by Teagan Kade
I take hold of her and pull her to me. “Enough talk, boss lady.”
“Less talk more action, I suppose?”
I pop the top button on her jeans. “Bingo.”
*
The following day I manage to sneak into Heather’s apartment while she’s on shift at the dining hall. I dump the bags of groceries on the counter and take stock of my surroundings, clapping my hands together. “Let’s fucking do it.”
I switch on the old radio in the corner and start to prepare. I’ve been planning this for days, but there’s still a lot to do. It’s our two-week anniversary. A dozen roses wasn’t going to cut it.
I’m going with a baked sea bass with lemon caper dressing for main, a raspberry mille-feuilles for dessert. Raspberries were especially hard to come by this time of year. “Looking to impress someone tonight?” the cashier queried, no doubt piecing it together, her smile fading when I informed her it was for my girlfriend.
Girlfriend.
It sounded strange being vocalized, but on the way back to Heather’s the word grew on me. Every minute I’m without her is a minute too long. She occupies my every thought and action.
Two hours later I stand back and admire my work.
Holy shit, I think. You did it.
All those YouTube tutorials and nights of Googling have paid off, not to mention the practice I’ve been putting in. What’s in front of me could easily pass for a professional’s work.
Or maybe you’ve just got blinders on, my head fires back.
I suppose Heather will have to be the judge of that.
“My, my, we have been busy.”
I spin around in shock, didn’t even hear her come in. “Ah, surprise?”
She places her bag down and surveys the meal. “Impressive, and I am hungry.”
“I haven’t had a chance to set the table yet.”
She takes the plates with the sea bass and moves them to the breakfast bar. “Screw the table. Let’s keep it casual.”
We eat and I can’t help but glance over when she takes her first bite, a few nervous seconds passing before she moans her approval. I don’t know what I prefer, this or an actual orgasm.
“Good?” I ask casually.
She nods. “Pretty. Damn. Good.”
“And mille-feuille for dessert. That must have been tricky.”
“You have no idea,” I laugh.
She slides another forkful into her mouth. “How am I ever going to pay you back?”
“How indeed,” I smile.
Even washing up is enjoyable when I’m around her. We laugh and act like teenagers.
The kitchen clean, we sit on the sofa staring at the wall.
Heather looks to me, eyes heavy with lust. Her voice is scratchy when she speaks. “I believe I owe you for dinner.”
I’m instantly hard at the hint of sex. “What did you have in mind?”
“Your cock,” she purrs, “inside me. What do you say to that?”
“I could think of worse ways to finish the night.”
She smiles back and it’s so good to see, so fucking gorgeous I wonder where she’s been all my life. She exhales, hot breath tickling the side of my neck.
I want to taste her, to consume her completely, but I bide my time. This is one meal I intend to savor—every minute morsel.
Her eyes widen when I move forward and take her mouth. I press my lips to hers and slide my tongue between them. My cock tightens, desperate to be free.
I take hold of her and pull her close, want her as close as I can get and won’t take anything else.
We strip there on the sofa refusing to break the kiss, clothes piling fast on the carpet. I help her work her pants off. She wiggles free of them and tosses them away, taking hold of the bottom of her shirt and pulling it over her head, her breasts dropping with the motion full and heavy.
It’s a beautiful thing.
I take a second to admire her, breathing hard. “Christ, you’re beautiful.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
She gets up onto her knees and reaches forward, taking down my fly and pushing my jeans down. “Mmmm,” she purrs, “I wonder what we’ll find in here.”
The sound of her voice goes straight to my cock, the memory of the honey-cinnamon taste of her sex returning to me and igniting a new, profound urgency to take her.
I strip away my T-shirt, her hair swishing against my skin undoing me further, a shiver cork-screwing its way up my spine.
She undoes her bra and lets it drop between us, sitting back with a pout. I reach up to hold her face, let my fingers dance through her hair. It flows liquid-like between them, slippery and cool.
