Love Is Beautiful (Chelsea & Max)

by Abby Brooks

  The lace turns out to be underwear, the oval, a remote-controlled vibrator that fits into a slit in the panties. And the remote control? All his. I do as I’m told, a mess of nervous expectation, and he tests the remote, cycling through the different speeds from a low buzzing hum, teasing me awake, to a full on, orgasm-building vibration that has me panting and fighting for control.

  “Do you like it?” he asks. “Does it feel good?”

  “Yes,” I say, breathing heavy. “It feels very good.”

  “Good. Grab your purse.”

  My eyes go wide. “My purse?” He can’t actually mean to take me out in public like this, all turned on and totally at his mercy.

  “Yes, Chelsea. Your purse.,” he says dismissively, turning the vibrations off. “I’m hungry.”

  I hesitate. The thought of playing with all our new toys in the safety of my home was such a turn on. The thought of being at his mercy out in public? Where I might lose control? Where I have to trust him to keep me from making a total fool of myself? That’s a little more daunting.

  Max eyes me, all strong and dominant as I falter. “Trust me,” he says. “I will take care of you better than you understand yet.” He runs a thumb across my cheek, hands me my purse, and heads out the door, sending a wave of vibrations through my body with a flick of his finger on the remote. I grab my coat and follow him out in the night.

  He plays with me in the car ride, bringing me to the point of coming time and again, only to turn everything off the moment before I fall over the edge. Meanwhile, he speaks about work. About Reagan. About Charlie. I can barely concentrate. All I know is that I am ready to burst. He takes me to a crowded bar and grill. Loud music. Louder conversation. All the better to cover up the hum of the vibrator in my pants, I guess.

  I get a brief reprieve as we head to our table and the hostess hands us the menus. The moment I sit, he turns it on the lowest setting and leaves it there.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks.

  I fight the urge to roll my hips, my body aching for more friction. “Yes,” I say, letting my eyes burn into his, hoping he sees how very exquisitely turned on I am.

  “Me too.” He drops me a wink and sends a surge of vibration my way. I jump and squeak and blush furiously as he drops it back to the lowest setting. “I like seeing you lose control. I like it even better knowing that you’ve given it all to me.”

  When the waitress arrives—a perky thing who gives my parted lips a strange look—I order a Long Island iced tea and Max orders a Guinness, both of us needing extra time to decide just what we want for dinner.

  “Did you see the way she looked at you, naughty girl?” Max raises the speed of the vibrations. “She could see how turned on you are.” He leans forward. “I can see how turned on you are right now.”

  I swallow hard, my eyes fluttering. “Is this how you like me? Totally at your mercy, ready and waiting for you?”

  “This is exactly how I like you. Writhing in pleasure, knowing that ecstasy is around the corner.” He lowers the vibrations again. “When I decide it’s time, that is.”

  I manage to choose a meal, though I don’t know how since concentration is pretty much a non-issue. When our waitress comes back with a drink, I blurt out the first item that catches my attention on the menu, a burger and fries that I’m sure I won’t even be able to eat.

  “So, my naughty little girl,” Max says after ordering his own meal. “Have you even thought to wonder what your exact punishment is?”

  I giggle. “You mean sitting in a public space, being teased to the brink of orgasm and back isn’t it?”

  “And just what about that is bad enough to count as punishment?”

  “The embarrassment.”

  “You don’t look one bit embarrassed to me. You look really and truly alive. Excited even.”

  I fidget, nervous again. He’s right. I have very much enjoyed this game. This secret between us, my pleasure at the tip of his finger. I’m not so sure that I’m ready for the rules to change.

  “But what if I brought you all the way to the brink of orgasm…” He flips through the speeds and my muscles clench, my hips rocking forward against my will. God it feels good. Too good. So good that I might just fall over the edge right now. “What if I don’t pull you back?”

  My eyes go wide and my breath quickens. I watch him watch me and can see the lust in his eyes. He is enjoying this almost as much as I am. My muscles begin to flutter, the orgasm so close and just as I begin to fall, the panic of public humiliation dancing deliciously with the danger of our secret, he turns the damn thing off.

