About Last Night

by Belle Aurora

  He muttered, “Yeah, yeah. All right,” then tossed the ball.

  The silence was awkward. I hated that, especially with Harry. I had to fill the breach. “How’s your sister settling?”

  His lip twitched. “She’s made it perfectly clear that she doesn’t need my help with anything. Says she’s an adult and lived without help for almost five years. In other words, she’s a total brat.”

  I chuckled and lobbed the ball. “All the better for you then.”

  His face turned somber. “I worry about her. I don’t like her being on her own. Not when she’s got Mom and me.” He held the ball a moment. “You know, she always was this fragile thing. She needed me and I helped her where I could. She didn’t have a lot of friends. She’d get freaked out around guys, and now that she’s finally come out of that shell, I don’t know. I sort of miss being needed.”

  I caught the ball and uttered, “She knows you’re there. She’ll come to you when she needs help. Let the little bird fly.” Then I thought about cute, chubby Minnie and added hastily, “But not too far.”

  Harry grinned and I returned it, knowing he’d been thinking the very same thing.

  I said goodbye to Harry around one p.m. He told me to keep Monday night free. He was hosting a poker night, which almost always turned into go-fish night. I told him I’d be there.

  Running sounded like a good idea. I didn’t have much time before that afternoon’s client, but had so much energy that if I didn’t burn the excess, I was likely to fuck my client through the floor. Not that I thought she would mind.

  I ran from dock to dock, then turned around and went home. I was sweaty, hot, and bothered, but I was hoping my night with Belinda would be somewhat better than my night with Gina. In other words, I was hoping my cock would cooperate and actually come to the party. I was sure I would. Belinda was gorgeous and shy as a mouse.

  It was always the shy ones you had to look out for. Once you got past the shyness, they were usually wild in the sack, as in nail-marks-and-blood-streaks-down-the-back wild.

  On my way into the building, I heard a shaky, fragile voice call out, “M- Matthew! Oh, M-Matthew!”

  I paused mid-jog and tracked down the source of the sound. When I saw her face, I broke out into a smile. “Hello, Mrs. Henderson. What can I do for you?”

  The older woman’s hands and head shook almost violently. Her caregiver, Jenny, had told me she suffered from Parkinson’s disease, and even with her medication, the shakes would no longer stop, but it highly improved her speech. It made me wonder how she looked if she didn’t take her medication. The mental image was heartbreaking.

  She attempted to smile, but it came across pained. “M-m-m-my faucet i-i-is leaking. W-w-would you mind?”

  Jenny appeared behind Mrs. Henderson. “Hey, Matt. The doggone faucet is dripping again.” She blew the fallen strands of hair off her face and fluttered her lashes pleadingly. “You got a few minutes?”

  I checked my watch and knew I didn’t have a lot of time to spare. But Mrs. Henderson was a nice lady and I hated to refuse her. “Sure. I got some time. Be back in a minute; I just gotta grab my tools.”

  Taking the stairs two at a time, I flung open my apartment, snatched up my tools from the spare bedroom, and jogged back down the steps to Mrs. Henderson’s apartment.

  Jenny was holding the door open for me, smiling. “Running around like you are is telling me you don’t have as much time as you claim.” I winked at her as I entered and she shook her head. “There’s no rush, Matt. You could’ve done this tomorrow. She wouldn’t have minded.”

  Jenny was a tall, athletic, twenty-something who always wore ripped jeans and a tee. She had striking green eyes, long black-dyed hair, and a pierced septum. She was quite attractive. She was also very much a lesbian. I knew this, because leaving the building one night, I caught her making out with her girlfriend while being dropped off at Mrs. Henderson’s. If I hadn’t been in such a rush, I would’ve stopped and watched the entire show. It looked as though it was about to get hot and heavy.

  “Why do tomorrow what I can do today, Jenny?”

  She muttered, “Suck-ass,” and led me through to the leak. I grinned to myself in triumph.

  She sat on the edge of the tub to watch me work. “Got a hot date tonight or something?”

  “Or something,” I conceded then added teasingly, “but you know I only have eyes for you, Jen.”

  She snorted a laugh. “You got the wrong equipment for me, lover.”

