Thick Cut

by S London

  "You like it?"

  Why the fuck am I asking questions? Because she was able to walk away. As much as I hate to admit—it messed me up.

  When she doesn't answer I slam into her again. "Answer me."

  "Yes," she mouths, as her expression softens. "You’re the best, Teddy Bear. Your beard is like a fucking Rabbit vibrator.”

  With one hand she strokes my furry chest, a satisfying moan escaping her full lips. It's the only answer I need. I start drilling her depths with wild abandon. She can't control the sounds escaping her lips, and I want to capture them all. The idea that I can look at her, fill my arms with her everyday of my life, takes hold.

  Her tits are dancing a hypnotic circular rhythm. I palm one in each hand, rolling the nipples between my thumb and forefingers. Like a glove she squeezes my rod with her sex, telling me I'm loving her right.

  "Taste them for me, baby."

  And because I deem it so, she cups a beautiful black cherry-topped breast and guides one ripe nipple into her mouth.

  She sucks and slurps, and I feel my sac pull tight. I'm about to blow. I throw more power into my thrusts. The plastic table creaks and groans, but its a firm base for me to leverage my sizable girth. Thank goodness it's solid, because I think I'd keep fucking her even if the table collapsed and the deck disintegrated. We fucking fit. Fit to perfection in the sex department.

  "Stop," I command. "I want you to come with me."

  She frees her bruised flesh with an audible pop. Reaching for me, she engages me in a kiss, our tongues tangling. Time slips away. Five, ten, fifteen minutes? I hammer until I'm dizzy, dripping in sweat. My seed is surging forward.

  I'm close.

  Fiona tears her lips from mine. My mouth is raw and swollen. It's like we're ravenous for a last meal we may never receive again. That shit isn’t going to happen.

  She's mine.

  "Grif," she pants, "Brace for it."

  Brace for what?

  Like a brutal fist, Fiona's sex chokes my shaft, freezing me in place. She screams my name. And then, she erupts, her cum arcing before slamming into my chest like a creamy waterfall. My brain short circuits. I struggle to process what's happening even as my cock has received the message in Dolby© surround sound.

  Fiona squirts.

  I thought I was ready... but damn.

  Nothing. And I mean nothing, could have prepared me for the force of Fiona's juices splashing on my skin.

  I've heard about women who shoot their own load, but I’ve never had the pleasure. Her feminine ejaculate is dripping down my chiseled abs. It's the steamiest, sexiest, nastiest thing. I want a repeat.

  "Shit, Fiona," I groan, just as I gush inside her. I'm coming, and coming, and coming. Removing my condom, I cover her sex in my seed, like a rich, thick gravy from a bottomless ladle until it's trailing between her quivering ass cheeks.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After the last round of sex, Griffin carries my spent ass into the shower. I'm lethargic and satiated; and so confused. Feelings, I mean dumb shit like Griffin with a frizzy black Afro singing Three Times A Lady© to me is banging around in my head.

  How can I stop the barrage of possibly happy endings from pelting me with white rice and designer wedding dresses? Yes, that’s how fucked up my head is after fucking this man... again. I asked for this, right? But, his life is settled, while mine is... I don’t know—a soot-covered Phoenix ascending from the ashes of one wrong man after another. But damn, when he touches me, it’s with a reverent caress that I can’t get enough of. And though I want to deposit his every glance, his every smile, I know once I step on that plane in two days, my account will register zero.

  Wordlessly, Griffin soaps my breasts, my belly, and he’s gentle with all the tender places. And they are too numerous to count. He rode my pussy like a machine, yet his eyes tell me he’s connected with me on every stroke, every groan, and every passionate cry. I have no experience with a man like Griffin, but I want to study at his feet. Learn what pleases him, and add in a few tricks of my own.

  “That feels nice,” I moan, wrapping my hands around his waist. I know its crazy, but I’m wet, and I’m not talking with water.

  His grunt gets tangled in the cascade of the waterfall shower.

  He drops down to his haunches, lathering up my ass, down my thighs, and over my calves. I gasp when he lowers to one knee on the tile. Lifting my foot, he places my bare foot on his steely thigh cleansing the sole thoroughly before offering the other the same attention. Done with my lower half, he efficiently cleans himself, pumping his semi-erection in frothy hands. Under my blatant gaze, he lengthens. He dons a condom I didn’t realize he had. Seconds later, his hands are back on me.

  I gasp when he cups my waist in his large hands, flexes those corded biceps, and lifts. On instinct, I wrap my legs around his waist locking my ankles over his rock-hard ass. With my arms crossed behind his neck, he takes us under, and as the water crashes down over our heads, his erection probes my entrance.

  “Ah, about that thing that happened on the table. When I came.” He seemed cool with it and I don’t ejaculate with every orgasm. But, Griffin possesses a magic stick.

  “You can cover me in your lady spooge anytime.”

  My mouth pops open when he breaches me, gliding home, and stretching my tender walls to maximum capacity. This time, even though no words are passed between us, our lovemaking is slow and emotional. His eyes met mine and it’s like he sees beyond my words, beyond my body. I feel the caress of his fingers on my soul. This time when I come, I give him a well-guarded treasure I never considered he had the power to reach. My heart.

  When we enter his bedroom the sun is setting, a soft stream of moonlight spills across the bed.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “No.” I’m too undone to eat. How could I have anticipated feeling this man at every juncture of my being? He’s filling me in places I never realized were empty. I’m thirty-nine years old; too mature to leap before I look.