  I moan audibly, distraught at the fading of pleasure.

  “Not yet, Chelsea. Not until I decide you’re ready.” He smiles at me, an adorable little quirk of his lips that makes me want to kiss him.

  I don’t come in public that night, even though Max brings me so close I can taste it more than once. But when we get back to my house? I come not once, not twice, but three earth-shattering times until finally, when my body is spent and limp, Max comes too, thrusting himself inside me while I cry out his name.

  20

  “You doing anything for Thanksgiving next week?”

  Charlie has been quiet today and that’s not at all like him. He’s just been sitting there, quietly picking at his pizza, barely making eye contact.

  He shrugs in response to my question, looking out toward the arcade teeming with kids clamoring for coins and parents following behind, looking bedraggled and exhausted. “Mom will probably go out with Tucker which means that I’ll get pizza or something.” He pulls off a piece of pepperoni and studies it before popping it in his mouth and chewing slowly.

  “I’m not doing anything either,” I say, painfully aware of how much this kid needs advice that I’m not qualified to give. “Just gonna sit with Reagan and listen to music, I guess.”

  “You not gonna go see that doctor?” Charlie looks at me, really looks at me for the first time today, and the pain in his eyes takes me back.

  “She’ll be with her family.”

  Charlie nods. “You’re supposed to spend Thanksgiving with the people that matter to you. Give thanks and all that. At least that’s what they talk about in school.”

  “I think that’s how a lot of people do it.”

  “Doesn’t it make you mad that you don’t matter to her?” His eyes are hard and in his question I hear what’s really in his heart. He doesn’t think he matters to his mother. To his own goddamned mother. The one person who should make him feel like a spoiled little prince among princes.

  “Nah,” I say, trying to give him strength through my own. “I know I’m important to her. Just like you know you’re important to your mom.”

  Charlie grunts. “I don’t know that I’m all that important to her.” And the look in his eyes says that he believes that down to his core.

  “You’re important to me,” I say. “Hanging out with you is one of the best parts of my week.”

  “Yeah?” Hope in his eyes, hurting my soul.

  “Of course. You’re pretty amazing.” I ball up the wrapper my straw came in and throw it his way. “But that’s probably because you hang out with me so much. My awesome is contagious.”

  Charlie laughs. “Is that what that smell is?” He picks up his pizza and takes a bite, his eyes flitting back out towards the arcade.

  “Charlie,” I say, and wait for him to give his full attention to me. “I’m sorry your mom makes you feel like you don’t matter. It’s not fair and I’m sure it hurts. But here’s the thing, life isn’t fair and people are flawed, but…” I’m making an utter mess of this. I want to tell him to be strong and confident in himself and that his mom is a piece of trash who doesn’t deserve a great kid like him, but I can’t really say that, now can I? “Her failings aren’t yours.”

  I barely get the words out before something in my throat clamps down on the great dose of wisdom I wanted to give him. Some role model I am. Here he is, i
n need, and all I’ve got for him is a bunch of platitudes and a tight throat.

  Imagine my surprise when Charlie smiles. “Sometimes,” he says, his voice quiet. “I look at her and know just how I don’t want to be when I grow up.”

  I nod. “See? More proof that you’re a special kind of person.” I lift my plastic cup of soda in a toast. Charlie taps his against mine and we drink on it.

  I sigh and stare at the kid, an idea forming in my mind, one that I’m not sure I’m totally comfortable with but one that I can’t ignore now that I’ve discovered it. “Hey,” I say. “Why don’t you come to my house on Thanksgiving? We can eat. Watch some football. Reagan will be thrilled to see you.”

  Charlie’s eyes light up. “Really? Like a for real Thanksgiving with turkey and mashed potatoes and all that stuff I always see on TV?”

  I don’t have a fucking clue how to make a turkey. When I offered dinner, I was thinking more about take out of some kind. But after that reaction, I will learn how to make a turkey that rivals anything this kid has been seeing on TV.