  I shook my head dismally. “I know. That’s why I booked in for that procedure later this year. Then you can call me Matilda and we’ll live happily ever after.”

  She opened her mouth to respond with a no doubt a saucy remark, when the sound of glass shattering followed by Mrs. Henderson’s, “Oh, dear,” followed. Jenny ran out of the bathroom.

  I called out, “Everything okay?”

  Jenny responded an amused, “Yep. Just a glass of juice Mrs. H thought looked better on the floor.”

  Mrs. Henderson tried to sound affronted, but I could hear the smile in her voice. “Oh, J-Jenny. You’re t-terrible.”

  I smiled at their continued banter and fixed the faucet. As I left, I looked down at my watch and breathed easy. I still had time to spare.

  Belinda was a single mother from out of town. She was shy and sweet with a rocking body, a short, dark business-do, and soft brown eyes. She booked every three months. She had a daughter, Lillian, whom she’d given birth to young and somehow found the time to complete her degree and get a more than decent job in a Fortune 500 company. She travelled for work, which made it easy for her to make it to her quarterly appointment without detection.

  I made it my business to know as much about my clients as possible. When possible. Funny thing about Belinda was that she could speak to crowds of a hundred without batting a lash. Put her in front of a man at a bar and she’d withdraw into herself.

  With Belinda, every meeting was a first date. Every appointment, I could be a different man. It worked out great for me, because I could channel a different character depending on what mood I was in.

  I dressed in dark fitted jeans and a grey shirt, slipped on a pair of Italian leather dress shoes, and then went downstairs to the bar to meet Belinda for our ‘blind date.’

  Before I could sit, I saw her. She spotted me and smiled, walking over to me. I stood, waiting for her to approach. I don’t know how it happened, but as I went to greet her, a name I hadn’t planned to say came out of my mouth. “Maya?”

  Belinda blinked in confusion a moment before smiling and shaking her head. She lifted her hand and pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a shy smile. “Maya,” she uttered thoughtfully. Then, beaming up at me, she agreed, “Yes. I’m Maya. And you must be…” her nose wrinkled adorably, “…Nick.”

  Oh, God. She thought I was role-playing. I had just been about to apologize, when I spotted Belinda’s approving smile. There was nothing I could do now. She seemed to enjoy the change of name. Quite frankly, so did I. That was that. I was officially a sick fuck.

  I needed a drink. The easy smile I wore so often didn’t sit so well tonight, and even though I had left my top button undone, I felt as if I were suffocating. “Would you like a drink…Maya?”

  Belinda squinted. She was pretty cute. “No, thanks. But I am starving.”

  Thank God. I was glad for the directive. I took Belinda’s hand and tucked it into the crook of my elbow, muttering meaningless conversation as we walked to the hotel’s restaurant. Belinda smiled and responded just as meaninglessly as I had spoken, then I stood behind her and helped her into her seat, because I was a fucking gentleman and she was paying for that part of me.

  We sat opposite each other and made small talk. We ordered the special. We ate the special. I drank far too much for a dinner occasion, and as we made our way to the elevator, I found myself tipsy and horny as hell.

  I held Belinda’s hand tightly and pulled her close, reg
ardless of being the only two people in the elevator. As soon as the doors closed behind us, I slowly walked her into the corner of the small box. Placing a hand on her stomach, I bent lower to place my lips at her cheek. I closed my eyes and whispered a desperate plea, “Can I kiss you…Maya?”

  Her reply came in the form of a soft sigh. I didn’t need time to think about what I was doing; it came naturally to me. I was a whore. This was what I did.

  Pressing her into the corner, I kissed her cheek before turning slightly and capturing her mouth in a deep, demanding kiss. I could feel Belinda’s shock. I would normally never be so bold, but tonight, Belinda wasn’t herself. She was Maya. And I was Nick.

  Nick seemed to be one horny motherfucker, and so I went with it. Never mind being tipsy. Perhaps I was just using that as an excuse. Through her shock, I heard her moan. That was all it took to drive me on. I kissed Belinda like I had never kissed a client before. I kissed her as I wanted to kiss a woman, as I craved to kiss a woman. Unrestrained and wild.

