The Beach In Winter

by Pike, Leslie

  “Tell me what you crave. What you really want,” she says offering to fulfill my fantasies.

  My dick screams a wordless plea. Touch me.

  Slowly I come out of a dreamless sleep. Ow. My arms under Scarlett’s head and it feels like it’s been there for too long a time. My ass moves for a better position on the couch. We never made it out of the living room. She stirs. I untangle from her.

  “We fell asleep,” I say watching her beautiful sleepy face.

  Her eyes open slowly and meet mine. She smiles. That’s all it takes. I throw back the soft blanket we slept under and look at the treasure beneath. What a body. I kiss soft lips, the cheek, her neck. The response is immediate. Arms encircle my neck and she rolls on top of me.

  “Let’s go in the bedroom,” I say.

  “You up for round two?” she asks.

  “You’re inspiring.” I trail my fingers down her back. “How much time do we have?”

  “Sam’ll be home at three thirty. His friend’s mom is giving him a lift.”

  I look at the clock. “Good. We’ve got two hours and twenty-three minutes.”

  As she stands her eyes are on my dick. I give her a wave. She giggles.

  “Counting the minutes, are we?”

  “I’m going to use every one of them. This time we’re gonna take it slow,” I say getting up.

  She’s all curves, soft in the right places and firm where it counts.

  “Let’s have some music,” she says walking into the bedroom.

  “I don’t listen to music. Used to love it, but…”

  There’s no need to finish the sentence. I’m sure she’s done it in her head.

  “I’ve got a playlist on my phone. I’m a Fifty Shades girl. Love the soundtracks. Would that be okay?”

  “Haven’t a clue what kind of music that is. But if you like it, I’m in.”

  As she walks out of the room to get the cell, I’m enjoying the perspective. Naked Scarlett walking away from me is my new favorite vista. Fuck the ocean.

  I turn back the bedding, get on top and silently thank the god I don’t believe in. There’s been no other woman in this bed, this room, the house. But I’m ready for Scarlett, and nothing about it seems unnatural.

  Then I hear the music. As she returns, a slow sexy R&B beat accompanying her, she’s dancing. She’s good at that too. Sensual. I get no sense of self-consciousness from her as she moves closer.

  We may never leave this room.

  Setting the phone on the bureau she lifts her hair from her neck and holds it against the back of her head. I watch the way she moves her hips to the rhythm. It’s subtle and slow. She gives a naughty crooked grin. Without breaking eye contact, she lifts her breasts and pinches her nipples. A zing goes from my balls to the tip of my dick.

  “I like that,” I say touching myself. I’m hard as fuck.

  When I take my hand away, it stands proud. Ready.

  She climbs onto the end of the bed and crawls toward where I lay. All to the beat of the song, which she’s also lip-syncing. I spread my legs.

  “Come here, baby,” I say.

  Scarlett kneels, her mouth hovering above my dick. But instead of touching me, she pretends it’s a microphone. I’m her prick prop. Resting on my elbows watching the show, it’s funny for a good three seconds. Then my impatience reaches its limit.

  I swing my hips and smack her on the cheek. With my dick. We start laughing. But it turns to something new. She gives me this lustful look. The room fades. Her lips part just a little and she flicks her tongue lightly over the head, hands wrapping around my shaft. Oh, yeah. Yeah.

  “Get at me,” I sigh.

  Every man loves a blow job, but this one is above all others. Can a hummer be a religious experience? She takes my generous size in stride, sucking from base to tip and back again. The movement of her hands in coordination with her mouth is unique. Scarlett style.

  She’s doing this thing that must come naturally to her, but I’ve never felt the sensation before. It’s artistic in some weird sense of the word, a kind of worship woman to man. Just the right amount of pull and pressure.

  Her tongue. She’s making sure nothing is neglected. My eyes close and I get lost.

  Then she moves to my balls and taint. She licks and brings me to the edge of pleasure. I’m not certain I’ll be able to hold back if she keeps this up. Things can’t go this fast.

  “Wait,” I say.