I grip her hair tighter and tug her forward gently.
“Oh,” she breathes out, a punctuated expulsion of air.
I lie back and bring her with me, position her with my free hand until she’s on top of me, grinding down against the thick length of my cock.
I close my eyes and start savoring, the faintest of moans leaving my lips. “God, that’s good.”
She grinds down a little harder, rocking her crotch against me. It twitches against her, shocks of pleasure running from my taint to my balls and back again.
I pull her down to me, the kiss we share concealed by curtains of hair—our own secret space.
Breathless, I take hold of her hips and shift her back. She traces the length of my hardness with a finger, lets it settle of the milky pearl of pre-cum at its tip. It’s almost enough to put an end to this before it’s started.
She rubs her fingers together. “It’s silky,” she says, bringing her fingers up and sliding them together into her mouth, sucking. “Mmmm.” They come glistening. “Delicious.”
I reach for her panties, taking hold of them at the waistband and pulling until they tear down the center. Her mouth opens in shock, but I need her, and I need her fucking now. I’ve never seen anything so hot in my life.
My breathing’s run away from me. It’s ragged and raw and desperate. Skin to skin, the wet vise of her pussy sandwiched around my cock, I let my hands run up her ribs, can feel the steady pulse of her heartbeat in overdrive.
Her nipples are hard, tight twigs on her chest. There’s no question she’s excited. All I want to do is take hold of her and sink deep into the tight heat of her body, but I restrain myself. I want to taste, to touch first, make her come so hard the ceiling falls upon us.
My hands explore her arms and shoulders, the cherry bomb tatt and flat plane of her stomach. I take hold of a breast, round and full, rising to suck at the nipple at its center. It hardens further in my mouth, sweet as candy.
I switch breasts and continue to caress her, using my free hand to cup her sex and test her wetness.
She mews, soon replaced by a low growling as I flip us over and press her into the cushions. My heart’s beating so hard I’m concerned it’s going to pound right through her.
Her eyes are wide and glassy. She reaches for my hips, spreading her legs wide. “Take me. Please.”
“Say it again.”
“Please,” she pants. Her legs scissor up my sides, thighs trembling there against me.
I reach between us and run an exploratory finger down the wet seam of her sex. Satisfied, I replace it with my cock, a single stroke sending me deep into the plush, hot pressure of her sex.
She parts around my length before tightening, the velvety pull of her body too much to bear.
I push further and draw back, slamming forward and sending her deep into the sofa cushions.
Our voices meld and blend, her heels locking against my ass and urging me on with every vaulted thrust.
“Yes,” she cries. “More. Give me more.”
Her pussy’s on fire, a furnace around my dick. I know I won’t be able to take it for long, but still I give her everything I have and more, fucking her harder and faster, deeper and deeper, each thrust adding new pressure to her clit and forcing her to flap and jerk below me with the early signs
of orgasm.
I lift and ride her harder, her arms around my neck and her moan caught by my mouth, the salty taste of her lips as she gives herself to me.
She bucks and straightens, a single convulsion before her pussy clamps around me like a vise and begins to palpitate.
I draw away and hiss, my balls rising against her, a bolt of pure energy running through me so potent it’s as though I’ve been skewered by lightning.
I let myself run as deep as I can go inside her and there I shatter, filling her as the pleasure washes over me.
I wake from the spell still inside her, slumped to the side, the two of us doing our best to breathe. I twitch again and take her into my arms, cupping her cheek. “How did I get so lucky?” I ask her.
She looks down between us. “Having a big cock helps.”
I have to laugh. “That it does.”
“That it does,” I repeat.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
HEATHER
It’s the night of the auction. I stand in disbelief at what Phoenix and Alissa have managed to accomplish. What was a fairly lackluster hall at the end of Main Street has been transformed into an area of such opulence it would rival the Met Gala.
