by Harper Riley
After we sit down, I pause to take her in.
Really take her in, her long-lashed brown eyes, her silky sheath of black hair, her full red-lipped smile.
I’m enjoying her and she knows it.
In this restaurant where the tables, chairs and floors are brown, the cityscape in the window is black, she’s a red vision.
“You look stunning,” I tell her, and she smiles again.
She leans in, enveloping me in vanilla and another one of those smiles that says, “You haven’t even seen what’s underneath.”
I flick my gaze away from her lips.
God, getting through this dinner is going to be harder than I thought.
“Don’t worry,” she’s saying, her red-nailed hand squeezing mine, “I ordered us drinks already.”
As if on cue, the placid-faced waiter whisks over, depositing a bottle of Brachetto red on the table.
“Would you like to order?” his fleshy lips ask.
His fish eyes swim over to Torrie and linger on her cleavage too long.
“No, you can go now,” I reply coolly.
His gaze flicks to me in surprise, Torrie gives an apologetic smile, and he glides away.
“Gav,” she scolds me, clasping my hand, “You are just awful.”
“Well he’s our waiter,” I argue, “Not your boyfriend; he shouldn’t be looking at you like that.”
She releases my hand and puts her finger in my palm. Then, drawing a circle, she coos, “You’re jeaaalous.”
I close my fingers around hers.
“Damn right I am. This is our first date and I want you all to myself.”
Now her eyes meet mine, and, leaning in further, she purrs, “And you will.”
Our gaze holds for a minute, our mutual want flickering in each of our eyes.
I pull back, glance away.
No, I can’t just sweep her up and away now. I want a date with her, a real date.
“So, how is Hannah doing?” she asks.
“Fine,” I say, “She’s back at school, basically back to normal. She’s happy, almost as if... it never happened.”
When I look down, that the tidy beige tablecloth bears four notches where I’ve been stabbing the fork into the table.
“About that,” Torrie is saying, her hand balling up her napkin, “Words can’t express how sorry I am, how absolutely humiliated I am by what happened, that your sister was taken by my brother, kept in my house. I was literally a room away from her and I suspected nothing, I—”
I pat her clenched hand.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for Torrie. You had no idea. Hannah’s fine now, it’s okay. You’re not the one who should be sorry.”
She nods unconvincingly, and I change the subject, “What about you? How is Carlos?”
With a shrug, she rips her gold-tipped napkin in half, then rips it into strips as she speaks, “As angry and bitter as ever. He blames me for everything of course. He’s holed up in the hospital now, yells at any nurse who comes within five feet of his bed, has scared off every other doctor in the place. He refuses to believe that it’s over. That I’ve freed the girls and shut down the business in a week.”
“You have?” I say, scrutinizing her face with disbelief.
She smiles shyly, stacks the napkin pieces in a neat pile.
“I told you I was busy.”
Now she directs her curious gaze to me, asks, “But what about you? I’ve heard... some strange things.”
I smile.
“Some strange true things. I’ve stepped down as leader of the Rebel Saints.”
Now it’s Torrie gaping at me with disbelief.
“So, it’s really true then?”
I nod. “It’s really true.”
She scans my face, as if expecting some leftover uncertainty, a sad smile, anything.
Unsatisfied by what she finds, Torrie asks, “But what about your men, the business, everything?”
I shrug.
“Pip and Jaws quit when I did. And with the men there’s no hard feelings either. They’ll miss me, but they respect me enough to honor my decision. As far as the business is concerned, before it was successful and whatever I choose to do next with be successful too; I just need a little time to figure it out, that’s all.”
I say it all with an easy tone. After the last month’s events the decision was easy; it was something I had to do.
Torrie, however, still can’t quite believe it.
“So...” she says slowly, “What exactly are you thinking of doing now?”
I turn to gaze out the window, to the glittering expanse of city, as wide and open as the possibilities before me.
“I don’t know. I have enough money to never work again, but I don’t want that. I’ll figure it out.”
Torrie takes another drink of wine, then, with a wistful smile says, “You make it sound so easy.”
I laugh.
“That’s probably because I haven’t actually started exploring what I like, looking into what I want to do. Give it some time and I’ll find it as hard as anyone else.”
Torrie, however, still looks unconvinced, and I take her hand, squeeze it.
“Hey, Torrie, you’re going to be able to make the business legitimate. You’re the most determined person I know,” I lean in and declare “If anyone can do it, you can.”
But all she can do is give a sad smile to my warm clasp, ask, “But what if no one can?”
I shake my head firmly.
“I don’t believe that, and I don’t think you do either. Anyway, you told me your family is backing you, right?”
“Yes, but...”
I shake my head again.
“No ‘yes, but,’ that in itself is a guarantee. I mean, one Piccolo may fail, sure, but a whole bunch of Piccolos at once? No way, it’s not possible. I mean, look at all the grief you guys have given me and the Rebel Saints over the years.”
We chuckle together. Then, with a grateful smile, she kisses me.
“Thanks Gav.”
“Only telling the truth,” I say.
“Are you ready to order?” a boy’s voice responds.