  My hands reach for her and I bring her forward till we’re face to face. In one smooth move I flip her over. Now I’m on top. Our eyes on each other.

  “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that thing you do.”

  “Then come. I want you to.”

  Oh God. I wouldn’t be surprised if she could make me come with her words. No touching, just the sound of her voice and what she says.

  “We’ll have it all. Today, tomorrow, let’s never leave the bed.”

  A smile lifts the corners of her luscious lips. There’s promise behind her eyes, as if a new better world exists for exploration. My eyes linger on hers.

  “You’re beautiful,” I say. “Let me see all of you.”

  I slowly move down, kissing her breasts as I do, touching the velvety skin, then her stomach and finally the mound. I use my hands to spread her legs. The music reflects the mood. Hot, turned on, and the right tempo for fucking. I’m at the entry to heaven.

  She lifts herself to me, impatient for my lips on hers. I use my tongue to tease, and I take in the scent of her. I breathe it and taste the juices. Raising my head to lock eyes with her, I give my review.

  “Like honey,” I say.

  My mouth goes to the source of joy, to show Scarlett I know my way around a woman. Her lips are so beautifully formed, like a new creation from a god who worships the female. When I part them she’s all pink and tightly put together, except for the clit which is peeking out from its hood, round and wet with the juices of desire.

  Jesus. I love that she’s so wet. My fingers run along the lips and I’m sticky with evidence she wants me. I taste it. I suck her, I run my tongue up and down, in and out, always gently returning to the most-delicate spot.

  The sound of Scarlett’s moaning is enough to make a man hard. It’s not loud and wild. It’s contained and makes me think she’s holding back because to let it go might shake the house. It’s a fucking turn on.

  I lift her legs back and hold them there with my hands while I feast on the very essence of her. She helps me by grabbing them and pulling back further, making sure I’m getting the best access.

  “Parish. Parish. Like that. Right there,” she whisper yells.

  I’m worshiping her pussy, knowing she’s close. Come on, baby.

  Then her body stiffens as the orgasm ascends and breaks loose. My tongue vibrating lightly against her clit. She let’s go.

  “Ohhhhhhhhhh! Fuck! I’m coming! Oh, oh, oh!”

  It goes on and on, bringing her as far as the intense sensation reaches. Her hands go to my head and signal for me to stop. I still my tongue but leave it where it is. She lifts her head and shows me how much she likes that, with a slight lift of her hips which presses her clit against my tongue for one last throb. I feel the pulsating beat.

  “What the hell was that, Parish?” she says between breaths.

  Lifting myself atop her, I take a few seconds to watch the afterglow on her flushed face. Her breasts rise and fall against my chest. I take one at a time in my mouth. The nipples so fucking erect, the feel of them between my lips and the sound of her erotic sigh keeping my dick hard as steel. I’ve got to have her.

  I steady myself with hands on either side of her shoulders, angling my upper body and slowly grinding against her in a tease. Her pussy meets my movements and she opens her legs in wordless welcome. Arms encircle my torso and fingers glide down the small my back.

  We haven’t looked away from the pull of each other’s eyes. I’m drowning in her stormy sea, happy to be a casualty. I’m just about t
o put it in.

  “Your beautiful cock. Can I ride it?”

  No need for words. I flip her over and smile my answer. Fuck me, baby. But she doesn’t. She straddles me wide, positioning my dick facing towards me between her legs. The weight of her keeping it flat against my stomach. Then she starts to move. Forward and back, forward and back. Slowly. Up and down the length of my dick. Oh yeah. My god.

  The lips are wrapped around the girth of me. Every time she pulls back from the head of my dick they open a little and momentarily reveal the hidden jewel. Christ. There’s cum dripping out of her pussy, which makes the slide easy.

  Her clit is engorged. I’ve never been more under a woman’s sexual spell. She’s moaning. I’m moaning. My fingers play with her breasts and I automatically begin to pump, even though I’m not inside her. I can’t take this much longer.

  This is the place where holy and unholy merge. An animal in me has risen. As if another of her talents is mind reading, she takes ahold of my dick, lifts herself and positions me at the gate.