  “We’ll talk to your mom when she gets here. Get things all set up.” I lift my chin in his direction. “I got you. There’s no way you’re spending Thanksgiving alone.”

  Charlie beams, chatters away happily as he devours the rest of the pizza.

  21

  “You like being on your knees in front of me, don’t you?” Max threads his fingers into my hair and thrusts his cock between my lips. “You sweet, naughty little girl.”

  I look up at him as I bob my head, using my tongue along his shaft, and cupping his balls with my hand. He’s right. I do like being on my knees for him. I like having him inside me. I like bringing him pleasure. I like the way he towers over me, making me feel both small and protected in the same instant, his size both a threat and a shield. I love handing him control of my body, knowing that I am safe in his competent hands, but also knowing that while he’s inside me, I am the source of his greatest pleasure.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says as he slides himself in and out of my mouth, careful not to go too deep and choke me. “I could look at you all day.”

  Suddenly, I’m less interested in him being careful and more interested in him having the blow job of his dreams. I put my hands on his hips to still him before I push him all the way to the back of my throat. My eyes water and I pull away, gasping.

  “Fuck, Chelsea,” he says as I pull him back in. He grabs me by the hair and thrusts himself into me a few times, rocking his hips into my mouth, totally out of control for all of three seconds. He pulls out of my mouth and helps me to stand before he slings me over his shoulder and tosses me onto my bed.

  My room has become a treasure trove of toys. My drawers hiding a number of secrets ranging from mild to exotic, from simple to brow-raising. I watch as he struts around the room, his cock hard and straining in front of him, his ass, so perfect, his thighs so powerful I can’t believe they belong to a man who would waste his time with me. He digs in one of my favorite drawers, pulling out a blindfold and fitting it on me before I hear him go back to pulling out toys.

  He’ll bind me, tonight. He always does when I push his boundaries. He lost control just a moment ago, fucking my throat without concern for my well-being. (And I was more than fine with it, thank you very much.) But as a reward, I’ve earned myself the blindfold and the binding. Which I’m also more than fine with. I love giving myself over to him.

  Rope scrapes across one wrist and then the other. There’s the familiar tug as he sets his knots and then ties me to the headboard. He kisses me, drinking me in. And then he’s gone. There’s a whisper of sound, the flick of a lighter, and then the caress of silk on my nipples, trailing down my stomach and dancing between my legs. A scarf. So it’s going to be simple, then.

  And here I was in the mood to try some of our newer, more leather-bound toys.

  But the scarf is good. He teases me with it and I know that my body writhing under his attentions has him so hard, so turned on he can barely contain himself.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he says, pulling away the scarf. “We’re going to try something new tonight.”

  He pulls off the blindfold and my eyes go wide. He has a riding crop in one hand, and he trails it up the inside of my leg as he puts the blindfold on the bedside table. I specifically asked for the riding crop, added it to his Amazon wish list after reading a particularly hot book on my Kindle one night.

  As I eye the toy, he brings it gently down to my breast, circling the leather around my taut nipple as my chest heaves and my eyes slide closed. He swats lightly, eliciting a gasp from me as my eyes spring open.

  “Is that good? Is that what my naughty girl likes?”

  I nod, very much enjoying the anticipation as he swirls the crop around my other breast. He swats again, harder this time, and a flare of pain takes my breath away. He immediately brings his mouth to the spot, licking and kissing, the warmth of his lips mingling with the warmth from his crop. The stinging fades and I miss it.

  He trails it down my belly, letting it slide across my clit and the anticipation is almost too much for me. He pushes against my folds, bringing it back up, and then flicking it against my inner thigh. After that, I lose myself to sensation. He alternates between pleasure and little flashes of pain, only to cover it all right back up with pleasure again. Instinctively, or perhaps because he just knows me so damn well, he never pushes past my limit. The pleasure far outweighs the pain.

  “Fuck Max,” I gasp. “Please fuck me. I need you moving inside me.”

  “When I’m ready, sweet girl. No sooner.”

