by J. A. Huss
I rev the engine of my Audi, then back out of the driveway, screeching my tires.
Chapter Fifteen - Cindy
I stay out on the terrace, even after Pax comes back and starts blending up the drinks. He says nothing, just gets to work. And ten minutes later, after many ‘fucks,’ and ‘shits,’ and ‘goddammits,’ he casts a shadow over me when he blocks the lights from behind.
“Your drink, my lady.”
I smile, but tuck it away before I turn to face him. I take the drink and sip. “Mmm. That’s nice.”
“It’s weak as fuck,” he says, grimacing as he swallows. “And sweet.”
“I like sweet drinks.”
“Sugar,” he says.
“Hmm?” I ask, looking up at him
“You smell like sugar. These stupid drinks you like must leak through your pores.”
“Could be worse.” I take another sip, then a gulp.
“Well,” he says, holding his margarita glass out when I come up for air. “Cheers.”
“To the end of a very confusing day.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
“Should we talk about it?” I ask, not really wanting to talk about any of it.
“What’s to talk about?”
“Right.”
We both turn to the sound of the crashing waves down below, then lean our forearms on the terrace railing, drinks in hand.
“This is pretty. I bet Nolan Delaney comes here a lot.”
I catch a small chuckle from him. “How’d you know it was his?”
“Are we talking about it?” I ask, looking up at him.
“No. But Nolan doesn’t come here much. I really did buy this place for my mom. But I needed money to buy those islands, so I sold it to Nolan.” Then he adds, “With the understanding that he’d keep it safe for me. So it really is still mine.”
“Except for the deed and all that good junk.” But I’m still thinking about those islands.
“Why are you here?” he asks.
“You brought me here,” I say.
“No. I mean, why are you here? In my life.”
“I don’t really know, Paxton. I’m asking myself that very same question.”
“You’ve been stalking me,” he says. “For a long time, from the looks of it.”
“Yes.” I sigh. “Obviously.”
“And now you don’t like what you see.”
“I’m just questioning a lot of things tonight, that’s all.”
“About me? Or why you’ve bothered?”
“So we’re talking about it?” I ask again. “Because once we start this, Pax, we won’t be able to stop.”
He’s silent for a moment. I finish my drink and hold the empty glass in my hands, twirling it around as I look out over the ocean. There’s a nice moon tonight. Not full, not dark, not crescent, just enough to see the beach and the track down below.
“You want to go to bed?”
“With you?” I ask, a tingle running up my body at the thought. He’s so fucking handsome in this gray suit. His tie is loose around his neck, probably from the frustration of my drink demands, because it was tight before he left for the store. I bite my lip as he stares at me, that tingle turning into something more urgent as I stare back.
“Why not? We could make it fun. Turn this day around. End it on a high note.”
I have dreamed about sex with Mr. Mysterious for years. Since I was a kid, actually. And I know we’ve fucked three times already, but that was different. That was the other me. This is the real me. And now that my plans are all falling into place, it feels… fake. Like I forced this.
“I wouldn’t want to force you,” I say, that word stuck in my mind.
He laughs. Maybe a real one. “You’re the most striking girl I’ve ever dated. You’re not forcing me to do anything.”
He has no idea how well-planned this relationship was. “Are we dating?” I ask, suddenly sad.
I know he’s looking at me. And I know I’m being weird. I also know that I should make a decision right now and then never look back. Either stay here, sleep with him, and tell him the truth tomorrow—since we’ve decided not to talk about it tonight—or walk out and never look back.
I’m on the verge of option two when I feel his hand slip around my waist. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you, can it wait until tomorrow? Or is it urgent?”
I like the feel of his hand over the thin fabric of my dress. It’s large, and warm, and when he pulls me closer, I feel weak with want.
“That was a lot of information to take in. From your mother. Don’t you think?” I chance a look up at him and regret it immediately. He’s somber. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him somber.
“Are we talking about it?” he whispers. “I don’t mind talking about it. If that’s what you want.”
I lean up and kiss him. Softly. Right on the mouth. He doesn’t kiss me back and when I open my eyes, he’s looking at me. He takes the drink from my hand, sets both glasses down on a nearby table and then wraps his arms around me and holds me close. His lips are on my neck, and that urgent feeling I had turns into unquenchable desire.
He holds my face, turning me towards him, and then his lips find mine and we are kissing again, only this time it’s him leading the way. It starts slow, his hands dropping back to my waist. My hands reaching up for his shoulders. His kiss remains soft. Such a contradiction between the man on the outside I’ve come to know and the one I stalked all these years
But I don’t know him, do I? Not one bit.
He frightens me a little. His perfectly planned childhood, his unplanned past, and his unorthodox present. Like he’s drifting through life, just waiting for something to happen as he takes bad opportunity after bad opportunity and tries to make something good out of them.
“Let’s go to bed,” Pax says again.
I don’t challenge him in any way this time. I don’t care what the meaning is behind his words.
He takes my hand, leading me back into the house and towards the stairs, taking those two at a time so my much shorter legs have to struggle to keep up. A shoe falls off my foot halfway up, the other follows a second later. The floor is cool and feels good as I follow him across a long catwalk that overlooks the living room and into a dark bedroom.