  Our eyes meet in anticipation of what’s about to happen. Where we’re going. As gently as possible I sit her down on my dick. She closes her eyes and takes it inch by inch. Feeling the sensation of being inside her makes my heart race. I put my hands on her waist and it takes all my control not to go full force.

  We start to fuck.

  Ohhhh. It’s good like this. Watching a woman who genuinely enjoys sex ride you is unbelievably erotic. She’s giving all of herself. Breasts bounce, hips roll, ass moving sensually against me. I could explode into a million pieces of stardust and just be glad I went out this way.

  We take it slow at first. The dance of bodies so in sync it feels ordained. Alongside the passion and heat, beside the need and want, stands a new thing. Bigger. There’s been a change of some kind. And even my pillow that’s been filled with tears, now becomes soft cradle as I look at Scarlett.

  Something never felt before passes from her to me and back again. I have no trouble identifying the impression. It’s the feeling this is one of the most purely real moments of my life. One never felt before. This is love making.

  Chapter 8

  Scarlett

  Gobble, gobble. The phrase skips through my mind and settles on Parish. Wish I was gobbling his mighty drumstick right now. Instead, in a real fish-out-of-water scene, I’ve got holiday kitchen duty. The arrival of my entire family was the cockblock of the century.

  All three of my brothers promised to be here for Sam’s first holidays without his parents. They decided not to bring the girlfriends. It’s just too intimate of an occasion. None of us know how much crying there will be.

  I’ve been looking forward to their visit for weeks, and I love them beyond words. But the fact it occurred the day after the mind-bending sex fest has put a damper on things. I’m going to make an assumption. Neither of us are anywhere near finished with each other. I’ve only just begun the tour of his body.

  It’s not a shocker Parish is choosing to keep his distance.

  Meeting the family was never going to happen. I knew that. There’s no way I’d press for more than he’s ready to give. Sam and I are lucky he’s as available as he’s been, considering the state he was in when we met. Not to mention our own mindset. When I think of it there was a kind of courage in him taking us on. Sadness on top of sadness.

  He couldn’t be talked into sharing our Thanksgiving dinner today. Not by me, or even when I brought in the big guns to do the pleading. Sam struck out too.

  I’m going to surprise Parish with a dinner delivery later. I’ve tried to figure a way to bring it myself, and while I’m there offer him a little Scarlett pie dessert. Instead, I’ll reluctantly let Sam handle things. Then if anyone sees me making a plate for the neighbor it won’t raise any red flags.

  My brothers are nosy little shits when it comes to my love life. They love to butt in. All three have tried to dissuade me from wasting time with Harry. Aargon thinks he’s annoying, Nobel finds him boring and Van says the guy has one mood, and it’s too fucking upbeat. Funny how that review used to piss me off. Now I’m finding it accurate. It’s the Parish effect.

  I’m giggling under my breath and crying at the same time as I chop onions for today’s feast. Everything I think of, everywhere my mind wanders, leads to a dirty thought. There’s no reason to pay attention to all the other impressions of that day that try to squeeze their way inside. Like how my heart felt. That’s the new sensation I can’t put a name to. I’m trying to ignore it.

  The memories of three long days ago have replayed a hundred times in my mind. The looks he’d give me, the way his fingers moved through my hair. His eyes when he was coming. I need a fan. Really. Wonder if Kristen has one around here?

  What’s needed is that I keep things in perspective. Be mindful of our just friends status which I demanded firmly. Rightfully. I can’t forget the motive was noble. Think of Sam. Think of Sam.

  But is it so bad allowing myself a little time to stay wrapped in a bubble of bliss? How could something that feels so right be wrong? They’re private thoughts. So I’m going to revel in the memories. Everything else is interruption.

  I haven’t been up this early in years. Probably last time Harry and I traveled. It was to Rio for Carnival. Funny how I feel more excitement here today, looking out the window at the modest house by the sea. Parish is in there.

  I imagine he’s still sleeping under the white down comforter with the blackout curtains drawn. Or maybe he’s in the shower. Oh yeah. That’s going to be number one on my list of Places I Want To Fuck Parish.