  Her tongue dipped out to lick the seam of my lips. My arms snaked around her waist and I pulled her into my body, groaning. I grinded my jean-clad erection into her stomach and reveled in her gasp. I needed to be inside of May—

  Belinda. I needed to be inside of Belinda.

  As if the gods of sex had heard my silent demand, the elevator opened on our floor, and in a tangle of lips and limbs, we somehow stumbled through the hall to the room. I have no recollection of how I opened the door, because I don’t actually remember doing it.

  I walked her backwards to the bed till the backs of her knees hit the frame. Placing a hand on her shoulder, I pushed her back and she fell onto the bed, a dreamy look imprinted on her face.

  My raging hard-on was making demands and, stupidly, I was listening. My fingers worked the buttons of her shirt, and once the final button was undone, I spread the material, eyeing my prize. Belinda watched me, wide-eyed as I leaned over, kissed her hard on the mouth, and ran my hands up her stomach, past her ribs to gently grasp her breasts.

  But it wasn’t enough. With my mouth on hers, I unclasped the bra’s front hook and freed her perky, pink-tipped beauties. I pulled back to look at her. The soft blush on her cheeks, and eyes darting around nervously, only made me harder. My hands found their way back to her breasts and I squeezed lightly before running my thumbs over her taut nipples.

  God, I was a tit man. Belinda didn’t have a lot in that department, but she was sensitive and goddamn responsive.

  A growl escaped me as my mouth descended and I captured a sweet pink bud between my lips. I sucked and nipped until Belinda was a panting mess, all while still wearing her skirt and high heels. I worked quickly, unhooking then unzipping her tight tan skirt. Her panties joined it on the floor, along with her bra and shirt.

  The high heels stayed put, and so did her silky thigh-highs.

  Belinda scrambled to the middle of the bed as I began to disrobe. I worked slowly, unbuttoning my shirt then letting it fall over my shoulders and onto the carpet. My jeans and boxers came off in one swift tug then I was bare, exposed and damn excited.

  Panting from anticipation, I climbed onto the bed and over Belinda, pressing a soft kiss to her mouth. “I’m going to eat you till you scream…Maya.”

  Her eyes rolled back into her head at my blunt statement and it drove me wild. I pushed her legs open, lowered my face, and ate her like I was Pooh Bear and her pussy was the sweetest pot of honey. She came in my mouth, then she came again, harder, but it didn’t calm me. In fact, it only spurred me on. I was on fire, burning alive from the inside out.

  I was about to combust; my hot, heavy cock told me so.

  With Belinda in a delirious state, I moved down her body, settled between her legs, discreetly suited up, and gently entered her slick pussy. I worked her slowly at first, and just as I’d predicted, soon she had her claws in me and was panting, “Harder. Goddamn it, harder!”

  Fuck today’s run. It had nothing on the workout I was getting right now. I thrust harder and watched as her mouth gaped, her eyes opening wide. I had it. I was hitting her sweet spot. I loved this part. My mouth turned up in a cocky smirk.

  Slowing down, I pulled out then thrust hard. I did this again and again and, finally, she clamped around me, contracting as she came, her body taut, her eyes fluttering in bliss. She rode it out as I worked her hard.

  Then, it was my turn.

  I placed my hands up by the sides of her head and thrust eagerly, punishingly. She would feel me tomorrow; there was no doubt about that. I pushed into her again and again, and when I fixed on her face, I caught her soft, sleepy smile.

  It caught me by surprise. My mind was overrun with thoughts of how Maya would look as she came. And with that, my balls tightened and I stilled deep inside Belinda, letting out an animalistic shout as I came.

  My body slumped and I collapsed, breathless, on top of Belinda. She was warm and soft and welcoming. As her arms came around me and she ran her fingers up and down my back, muttering an astonished, “Wow,” I felt like shit for the mere fact that this beautiful woman hadn’t made me come, but a figment of my screwed imagination.

  I was going to hell.

  At three a.m., my body lay exhausted in my bed, but my brain wouldn’t quit. I stared at the text I had just written.

  Me: Why is it that I had sex with a woman tonight, but couldn’t stop thinking of you?