  But it turns out he’s more ready than he wants to admit. He spends some time with his mouth on my clit, his fingers working deftly inside me, bringing an orgasm out of nowhere. I scream with it as he hooks his fingers to find that one spot that pushes me farther than I’ve ever gone before. There’s a brief respite as he pulls out of me and puts on a condom and then he drives himself inside me, moving deeper and deeper while I cry out as one orgasm blends into another. I am lost in him. I am made whole by him.

  As he rolls his hips chasing his own orgasm, he pulls me towards him, bringing us closer and closer together. He falls down over me, his mouth on mine, his chest to mine, his hands on either side of my head. We are joined. We are one. One soul in two bodies. He comes with a shout and I am undone, losing myself in the waves of pleasure washing over me.

  “So that was fun,” I say after I catch my breath.

  “You sure I didn’t hurt you?” He rolls off of me and props his head up with a pillow.

  “No. I mean yes. I mean, it was exactly what I wanted.”

  Relief settles in his eyes. “Good.”

  He looks so handsome, so at ease, his dark hair framing his face against the crisp white pillowcase, I can’t help but smile.

  “What?” A question crinkles his eyebrows.

  “I just like looking at you. I like being with you. I like having you in my bed.”

  He grins. “I like being in your bed.”

  And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the opening I’ve been waiting for. “Would you stay? Here? With me?”

  Max pushes up on his elbow. “You mean, like, an overnight?” He widens his eyes like I’ve just asked him for the most scandalous thing ever.

  “Yes. Exactly like an overnight.”

  He’s never stayed with me before, always using the dog as an excuse to go home. And maybe that’s not fair. I mean, needing to let the dog out really is a valid reason not to stay. But the times we’ve been at his house haven’t come with an invitation for me to stay. It’s always made me wonder if the dog was just a cover story.

  Max pulls me in close and I snuggle in, wrapping my leg over his and pressing my cheek against his chest. “I’d love to stay,” he says, his voice rumbling in my ear. I’ll just have to leave kind of early to make sure Reagan’s okay.”

  I snuggle in even closer, breathing him in. “Thank you.”
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  “No need to thank me, sweet girl.” He runs a hand through my hair. “I get to spend the night curled up next to this fine body? I think I’m the one who should be doing all the thanking.”

  “So…” I take a breath, a little uncomfortable about asking him my next question. “Next week is Thanksgiving. And it also just happens to be my birthday—”

  Max pulls himself out from underneath me. “Your birthday? How do I not know this?” He looks stricken.

  I suck in both my lips and drop my eyes. “It’s my thirtieth and I was kind of hoping to just let it slide by without noticing. Bury it under Thanksgiving and ignore the fact that I’m old now.”

  “Just like that. Boom.” Max snaps his fingers. “You’re old.”

  I roll my eyes. “Thirty is a big deal. Next comes wrinkles and sagging skin and then what good am I?”

  “First of all, you’re a long way from wrinkles and sagging skin. But second of all, how in the world does your physical appearance have anything to do with your worth?”

  “Think about it. You’ve got two women, one well-groomed, pretty, trim. Young. The other? Older. Rounder. A little squishy around the edges. Where does your eye go?” I squirm. We’re getting way off track here. I wanted to invite him to Thanksgiving with my family and here we are talking about my fear of growing old.

  “My eye goes to you.” Max sits up and puts his hand on my cheek. “No matter who else is in the room, I only ever see you.”

  Tears sting my eyes. “Thank you,” I whisper around a tightening throat.

  “Now you listen to me,” Max says, his face and voice earnest. “You take broken bodies and put them back together again. You bring out the best in me. You make me smile when I had started to think I had forgotten how. You have shown me what it means to really and truly feel close to someone, to share the good and the bad parts of me. You have a quick mind and a sharp wit that keeps me on my toes. You have a drive to succeed and achieve like no one else I have ever met in all my life. That, all that, is your worth. It has nothing to do with age or beauty or wrinkles or anything like that. Yes, you’re physically beautiful, I mean look at you. But your true beauty lies in who you are. And you are the most beautiful person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.”