all the bells and whistles. The kind of car any girl could be talked into sitting in. Anyone but me. All I can think about is being bent over in Bernard’s truck, the smell of oil and gas as he fucked me. And I can’t help but think that I would rather be in that truck than this car. I’d rather be with Bernard than Brock. This is going to be a long night.
We get to Saphron at seven. It’s a nice spring night with a slight breeze. Our reserved table is near the bar with an amazing view of the river. It would be a wonderful night if only I were with Bernard instead. I feel horrible for going out with Brock instead of taking Bernard on his offer to go out. I should’ve stood up to my dad instead of caving to him the way I always do. It’s just the thought of his threatening me all the time has taken its toll and I’m so afraid without his financial support, I’ll lose my son. Without a job and money of my own, I won’t be able to support him.
Brock pulls my chair out for me and we sit. He’s friendly and we talk about our time at boarding school and how we never really talked before, but apparently he’s always had a bit of a crush on me. I force back a yawn.
“Would you like to order a drink from the bar?” he asks.
A drink sounds great. Several of them actually. I’ll need them to stay awake for the rest of the date. Glancing toward the bar to see what they have, I see a striking man in a suit sitting on a stool. I only see him from a side angle, and it’s dark in the restaurant, so his face is just a dark profile from where I sit. I can tell he’s tall with broad shoulders, and there’s something familiar about the way he carries himself. My heart has already picked up speed as if my body knew who it was before my brain caught up. When he turns to face me and I see Bernard and that mischievous smile of his, my racing heart comes to a halt. It’s hard to think, to breathe. And it’s impossible to pay any attention to Brock. I know he’s talking to me—possibly asking me something—but I don’t hear a word that comes out of his mouth.
“Pippa?” Brock says, sounding a bit concerned.
I reluctantly take my eyes off Bernard and glance at Brock. “Are you all right?” he asks.
“Um, yes, I’m fine.”
“What should I order you to drink.”
“A white Russian, thank you.”
He goes to the bar to order our drinks, giving me enough time to ogle Bernard. When Brock stands beside him I want to laugh. They are both men, but entirely different breeds. Pug vs wolf. Bernard is a good five inches taller and his bulk far outweighs Brock’s. Where Brock is lean and a bit soft in the middle from his desk job, Bernard is muscle and mass from working with his hands. Hands that I want all over me. Hands that I can still feel touching my body even though he’s nowhere near me.
He looks at Brock and raises an eyebrow, then silently laughs and shakes his head. I can’t help but smile. Brock is every bit the rich douche bag Bernard thought he would be.
Brock comes back with my drink. I steal glances at Bernard every chance I get. What is he doing here? Men like him don’t go to places like this. Did he come here to sabotage my date? If that’s the case, I’m glad he did. All I’ve wanted since I saw him last was to see him again.
Bernard is just sitting there at the bar, sipping on a beer, watching me. He doesn’t look bothered or even jealous that I’m on a date with another man. Probably because he can tell my attention is nowhere near the man I’m sitting across from and hasn’t been the entire night.
We have our oyster appetizers, but I barely touch them. How can I eat when the only thing I crave is all the way over at the bar and out of my reach?
Bernard makes a motion with his head, and I’m not sure what it means at first, until he stands up and heads for the restrooms. I take the cloth napkin from my lap and put it on the table.
“Could you excuse me a moment? I need to use the powder room,” I say, using my mother’s polite term for bathroom.
“Of course,” Brock say, seeming more interested in the oysters than concerned with what I’m doing. Hopefully those will keep him busy for a while until I can find out what Bernard is up to.
I don’t see him at first, but the door to the women’s bathroom is still swinging as if someone had just walked into it. I go inside. I don’t see him. I open each of the stalls and finally see him in the last one, leaning against the wall, the most handsome smirk on his face.
“So that’s Brock, huh?”
“The one and only.”
He laughs. “The one and only, huh? I’m pretty sure there are at least five of his clones sitting at the tables around you.”
“I wouldn’t notice. All I could see in the room was you,” I say.
His laughter fades and he licks his lips. My breath catches in my throat when he grabs me by the waist and pulls me against his body. He pushes our bodies against the door of the stall. I lock it just in case someone comes into the bathroom.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him. Our faces are so close that only air can sneak between them. His breath is warm against my lips and smells like beer and ci
trus from the Corona and lemon he’d been drinking. I love the fact that he drank a normal beer at Saphron. It’s like a big fuck you to everyone here drinking everything from the top shelf. I’m surprised this place even had Corona.
“I’m not losing you to that flaccid money sack,” he says.
I touch his face, the stubble on his cheeks. His eyes are as grey as a thunderstorm and just as intense. There’s a raised scar across his bottom lip and I run my thumb across it. I can feel his hard-on beneath his pants. When I press myself against is, he groans.
“You can’t lose me,” I tell him and push harder against him. “I don’t want anyone else.”
His groan becomes a growl and he moves so quickly that a startled yelp escapes my lips. He’s pulling my dress up to my waist, and rips my panties apart as if they were parchment. He tosses the remains to the side and gets on his knees and grabs one of my legs and lifts it, resting it on his shoulder, spreading me apart. I’ve been wet since the moment I saw him at the bar, but now I’m dripping. He works his tongue around my clit. I wish I could tell him to slow down because I don’t want this moment to end, but we both know this has to be fast. Any minute someone could come into this bathroom and ruin everything.
He sucks at my clit and works two fingers into me. I hold my breath to keep quiet. He pulls his fingers out and plunges his tongue in. This time I can’t help the moan that escapes me. I put my hand on the back of his head, tangling my fingers in his thick dark hair, and hold him close to me, driving his tongue in deeper.
I’m thoroughly fucking his face when he stands up suddenly. He unbuttons and unzips his pants, letting them drop to his ankles and pulls down his boxer briefs, exposing his proud cock. I could stare at that thing for hours. It’s the most perfect dick I’ve ever seen. Until I saw his, I never much cared for the way they looked, but his is beautiful. It’s stunning.
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