by Harper Riley
His answer comes back after a few seconds of silence. “I told you.”
I slam on the door again. But this time there’s no response. “Gav, come on!”
I slam on the door so long my palms get red and raw.
Finally, spent, I stop hitting, sink down to the floor, wait.
His cold voice comes through the door, “Are you ready to listen now?”
I swallow down my angry No, and instead murmur, “Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Be on your knees when I come out.”
I get on my knees, and, finally the door opens.
He takes me in with a pitying smile.
He strides over, puts his hand on my head, pets me.
“Poor Torrie.”
I glare at him, and he smiles, slips down his briefs. His cock rises to meet me.
“Suck me off good, and I might consider giving your pussy another chance.”
Gav doesn't have to ask me twice. Immediately, I flick out my tongue, lick his dick slowly, my soft tongue running over his hard member. His hand still on my head, he pats it again.
I swirl my tongue around the head then slurp the whole thing down.
Gav groans and, dick in my mouth, I smile.
I’m just getting started.
I slide my mouth up and down his shaft, and, as his hand on my head urges me on, I bob enthusiastically to his rhythm.
As I go, I start cupping his balls, playing with them.
As I bob further and further each time, I go so far that I start to gag, have to pull myself free for breath.
“Where do you want to cum?” I ask sweetly.
Gav hits me in the cheek with his dick.
“Who said anything about cumming?”
To which, glaring at him, I throw myself on him with a new vigor. I suck him off as hard and fast as I can, swirling my tongue around, half-gagging when I reach the base. When his dick starts twitching, I know I’ve got him.
Finally, I fling my mouth on and off with him with all I have, his hard rod mashing into my mouth and out, his balls full and heavy.
I slip him out one last time.
“Cum in my mouth Gav, I want to taste you. I’m thirsty.”
Then I slam my mouth over his cock, all the way down to the base.
With a grunt of pleasure, he loses it, shoots out thick ropes of cum down my throat as I slide up and down, up and down, until it’s stopped.
I lick his cock clean, and, with a vague smirk, he shoves his finger in me.
“Still wet I see.”
He leads me to the bed, shoves me on it.
“Don’t move,” he says, and this time, I listen.
He crawls over me, and his mouth starts exploring every inch of me. It starts at my mouth, sucking and tugging on the lower lip, sliding over my chin, down to my neck.
His hands hold me in place as his mouth suctions around the tender skin, sucking and sucking, as pleasure becomes pain becomes pleasure again.
When I try pulling away he flips me over again, spanks me, whispers in my ear, “You’re mine and everyone’s going to know it. You’re mine and I’m going to mark you as mine.”
He rolls me back over, and his mouth picks up where it left off: gliding down my front down to my breasts. It envelops my nipple, sucking more and more, until it’s taut and throbbing. Then it’s on to the other nipple, this time ending his sucking with the slightest of nibbles.
I groan, and he lifts up his head, smirks.
“We’re going at my pace. Not yours.”
He presses himself into me, growls, “I’m just getting started.”
Then he yanks me over to the mirror, points to my neck, where a big red hickey is visible.
Into my ear, he says, “You’re mine and everyone’s going to know it.”
Then he shoves me back to the bed.
Then he kiss-sucks his way down my abdomen, down alongside my landing strip, locking his lips over my throbbing pussy lips.
His tongue twirls in me as I open my legs wider, moaning.
Jesus, it feels so good.
Then he’s mashing his tongue onto my clit, flicking his fingers inside me now.
My legs are shaking, and my moans are loud, and I’m already almost on the brink.
He can tell too, ratcheting up his pace, jerking his fingers and flicking his tongue in sync, he amps up the pace until I’m twisting with pleasure, nonsensical syllables erupting out of my mouth, seconds away from cumming.
When suddenly he pulls out his fingers and tongue, I almost cry out in dismay. When he shoves his cock into me, I understand. It just takes him two thrusts and I’m yelling. My whole body is outside of me, shaking, the yell is not coming from me. I am delivered from myself.
When pleasure gently lets me go and tucks me back into my body, I’m being stroked by Gav. His skillful fingers are running up and down my sides. He’s shirtless, pantless, sexy as hell.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs.
I grab his cock in response; already, it’s getting hard again.
I roll onto him.
“I want to ride you,” I declare, pulling down his briefs.
With a smile, he lays back and leaves me to a full view of his cock.
“He’s all yours.”
I don’t wait, I clamber on top on him, line up his cock with my pussy and slide onto him.
Oh, God, yes.
His cock now in me, I have to stop a minute, the pleasure spreading through me is so intense.
I slide myself up and down slowly, my pussy already tingling with pleasure. Then I go a bit faster. Putting my hands on his chest for support, I stare into his lust-filled eyes.
And then I pick up the pace. Bouncing my ass up and down, his cock filling my pussy entirely, sending jolts of joy through my body. I grind on him, while he slaps my ass on. I oblige gladly, throwing myself up and down that perfect huge cock. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.
At this point, it’s a need shaking through my aching pussy. It’s both of us thrusting up and down, but this goes beyond us - it’s pleasure itself acting through us, we are just conduits of the dance, the feeling, the need.