I direct my glare at the little bulging-eyed boy of a waiter who’s just arrived at our table.
“Yes, actually,” Torrie says, “We’d like the two courses: the Pine Meadow Farm’s Beef Tartar for the appetizer, and the Maple Tarragon Brined Supreme of Chicken for the main course.”
And, before I can say a word, the waiter has swept away.
When I direct my glare to Torrie, she shrugs. “Thought this dinner was my choice for everything.”
“Fine,” I say.
I take a drink of my wine, and something taps my foot.
Torrie’s gazing at me under lowered lids. “Don’t worry,” she murmurs as what I now know is her foot taps mine again, “You’ll have your way tonight.”
I lean over, take her face in my hands, tell it, “You bet I will.”
The rest of the dinner is a restless wait.
Torrie’s got me in the palm of her hand, and she knows it.
We chat idly, about nothing in particular, while her foot makes its way up my leg, its taps progressing into full-on strokes before long.
By the time the plate with the mound of beef tartar and the rods of pickles arrives, her foot has reached my thigh.
“Oh, thank you,” Torrie gushes.
She takes a pickle and slips it between her lips slowly, her gaze flicking from the waiter to me, before settling back on the waiter again.
It takes the mesmerized boy a few seconds to respond.
“Um... is there... anything else?”
Torrie bites down on the green rod, then closes her eyes to swallow.
Then, throwing me a cheeky grin, she says innocently, “Oh no, that will be all. For now.”
His face falling, the boy shuffles off.
I grab Torrie’s face again.
“You’re going to pay for that one,” I growl.
/> Her foot taps my dick then retreats.
“You like it and you know it,” she purrs back.
Then she scoops up some of the beef tartar with her fork, puts it in her mouth and swallows. As I grab a fork to do the same, she shakes her head.
“Feed me first. I’m so hungry.”
She lifts her chin, and I scoop some beef tartar up.
She parts her lips, and, slowly, I slip it in.
She bites down, smiles.
While I take a bite for myself, she takes another drink of her wine.
Then, her gaze slides back to me, and her lips part once more, say, “More.”
My fork starts for the beef tartar, but her hand slides it to the pickles.
Our eyes meet in understanding.
I fork one, bring it up to her. Her tongue comes down and I slide the tip of the pickle over to the side of her mouth, around it, and, finally, in it. In and out of her lips I slide it, while our gazes burn with passion.
Finally, she bites down, swallows, licks her lips.
“Mmmm.”
She picks up another pickle with her hand, gaze still on me.
“The brined chicken supreme,” the boy waiter says at just the wrong time.
He places the delicious-looking chicken dishes between us.
“Look at all that juice,” Torrie says, gaze on me, dipping her finger in hers.
She rolls it around the liquid for a minute, then lifts it to her lips, in them then out with a loud smacking sound.
Then, finally tossing the waiter a look, she says, “Oh it’s just delicious, thank you.”
I stand up, grab her arm.
“Excuse us a minute,” I tell the waiter.
He mumbles some response, but already I’m yanking Torrie along to the single room bathrooms I passed on the way.
It’s not far to the taupe doors with the “Restroom” label.
I fling her inside one, lock the door behind us.
Then, I turn to face her.
She’s standing there, lids at half-mast, lips parted. Waiting.
Well, I won’t keep her waiting long.
I shove her to the wall, rip down her dress zipper, growl, “Now you’re going to get it.”
Underneath she’s got a purple silk bralette and thong.
She presses herself into me, purrs, “Do your worst.”
That’s my cue to give her breast a squeeze, then twist her around so her back is to me.
Her dress slips to the ground, and her ass sticks out.
With the underside of my hand I whack her ass, the spank making a loud smacking sound, leaving a red handprint on her full tan butt cheeks.
“You just can’t listen, can you?”
She responds by shoving her ass into me further, declaring, “I’m not afraid of you.”
I grab her panties, and behind us there are knocks on the door.
“Hello, is everything all right in there?” a voice that sounds suspiciously like our waiter says.
Torrie and I freeze.
“Hello?” the voice says again.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I say.
A pause, then, “Your dinner’s getting cold.”
Torrie twists her head around to face me, questioning in her face.
I smile, and yank down her panties, slip myself into her.
Goddamn, is she wet.
She claps a hand over her mouth to block the moan, and I shove myself in deeper.
I grab her hips for support, then jerk myself in then out. As we mash our bodies together, pleasure spiraling from my cock into the both of us, her muffled moans, mingle with my own satisfied grunts. Now the pace is building, and she’s sticking that ass out further, that fat-jiggling gorgeous ass. And now I’m grabbing her breasts and the door is reverberating with knocks and our waiter’s “Hello? Hello?”, but now it’s all part of the beat, the forward sweep, my cock inside of her pussy tremoring joy everywhere, the in-out pulse that cannot be stopped, that’s building unavoidably, and it’s when I grab both of her tits and slam myself in as far as I’ll go that the moan breaks free of her hand, her hands clawing at the wall as her body shudders with an orgasm that trembles into me, my cum pouring into her, both of us pressed into the wall with our joy.