He doesn’t turn on the lights and he wastes no time touching me. His fingertips are lifting up my dress, feather-light touches across the bare skin of my outer thigh. Kissing me, fisting my hair, finding the wetness between my legs as the tingle becomes urge, becomes starvation and hunger for more.
“Take off my clothes,” he says. “Start with the tie.”
It’s already loose, so it slips over his head.
“And don’t hurry. We’re not in a hurry.”
I’ve come to expect passion to equal fast, and hard, and out of control. But this is nothing like that and yet… it is passionate.
I tug on his shirt, lifting it out of his pants. My hand grazes against the thick bulge hidden away in there, making him bite my lip just a little. Just enough to get my attention.
Oh, he has my attention all right.
I don’t want to think about tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow won’t even come?
“Need help?” he asks, whispering the words into my mouth.
I say nothing, just continue to fumble with the buttons of his shirt until I finally get them all undone and I drag the expensive fabric over the curve of his shoulders and let it drop to the floor.
His hands are dealing with the thin straps of my dress. They slide down, over my shoulders, his mouth momentarily distracted by my skin as he kisses and nips. My arms fall straight down my sides as he slips the top of my dress down to my waist, cups my breasts in his palms, pushing them up towards my chin, squeezing them until I let out a, “Ohhhhmmmmm,” sound.
“If you talk. If you say one word,” he says, “I will lose control and this will not be anything like I’ve imagined it.”
I want to ask him how he’s imagine
d it.
But why ask when I can be patient and see for myself?
He bends down, taking the skirt of my dress with him, and the silky fabric whooshes to the floor, making a small breeze against my ankles.
He stands, kissing me and nipping me. “Pants, Cindy.”
My fist is around his cock, squeezing him the way he was squeezing me just seconds ago. He’s warm, and hard, and ready for me.
“Pants,” he says again.
The button flips undone. Then the zipper is open and my hand finds the flesh of his cock. Warm and thick.
Pressure on my shoulders as he guides me backwards. I bump into the bed and sit automatically. He drops to his knees in front of my face, giving me one more kiss before pushing me back into the soft comforter.
I sigh, arms above my head at his silent urging. His mouth is on my ribs, his tongue tracing across my stomach, his kisses dropping lower and lower and lower until he’s licking me through my panties. His fingers find their way underneath the fabric, pushing into me, making me gasp with pleasure and surprise.
I say nothing as his mouth works on the delicate fold of skin that will make me come in a matter of seconds if he doesn’t back down. Two fingers inside me. Stretching and searching for that spot…
“Ohhhhmmmmmmm,” I say again.
“Shhh.” He vibrates the request against my clit and my hands fly to his biceps, fingernails digging in, my legs rising up and open to give him more access. He stands, kicks off his shoes, drops his pants and then leans over me.
“I’m gonna fuck you for real now.”
Chapter Sixteen - Paxton
I grab her ankles and spread her legs wide, easing over the top of her—my chest to her breasts, my cock positioned at her entrance. She’s so fucking wet. I wrap my fist around my dick and flick her clit a few times. Her whole body arches in response.
“You like that,” I whisper, continuing the motion.
She says nothing, her eyes squeezed tight, biting her lip, fingernails digging into my skin.
I plunge inside her and she goes soft. Our hips move together for a moment, kinda slow. Kinda easy. But then I lean down into her neck and bite her earlobe, going faster and faster as she responds to this new direction. Her tits bounce against me, legs wrapped around my body, knees pressed against my hips.
And she smells like sugar.
Everything about her is sweet. The little moans she’s making. The scent of her hair. Her pink lips and those perfect nipples. I lean in and bite her lip. Her eyes open and I start pumping her harder. Slapping against the inside of her thighs. Everything is wet, and hot, and time just needs to stand still so this never has to end.
“I’m gonna come,” she whispers.
“Not yet—”
“Ohhhhhmmmmm. Shit. Oh, fuck, yes! Fuck me! Fuck me!”
“OK.” I laugh, enjoying her little show. “Yeah, OK. Come, sugar. Come all over me.”
Her hands are suddenly in my hair. Twisting and pulling like she’s holding on to me. Never gonna let me go.
“Pax,” she moans out. She’s still fucking coming. I feel wave after wave after wave of contractions against my dick as I slow down.
“No,” she says. “Harder! Harder, harder, harder…”
I speed back up. Pounding her now. She is gushing with come. My dick slides in and out of her pussy. I stand back up, grab hold of her hip bones, and watch the curve of my cock enter, and almost exit, her opening. The lips of her pussy wrap around my shaft like a glove. Like we are puzzle pieces fitting together.
And then her fingers are there. Pushing against her clit. Rubbing as she continues to moan. I slap her hand away. “I don’t need help.”
She laughs, eyes closed again. “Something is wrong with me. I’m so fucking horny right now. I just came—twice—and I need more.” Her eyes fly open and she stares at me. “Flip me over.”
Nobody tells me that twice. I step back and flip her whole body over, push her knees up, press her head down onto the comforter and tongue her wet pussy, flicking against her clit.