He’s grabbing my breasts, batting them back and forth like a cat, and my pussy is spasming that she’s nearly there.
When he spanks me, I groan, “Yes.”
I’m nearly on the brink, so wet that every in-out is almost too fast, too easy.
Gav obliges, and I’m shaking with it, with the building, with the “Yes,” the “Harder.”
As my ass slams down, he obliges again – gives me a brutal spank, and I’m over the edge, cumming, howling the “Yes” and my ass is sliding to his base again, he’s doing it again, spanking climax after climax out of me.
Finally, finished, I lay back, letting the warm fuzziness envelop me entirely.
When I open my eyes, Gav is staring down at me with a rapt adoration on his face.
“I waited so I could cum on you,” he says, “Cum all over you.”
I smile, open my mouth.
But he only pats my head, lifts me onto the ground.
“You don’t have to do a thing, darling. I told you I’m about to cum already.”
Through half-lidded eyes, I watch him stroke himself, his eyes running over me, my breasts, my pussy, my parted lips. After a few more seconds, he’s groaning, grabbing his dick, running it all over me, my pussy, my belly, my chest, hot surge after surge of cum spilling over me, over my outstretched tongue, all over my face.
When he’s done, he lies beside me, says nothing.
We wake up when it’s still dark.
I’m clean; Gav must’ve cleaned me when I was sleeping somehow.
Gav nudges me.
“Come on.”
I roll onto the other side.
“Sleep...” I murmur.
He goes to the other side.
“C’mon Torrie, don’t make me pick you up.”
To which my response is rolling b
ack to the other side.
Finally, with a sigh, Gavin picks me up, carries me to the door, opens it and carries me outside.
He sets me down on my feet at the balcony.
“Look,” he whispers, “The sunrise.”
Grudgingly, I open one eye then the other.
I’m looking at a field.
I never noticed that our motel is across from a field. A field that the first rays of sunlight are spilling over.
I don’t close my eyes again. No, I watch quietly, intently.
‘Beautiful’ is too paltry a word for what I’m seeing now: the white sphere of the sun rising, its yellow rays licking the shaggy grass, it’s orange halo of clouds.
No, it’s something more like a symphony of nature, a song of absolute beauty, transcendence.
Gavin stands beside me, his body pressing against me, watching the sunrise like me, saying nothing.
He understands. For this, there are no words.
Chapter 37 – Torrie
Six Months Later...
When I get the text from him, I feel a shiver of anticipation.
“Torrieght, at Donatello restaurant.”
The whole week, Gav has been acting weird and won’t tell me what’s up.
The last time I saw him was three days ago. That’s the longest since six months ago, after the Piccolo house showdown and we started seeing each other regularly.
Still, my only response to this eagerly-awaited text is, “Ok.”
I’ll grill him when we’re in person, but I to see him first.
It’s only 1 pm, but it’s not like I have anything to distract me. I stepped down as head of the Piccolos a few months ago, after I’d built up our wind turbine empire against all odds. The position went to one of my cousins: Ricardo – a good man who promised to continue my work.
I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do now.
So, the rest of the afternoon is eaten up by that text too – just one long, scary preparation for tonight. Pretty much every dress in my closet gets tried on, from the very obviously inappropriate neon pink maxi to my very obviously equally inappropriate see-through black bodycon dress.
And yet, no dress seems quite right: too short, too long, too conservative, too slutty – not good enough, in a word. Every new gown fills me with the same dread.
When I finally do choose a dress (a black and blue sequined one, chosen out of exhaustion more than anything), it’s my makeup that gives me grief.
Out of the swathes of shadows I smear on, none seem to work – the black is too dark, the blue too light. The navy eyeliner is too thick, while the charcoal one is barely there.
As I glare at the twelfth makeup incarnation of myself, I realize I’m literally staring the truth in the face: The problem isn’t the dresses or the makeup. It’s me.
I’m too nervous to make a decision, too nervous to hardly think.
Until I find out what’s going on tonight, I’m not going to be good for much.
When I finally leave, it’s an hour early so I can get out of the house.
A few steps out of the door and I already regret my smoky eye, but don’t turn back.
Now that I’m out there’s no going back. The fresh air is good, refreshing, just what I need.
The neighborhood is nice too, full of shops and apartment buildings and people that look reasonably happy. As I shuffle by, they smile at me uncomprehendingly. I don’t blame them. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, why am I terrified out of my mind?
The answer comes in a flash of memory: Sobeys, Jaws with a ham in hand, with a red face after he blurts out the words, “Guess you know Anya’s in town,” the spiky-haired back of his head as he fled.
Clearly, Gavin told Jaws that he told me about Anya, his ex, months ago.
My encounter with Jaws was yesterday, and today I’m going to find out just what’s going on.
I inhale the fresh air, savor it, then, finally, exhale.
There’s no way Gav could be cheating on me, is there? After six months of non-stop seeing each other, dates galore, and now, after all this, he’s tired of me?
On a bench outside of Dairy Queen, there’s a little girl clutching a Dilly Bar, staring at me with accusing eyes.
I shake my head at her, murmur “No” to myself.