  I stared at it a long time before I deleted the draft, switched off my phone, and lay in bed, awake and drained. I reclined awake to witness a beautiful sunrise, only I took no pleasure in the pretty splashes of orange and pink.

  At that moment, I hated that sunrise almost as much as I hated my weakness.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mia

  It had been four long days since I had spoken to Quinn. Sure, we’d sent the occasional text in that time, but I was longing to hear his voice, which was stupid, because I didn’t like the way I felt when we spoke. I felt on edge, unnerved.

  Perhaps that was the difference. I had known about Matt Quinn for so long that I was positive he would never do anything to hurt me—not on purpose anyway.

  He was safe. I could never have a relationship with him, because of his friendship with my brother. Not that he’d ever want me in that way, and if my brother trusted him, it was all I needed to know that he was a good guy. My brother had always been a good judge of character, and even though he was a jock growing up, he never befriended assholes. See? Safe.

  It was my first day of work, and having spent the last few days in my apartment near memorizing complete websites of information, I felt confident today would be a good day.

  I woke at six a.m., showered, dressed in my standard business wear of a feminine white shirt, high-waisted black pants, and heels, then added light make-up, and sorted my chaotic hair into a sophisticated chignon. I was happy with my appearance. I had come a long way in a mere forty-minutes.

  After spending most of my weekend with Bill and Terry, we were becoming fast friends. I found myself telling them things I had never told other people. In a single evening, I told them about my crush on Quinn and how it began. I told them about my being so overweight that I started to develop health issues. And finally, I told them about my being a virgin. I blamed the wine.

  Terry seemed to be locked in a state of shock, whereas Bill seemed to accept everything with a soft smile and nod, never interrupting. Terry, however, interrupted, and always managed to do this in a most dramatic way. The common curses used were, “Shut up!” and a gasped, “Oh, my God, no!” He would sometimes add a, “Nuh-uh. I don’t believe it!” or a “You’re kidding! Tell me you’re kidding!”

  Terry had made me a project. And while this would normally have me running for the hills, I didn’t mind so much, knowing Bill would be there to manage the Terry situation.

  Take last night for example. The guys had dragged me away from my computer long enough to get me nice and tipsy on wine before Terry pulled ou
t a pharmacy bag. My gut sank. I didn’t even want to know what was in there.

  Smiling like the Mona Lisa, Terry pulled two boxes out of the bag and held one up. And I choked on my own saliva. Coughing, I shook my head and wheezed out a firm, “No!”

  Terry’s smile vanished. He came to kneel by my spot on the sofa, tilting his head in a most pathetic way and begging, “Oh, please? Why not?”

  I held the box in my hand and gave him a look that said, ‘You know why!’

  Terry stood, feigning innocence. “I don’t see the problem.”

  I fought down my argument, simply uttering, “It’s fire-engine red. I’m starting work on Monday for a very professional events management company, Terry. I need to meet with clients and talk to them in an expert sense. I am not dyeing my hair fire-engine red.”

  Bill took the other box and handed it to me. I glared up at him. “You’re in on this? You’re meant to be the practical one!”

  He grinned, and it was so gorgeous that I forgot my name. Then he spoke in that English accent I loved so much. “I chose this one. I think it’ll suit your coloring much better. Not to mention the fact your warm brown eyes are beautiful right now, but with this color, they will pop so hard men everywhere will need to cover their eyes when you pass.” He smiled down at me. “Did you know you have a small amount of green hidden in your eyes, and when you smile, it comes out to play?”

  That was it. I was sold. I turned to Terry and whispered, “You are a very lucky man.”

  Terry sighed while looked up at Bill lovingly. “Don’t I know it, sister.”

  When I looked down at the box in my hands, I was pleasantly surprised. So, with a curt nod of approval and a loud “Yay!” from Terry, I was whisked off into their bathroom, where I had petroleum jelly rubbed into my forehead, ears, and neck, and then Terry snapped on a pair of gloves and got to work.

  Thirty minutes passed. I was bent over the tub and washed, conditioned, and rinsed, and then Terry spent an insane amount of time blow-drying my hair. After he deemed my hair ‘Ah-mah-zing!’, I was finally allowed to see the difference. And what a difference it was. I could hardly believe my eyes.