  It’s been a kind of torture staying away from him. Wonder if he feels the same? Every night when he calls I hear about how hard he gets thinking of me. Last night was surprising. He talked about how he missed our conversations. He said I’ve been able to soothe the beast that sorrow is. I almost cried. One thrilled heart goes far. His words have carried me all the way to this moment.

  At the same time, I’m conscious of making sure to keep my happiness to myself. I can’t tell my mom, or my brothers, and definitely not Sam. If I feel the urge to talk it’ll be Dad I go to. But it’s a moot point because it feels amazing keeping this secret between Parish and me.

  The shuffling of my father’s footwear on the wooden floor grabs my attention.

  “Umm, coffee smells good.”

  “Morning, Dad.”

  I love this one-of-a-kind man. He’s an interesting guy. Starting with the Ugg’s he loves to wear. Says they’re the most comfortable shoes he’s ever worn, and he doesn’t give two shits if other people think he looks weird. It used to drive Van crazy when he was a teen. He’d say they were girls’ shoes. But Dad won him over eventually.

  The rest of him is cool unleashed. It’s the artist living inside him. That and the fact he’s French. Never lost his accent or its effect on women. Especially the only one he loves most. My mother. From the ice-blue eyes to the long waves of salt and pepper hair to the bracelets stacked on his wrist, he’s cool. With hands made rough from years of working with clay and a hundred other mediums for his sculptures. His artistic nature is always on display.

  This morning look brings back memories. Baggy running pants, open short robe, his stomach sticking out. I chuckle under my breath at the only visual that contradicts his cool. The big belly. There’s always a handkerchief sticking from his pants pocket. It’s practically a uniform. When I was a teenager it used to embarrass me. What fools the young can be when our vision of things is so limited.

  “I heard you laughing. Didn’t think you were in here alone,” he says pouring himself a mug. “What’s so funny?”

  I scoop the onions into a baggie and seal it shut, avoiding eye contact when I lie.

  “Nothing. I was just remembering something Sam said,” I say tossing the bag into the refrigerator.

  His eyes are on me, sizing up my response. I know it without looking. Gaston Lyon is a master at busting his children’s fibs. Doesn’t matter
we’re all adults. When he doesn’t question the veracity of my statement I relax.

  Coming to my side, he takes me in an embrace and kisses the top of my head.

  “You know how proud of you we are? Your mother and I, your brothers, we’re all incredibly proud.”

  Oh shit. A lump rises in my throat. I’m afraid if I speak it will turn into tears, so I just nod against his chest.

  “Don’t think we can’t see what a sacrifice this is in your life. But just as you’ve always done, you jumped in with both feet. And most impressive of all Scarlett, is that you do it with such a loving attitude. I’m impressed beyond words, little girl.”

  His familiar name for me hits the mark.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I choke out the words.

  “Kristen is watching over you, I’m sure. And she’s happy you’re taking such good care of her boy.”

  That does it. We both start crying. My face is buried in his chest, he’s patting my back.

  “What the hell’s this? You two can’t be trusted alone. Always crying.”

  Aargon enters the kitchen fully dressed and groomed. I expect nothing less from my oldest brother. He looks like he stepped out of a men’s fashion magazine. As if he has a stylist and a hair person at his disposal. The fact he’s so good looking doesn’t hurt the image.

  “Shut up. Your sister and I are having a moment,” my father says.

  Wiping my nose with the hankie he just offered, and trying to get my shit together, I change the subject. “Where’s Mom? She’s usually up by now.”

  “Right here.”

  We hear her calling from the living room, coming closer to the kitchen.

  “Gobble, gobble my family.”

  Like robots all, the three of us return her Thanksgiving greeting as she walks in the room. It hits me that she and Aargon are two of a kind stylistically. Always put together, classic, and so different from the rest of us. They’re both camera ready while I’m still in my sweats.

  “Gaston, I see you’re wearing your formal wear for the occasion,” she says tucking a silver curl behind an ear.