Gav loves me. He’s never given me any reason to doubt him. Until now, that is.
The next hour passes as one nerve-racking walk, one blur of buildings that are not Donatello, of people remarkable only in that they are not him. My Gavin.
By the time I reach Donatello’s grey slate exterior, I feel neither better nor worse.
Relief is what washes over me as I walk through the dark wooden doors.
Now, finally, I’m going to find out what’s going on.
The maître d’s thin mustache bends as he smiles.
I smile shyly back.
“Hi, I’m...”
“Torrie,” he says with a thick Italian accent, “Of course, come with me.”
His glossy shoes pass from one lush red carpet to another. This new room is beautiful: with somber lighting that makes the dark redwood tables and gold-tipped wine glasses gleam, while the pyramids of napkins point me onward. It’s only as I get to the back room and, in it, see Gavin in a dazzling suit, that I realize the whole restaurant is empty.
He rises and pulls a chair back, gestures for me to sit down. I do.
The maître d’ whisks away just as I turn to him.
I direct my questioning gaze to Gavin, but he just sits down across from me, takes my hand and smiles.
“It’s been hard not seeing you these past few days.”
I open my mouth to yell at him, to ask him, to beg him, but he just lays a finger across my lips, says, “Shhhh.”
Our gazes meet, then his breaks away, shifts to the picture behind me.
It’s of a woman, her golden body morphing into the golden background, her whole head a sunburst. Her back is to the viewer. That’s how I feel, how I’ve felt these past few days: though it’s Gavin’s broad back I’m behind and, no matter how I tap his shoulder, he won’t turn around.
Even now he’s avoiding my gaze.
A clink on the table reveals that the maître d’ is back, has put two wine glasses on the table, into which, with a rhythmic swaying of his hand, he’s pouring wine.
When I turn to thank him, he’s already halfway out the door, gone as quickly and quietly as he came.
When I turn back, Gavin’s lifting his drink in a toast, declaring, “To the most beautiful woman alive.”
When we clink glasses, his gaze has already shifted, back to the woman in the painting.
It’s silly, sad, being jealous of a painted figure, a woman who’s not even real. And yet, this is what I’ve come to.
I put my glass down without drinking.
This ends now; I’m going to ask him.
“Gavin,” I say, “What’s going on?”
Still he won’t look at me. His face is expressionless; all his emotion is in his strangled voice, “Can’t we just... enjoy this?”
He takes my hand, and I rip it away.
“No, no I can’t enjoy this, I can’t enjoy anything. Not when something’s wrong and you won’t tell me what.”
His hand still in the gesture it was clasping mine with, Gavin is silent for a moment.
Then he says, “I can't tell you. Not now.”
His face – hell, his whole body is in on it too. Is neither relaxed nor tense, calm nor worried – reveals nothing.
This silence is waiting, him waiting for what I’ll do, me waiting for the same.
I don’t know until I’m halfway up, until I’ve swept across the room to the door.
Before I can stride through it, Gavin has grabbed my arm. I wrench myself away, but his grip holds.
I don’t turn to him. I speak to the empty luxuriant room before me.
“Let me go Gavin. Let me go. I’m going.”
“Be reasona
ble, Torrie.”
I twist around to say my words to his face, “I am being reasonable. I’m not stupid. I know something’s going on. I know your old girlfriend is in town. I know, ok?”
Gavin stares at me evenly for a minute. Amusement flickers over his face, and, with my free hand, I slap him.
Shocked, we both gape at each other. Then Gav frowns, rubs his cheek.
“What was that for?”
“For not taking me seriously,” I say huffily.
Now he lays his hand on my cheek, but gently, only his fingertips grazing my skin.
“Oh Torrie,” he says wistfully, “If only you knew.”
I twist my head away.
“You’re not making any sense.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder.
“So, you love me then?”
I shrug him off, whirl around, glare into his eyes.
“Of course, I love you. Why are you saying these things? Why aren’t you making any sense?”
Gavin shakes his head dumbly, his eyes locked on mine, searching mine, as if testing for the truth of my words.
Finally, he sighs, says, “Alright Torrie, you win.”
He takes my hand, leads me back to my chair, pulls it out.
I stare at it, don’t sit, say, “So you’ll tell me now? Tell me everything?”
He nods, and I sit down. He sits down across from me.
Then he claps his hands.
A few seconds, the maître d’ is back.
“Yes monsieur?”
“The book please.”
He nods then leaves.
I stand up.
“Torrie, what are you doing?” he asks.
“Gavin, I don’t want any more games. I want the truth.”
Gavin doesn’t move.
“Torrie,” he says, “That’s exactly what I’m getting you, if you’ll wait one second.”
I pause.
The maître d’ passes me and hands Gavin the book.
He turns to me.
“Does Madame need anything?”
“No, she was just going to look at the book. Thank you,” Gavin says.
He gets up, walks in front of me, hands me the book. His body barring the way, he says, “Please Torrie. Just open it. Open it and everything will be explained.”
I throw a suspicious gaze at Gav, then return my attention to the book. It’s has a beautiful red and gold binding, with gold-tipped pages. I open it.