“I forgot to tell you—”
“Are we talking about this?” I ask, still trying to lick her.
“I’m a squirter.”
“What?”
“Shit!” She wiggles away from me, kicking out and squirming her way across the bed.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I don’t want to ruin this bed! I’m telling you, I’m a squirter and this will be pretty messy if we keep going.”
I grab her by the ankles and pull her back to me, then reach under, lift her up, and hoist her over my shoulder.
“What are you doing?” she squeals.
“Taking this to the shower.”
I walk across the room, flip the light on in the master bath, take her into the massive shower, and set her down on the marble bench. “Don’t move,” I say, my eyes never leaving hers as I reach around and feel for the steam switch on the wall, flick it on, and then look hungrily at my girl as the mist wafts around us in floating tendrils. “Squirter, huh?”
She bites her lip to stifle a laugh.
“And you know this how?” I should shut the fuck up. I don’t want to know how she knows. But I can’t help it.
She shakes her head and giggles.
“Cindy.”
“When I masturbate, it just—it gets—overwhelming and then… you know. That happens. And the way you were touching me in there. It felt like…”
“Masturbation?” I say with a cock-eyed smile. “Nice recovery.” I drop to my knees, push her back so she’s resting against the wall, and do it exactly the way I was. Quickly flicking my dick against her clit. She grabs on to the edge of the stone bench this time, her knees pulling up automatically.
“Like this?” I ask, never taking my eyes off her.
And then she’s out of control. Her moans turn into gasps, turn into screams. I cup my hand over her mouth automatically, momentarily startled as she writhes, and kicks, and yes—squirts.
I don’t think anything has ever turned me on so much in my entire life.
I take her hands, pulling her up to standing. She wobbles, like she’s not under control yet. So I reach under her thighs, lift her up, press her against the wall, and pound her hard until there’s no way I’m stopping. I pound her until there is nothing on my mind but coming inside her. She squeezes my hips with her thighs, so tight. So focused. My hands come up to her face, glistening from the steam, and I kiss her, and fuck her until she comes again and there is only one thing left to do.
Finish.
“Fuck… yes…” That was perfect.
She collapses against my chest, spent and tired. I walk backwards until I find the bench, and then sit down with her in my lap. Her face is buried in my neck. We are sweaty, and hot, and breathing in the steam like the air we are sucking is lifesaving.
I rest my head back against the wall, close my eyes, and let go. Maybe for the first time in my life I just let it all go. The past. The jobs. The future. It’s gone. Wiped away in the aftermath of lust.
After a few minutes of stillness, she eases backward, gets up, turns the steam off, and then starts the shower. She makes the water cool, then grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet.
We wash each other. Hair, body, soul.
And then we dry each other off and I lead her out to the bedroom. Collapsing onto the soft comforter, not even bothering to get underneath it. I just grab her and never let go. Pull her into my chest, wrap my hands around her breasts, and… sleep.
I wake up to sun beaming down on my face, reaching for Cindy. Finding her gone. What did I expect? I swing my legs over the side of the bed, rub the stubble on my jaw with both hands, and then stand up and take a piss in the bathroom.
That was the best sex I’ve ever had and I know—I just fucking know—it’s only the beginning if I get to see her again after we talk about it.
I pull on some boxer briefs and walk towards the stairs, surprised when I cross
the catwalk and see her—back to me—cooking at the stove in the open kitchen down below.
I don’t say anything. I don’t even know if I have words for what this is. What I’m doing. But I stop at the top of the stairs when I see the shoe. Left there last night as I brought her up here.
It’s fitting, right? Cinderella leaves a shoe on the stairs and then Prince Charming has to go looking for her with only that one shoe as his clue.
The other shoe is further down. And it’s a good sign, I think. That we are not that story. She didn’t disappear. I don’t have to go searching for her. We can spend the day together. No one to stop us. Start something new. No rules, or expectations, or baggage to drag us down.
Well, that’s a fairy tale too, I guess. Because I’ve got baggage, man. I’ve got a huge amount of baggage and there’s no fairy godmother coming to make it all better.
“What are you doing?” I ask, reaching the bottom of the steps.
“Cooking,” she chirps, flipping something over in a pan. This is the Cindy I know. Happy, cheerful, easygoing.
“Where’d you get food?” I say, coming up behind her and wrapping my arms around her body so I can squeeze her tits and kiss her neck. She’s wearing an apron, of all things. It’s yellow, like her hair. With cookies on it. And a tank top and shorts.
Sugar. Goddammit if she doesn’t smell like sugar. Even after staying in someone else’s house, taking a shower with their scented soaps and shampoos, and frying bacon in a pan.
“I borrowed your car and went to the store.”
“You… left?” I ask.
“I came back.” She says it like she might not’ve.
“Where’d you get these clothes?” She’s wearing my dress shirt and a pair of man’s shorts that must be Nolan’s. Which means she’s been snooping around the house while I was sleeping. “What time did you wake up?”
“What?” She feigns ignorance.
I feign with her. Are we talking about this yet? Who she is? Where she came from? How she knows all these things and why she’s been watching me?