White silk falls from the ceiling, the walls lit blue and a who’s who of Crestfall’s elite making their rounds. I spot Alissa working her magic on a group near the auction items displayed in a cabinet running down the center of the room. The sequined ball gown she’s wearing reminds me of a peacock, feathers and all.
It also makes me feel hideously underdressed. Peyton sent his wife Erin shopping with me earlier, at Phoenix’s request. It’s the first time I think I’ve ever been shopping with another female, definitely the first dress I’ve owned. Erin refused to let me see how much it was. I could get used to a BFF like that.
“You must be Heather.”
I turn to find the younger King brother, Nolan, approaching me. He hands me a champagne glass. “And you must be Nolan. It’s nice to meet you. You seem more,” I can’t find the right word, “guarded than the others.”
He adjusts his bow tie. His features aren’t as defined as the twins, but that boyish King charm remains. “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘quieter’.”
“I don’t think ‘quiet’ and ‘King’ can exist in the same sentence. Seems like it might open a black hole or something.”
He laughs, swirling the champagne around in his glass. Oh, to be so effortless with all this pomp. He leans closer. “You don’t need to worry, by the way. You fit right in.”
“Really?” I reply conspiratorially. “Because I feel really weird standing here half naked.”
He nods to a girl laughing with a group of students to our left. “If you’re half, god knows what she is.”
He has a point. The poor girl’s running a slit in her dress so high it’s basically a bed sheet. “Not your type?” I ask.
Nolan smiles and there it is again—that winning King grin. “I keep a much lower profile on that front than the others.” He looks to the girl again. “She’s a Ferrari, flashy and flamboyant.”
“And you’re looking for a minivan?”
That magnetic smile again. “Not quite.” He sees someone approaching. “I believe that’s my cue.”
Phoenix arrives beside him, arm around his shoulder. “Thanks for keeping her company, little brother.”
“Any time. Nice to meet you, Heather.”
“Likewise.”
Nolan drifts away and Phoenix stands before me in a dark navy suit and matching bowtie to his brother. He looks like a man on his mission, a younger James Bond with eyes to kill.
And thrill, my head adds.
“You look absolutely incredible,” he tells me, surveying the dress.
“You can thank Erin for that.”
He leans close, whispering into my ear. “I’m pretty sure you’d look incredible without it.”
“Play your cards right,” I whisper back, conscious of the spicy hint of his cologne, “and maybe you’ll find out.”
He murmurs as he pulls back, smiling and extending his arm out. “Care for a tour?”
I hook my arm through his. “I’d be delighted.”
It really is remarkable. Canapes and drinks are flowing, waiters and waitresses in black and white whisking around the room, neo soul playing in the background. There’s energy in the room. I only hope it translates into much-needed money. The food truck idea has been abandoned. We’re going all out—a new soup kitchen or bust.
We’re moving past the items the Kings have arranged. There’s one of Stone King’s old playbooks, a “bible” Phoenix tells me, akin to putting your left testicle up for sale when you’re a football coach. There’s a baseball signed by the New York Yankees, framed pictures and sporting equipment. I spot a jersey.
“Twenty-three. That’s not…?”
“MJ’s? You bet your ass it is. Going to fetch quite a pretty penny, I imagine.”
I stop in my tracks. “Is that a jock strap?”
Phoenix laughs. “Not just any jock strap. It belongs to a certain NFL superstar who shall remain nameless until the bidding starts. He wore it at the last Superbowl, I believe.”
“People are going to pay money for that?”
“You’ve got a lot to learn about big money, my dear.” He checks his watch. “We’re about to start the human auction. Come see.”
“The what?” I ask in alarm.
“Bit of a surprise. All of us brothers are auctioning an hour of our time.”
“They all agreed.?”
“Even Titus, and trust me, that was a big call given how weird he’s been lately.”
“I’m confused. So you’re prostituting yourselves?” I say it with just a hint of humor.
His hand slides down my back, rests in the shallow depression there while a sudden flood of sexual heat fills the space between my legs. “I can’t speak for the others, but personally I’ll be offering basketball tuition.”