The door doesn’t understand that the dance is over; it keeps on reverberating with knocks. The voice behind it has changed, isn’t a little boy drawl, but a grown man bark, “This is the manager. I have the key. I’m opening this door up.”
As it twists, Torrie and I scramble into our clothes.
I’ve just buttoned up my jeans when the door swings wide.
The manager’s snarling, the boy waiter agape, and Torrie is thankfully clothed, her panties thrust into my suit pocket.
“She was choking,” I say by way of explanation, striding past them, my hand in Torrie’s.
I head for the elevator, and Torrie offers no protest. Clearly, we both have a very different sort of hunger now.
Once we step on the metal thing, I console Torrie.
“We can pick up chicken on the way.”
She’s leaning into me, smiling.
“It’s fine. The beef tartar and pickles were filling.”
Then, grabbing my dick, she declares, “I don’t regret a minute of it.”
I grin.
“You deserved it.”
She grins and, as the doors open to the lobby, I pat her ass.
We walk out and she turns to me, asks, “Do I get to know where you’re taking me?”
I shake my head, pat her ass again.
“Not a chance.”
As we walk through the crowd I slip my arm around her, enjoying the stares that trail us.
Damn, is she the sight to see.
That dress and those legs, those sky-high shoes. And her face, her glowing, beaming beacon of a face, smiling at me. I’m the luckiest man in the world.
Chapter 36 - Torrie
I want the bike ride to last forever and be over in a second.
On the motorcycle, Gav is so sure, so skillful. It’s almost as if he’s the bike himself, the easy way he weaves past everything, as if the whole city is part of one of those car videogames, and he just has to reach the finish line.
I want to savor tonight. Already, it’s been perfect.
This is the happiest night of my life and there’s still even more to come.
As we sail from street to street to highway to exit, my eager anticipation changes into excited realization of just where we’re going.
No sooner have we pulled up to our old motel than has Gav ordered me, “Don’t move.”
“What if I don’t listen?” I shoot back cheekily.
To which he gets off the bike, strides over and picks me up.
“You will.”
I flop back, don’t even try resisting or pretending that the feel of his strong arms around me isn’t exciting me already.
As he ascends the stairs, he explains, “Already booked our room.”
So, it’s just a quick walk to Room 29, one turn of the door knob, and we’re in.
“So...” I begin, but Gav shoves his hand over my mouth.
“Shhh...”
I lick his hand, which he rips away, then presses to my chest, pushes me to the bed.
“No,” he tells me, leaning over, his face inches from mine, his eyes glinting, “I kiss you, but you can’t kiss me. I fuck you, but you can’t fuck me. I’m the one who decides. Me. Not you.”
“And what if—” I say.
He pushes me back onto the bed, flips me around and spanks me.
Pressing me into the covers with his palm, he growls into my neck, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
We lie there for a moment, breathing together.
I twist around, and he grabs my zipper. With one hand, he pulls it down excruciatingly slowly, while the other slides over my body under the zipper. Slowly, so slowly. All the while, his ice blue eyes watch the impatient want in mine. Slowly, he moves, over my
bra, down my front, to my belly button.
The zipper a growling rip, his hand smooth coolness. When he reaches my crotch, the zipper rips open at the same time he inserts his finger in me. He twirls it only once, then takes it out and uses it to pull down my panties. Once they’re at my feet, he slides his hand back up, over my leg, slapping my thigh, grabbing my side, then, finally, stops at my bra. It slides to the back, undoes it, then rips it down.
He sits there, gazes at me, while I gaze at him.
He’s fully clothed while I’m naked.
He lifts his hand then, suddenly, freezes and walks off to the bathroom.
I wait a second, think better of it, then race after him.
At the bathroom door, I throw myself on him, lips on his, hands running along the band of his briefs under his jeans.
He steps back, sticks a finger in my pussy again.
“Jesus, you’re wet.”
Our eyes meeting, I nod slowly.
“I need you.”
“Wait there. Don’t move,” he says, disappearing into the bathroom.
I glare at the door, the restless pleasure bubbling in me.
When he’s finally out, carrying something behind his back, I’m on him again, twirling my tongue with his, undoing his pants with my eager hands.
He draws back, and I pull him forward.
He draws back even further, frowning.
“You’re still not good at listening, are you?”
I shake my head, pull off his top, run my lips over his rock-hard abs, zigzag my tongue down to his bellybutton.
I slide my tongue under his briefs.
“You like it.”
A dash of hot pain flicks against my back.
I look up and see a whip in his hands. So that was what he took out of the bathroom. “I’m going to have to train you.”
I grab the whip, lick it, grin. “I can't be trained.”
Gav pulls it back, and, a second later, hot fire dashes against my ass. “I mean it. Don’t move, Torrie.”
I grab his underwear band, slap it. “Please Gav, I just need you. Now.”
He turns on his heel and strides away, into the bathroom.
I wait a minute.
Nothing.
I stride to the door, start banging on it, my unsatisfied desire surging through me angrily.
“Gav? What the hell Gav? Gav?”