“Ball skills?”
“Not that you have anything to learn in that department.”
He heads away into the crowd and reappears on the makeshift stage that’s been set up against the far wall, taking a microphone from the stand and asking for quiet.
I scan the room and realize I haven’t seen Stone King, recalling Phoenix telling me he probably wouldn’t show, that he’d happily rake in the karma from such an event but never actually make an appearance.
“Now to what you’ve all been waiting for.” Phoenix gestures to the side of the stage. “Boys, if you please.”
The three remaining King brothers emerge onto the stage, each taking a stool. They’re dressed in matching suits, Peyton already working the crowd.
“Up for grabs,” begins Titus, “is an hour with one of these fine specimens, or myself, playing our preferred sport. Word to the wise, that is not lawn bowling, ladies and gentlemen.”
Light laughter sounds.
He walks over to Peyton. “Shall we begin with the troublemaker of the family?” More laughter. “What do you say? Shall we start the bidding at a hundred dollars?”
“Five hundred!” someone shouts.
“Seven hundred!” Another.
“One thousand!
Phoenix sits on Peyton’s lap, one arm around his neck. “One hour with Crestfall’s finest quarterback, soon to be a legend in the NFL. That’s invaluable.”
The bids rise rapidly from there until they hit almost ten-thousand dollars.
For one hour? I think. Phoenix is right. I do have a lot to learn about these people.
After congratulating the winner, Phoenix moves onto Nolan, who brings in eight thousand, and Titus, who seems to outcharm them all at fifteen thousand.
Finally, the stage empty, Phoenix selects a stool. “I suppose that leaves poor old me.” He slaps his chest. “Who wants this? Come on.”
The bids come in fast, Phoenix asking one of the staff members to help him keep track.
He points
to the back of the room. “Five large for Danny Stevens down the back. Brother, if you wanted to spend an hour with me, all you had to do was ask.”
More laughter.
I don’t know why, but I’m sweating, nervous.
Phoenix stands. “Come on!” he shouts. “Let me turn you into Kobe. Just give me an hour.”
Four thousand.
Five thousand.
Six.
Seven.
I can’t believe it.
Twelve.
Fifteen.
“Twenty-thousand dollars!”
The room goes quiet, everyone looking to the gentleman in the corner.
Phoenix looks out to find the bidder. Even he looks surprised. “Did someone say twenty thousand?” He finds the bidder. “For you, John?”
This ‘John’ pulls a girl close, the ‘Ferrari’ Nolan pointed out earlier. “Only because my daughter told me to, and hell, I’m feeling generous tonight.”
There’s wild applause. I join in but can’t help feeling a tinge of jealously as I look at the girl kissing her father on the check, mouthing ‘Thanks, Daddy.’
“You better treat her right!” yells John, to generous laughter.
Someone hands Phoenix a ‘Sold’ sticker, which he promptly slaps on his chest. “Twenty thousand dollars, ladies and gentleman.”
More applause and catcalling, Phoenix taking a bow and exiting the stage.
Phoenix finds me. I try to swipe the green monster away and smile. “Twenty thousand dollars, hey?”
“Would you believe we’ve raised almost one hundred thousand so far, and the night’s just getting started.”
I have no words. “That’s… amazing.”
He kisses me on the side of the head, seems completely pumped up. “You’re damn right it is.”
The energy is infectious. I give him a playful slap on the ass. “Off you go then.”
“Yes, boss lady.”
He moves away and I’m suddenly struck by how lonely you can feel surrounded by a sea of people.
I decide to go the bathroom and freshen up. It’s more of an excuse to stretch my legs than anything else.
I catch more than one guy looking me over and have to admit there’s a guilty pleasure in it, in being desirable. All these years I’ve done my best to dress down, to avoid attention, but here I am doing quite the opposite—not intentionally, but the admiration is oddly welcome all the same.