  “Then we talk.”

  He pulls back the cover and gestures for me to get in. Bending one knee, I climb up, his hand caressing my ass. He tucks me in, then walks around the other side. With his thick arm that I love the weight of around my waist, he pulls me in close. He spoons my naked ass, using my apple bottom to cradle his softening cock.

  “I want more, Fiona.”

  I don’t pretend to misunderstand. This rightness, I feel it too. But I also know it can be fleeting.

  “You think you do.” My words aren’t harsh, they are realistic. Sex, especially, the intense kind of passion that Teddy and I share, lures women like me into a false sense of forever.

  “When I was on the battlefield, I never really thought about the future. I knew my career in the Army would end one day, but you never see yourself getting hurt.”

  His body is ridged behind mine, and I cover the arm around my waist with my hand, stroking his hairy arms. “You never see what your life is like on the other side of an injury, Fiona.”

  In his truth, I see my own. We both are adrift and have found a safe harbor in each other. I think about the scars I've seen on his left leg; how careful he is with his walk. He's deliberate with where he places his foot. And I think he probably shouldn’t be carrying my big ass around.

  “I’m glad you’re alright,” I murmur, not sure what else I can offer.

  “Why?”

  “Because we are friends and I care about you.”

  He snorts. “If you care, then don’t fuck me over.”

  I stiffen. He doesn’t. Griffin is all about straight talk and his honesty should leads to respond in kind, but I remain silent.

  “Tell me about your last relationship,” he commands. “The one that ended around the time you joined N2U.”

  “Okay.” I swallow, knowing all after-sex roads inevitably lead back to conversations about former lovers. “We met when I accepted a temporary contract at the University of California, Endurance. He was a single d
ad with a fifteen-year-old son. We had a hot and heavy affair. When my contract ended he asked me to relocate from San Diego to Endurance to take a position at his non-profit.”

  “Endurance? Never heard of it.”

  “It's about five to six hours north of San Diego, close to Sacramento.”

  “Keep talking.”

  I did and it got easier as the words filled the quiet stillness, his soft exhale bathing the shell of my ear in warmth. It felt natural to share this with him and a relief.

  “I was sure about our relationship. Hopeful. I enjoyed being a pseudo-wife and a mother. Nine months later he and his pregnant janitor burst into our house. She’s wearing the engagement ring that should’ve been mine and he’s telling me to pack. To minimize the drama, he called the cops, who stood by while I loaded my suitcases and furniture onto the sidewalk.”

  The humiliation still stung. I refused to cry or admit how terrified I’d been. Losing everything at once had been the worst.

  “Fucker,” Griffin hisses.

  “Yeah, men don’t think how their lying and cheating can devastate a woman. I mean... he had me in his house, raising his kid, while he was fucking his help.”

  “Tell me his name and I’ll kick his ass.”

  “Ha-ha, I’m good. Luckily, I have friends in town. Ivy, Autumn, and Kelby sent their husbands over to help store my stuff. I stayed for one month or so. Long enough to locate a roommate back in San Diego and get my life back in order.”

  “You’re beautiful and resilient. You deserve a fucking medal for not killing that a-hole. If you’re worried, Fiona, I’d never do any shit like that to you.”

  I smirk. “You’ll never have the opportunity.”

  “We're good together. We have been from the beginning.”

  I chuckle. “From the beginning of what? We talk online, Griffin.”

  “The point is...” he captures my chin, “we can talk,” he says a little too gruff. “I know you tell me things you don't tell anyone else, Fi. I didn't know what to expect from this weekend. But now that you're here, I want you to stay longer.”

  “Griffin, I have a life back in San Diego.”

  “Do you? You don't have a job or a man.” He’s right. And never is it more apparent what these burgeoning feelings for him might indicate. “You could have both here.”

  So he had overheard my conversation with Mandy.

  “I have something else lined up back in San Diego.” I have enough money saved to focus on my writing for the next year. I was in no rush to get back to work.

  “I like you, Fiona.”

  “I like sleeping with you, too.”

  “You know I really hate that shit. When you change the subject and I'm being serious.”

  “I'm serious when it comes to keeping you underneath me.”

  “Think about it,” he says.

  I hear when his breathing changes and he falls into a deep sleep. And here in his arms, all I do is think: I want more too.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When I awake, the spot next to me in the bed is empty.

  Fiona.

  My mind shoots from zero to sixty, and I’m out of bed ready to execute a tactical recovery mission. That’s when I notice a thin wedge of light entering the dark space from the living room. Bare-assed I stride through the open door and come to a complete stop.

  Lizzo plays from the smartphone propped on the wood coffee table. Fiona’s eyes are closed, but with a pen in hand, her fingers are flying across a legal pad, a mythical scribe recording a tale only she can see. One of my white button-downs cover her arms and she hadn’t bothered to secure not one eyelet.

  “Hey what are you doing out of bed?” She quickly moves to cover-up, what I assume, is her manuscript. Is she shy about her work? It’s not that. Fiona is bold with life; it’s one of the traits that attract me to her.

  "Reading... that's all." She gestures to the kitchen table. “I reviewed your financial plan. The... the initial funding targets are sound. My recommendations are divided into sixty-day intervals for the first six months, and then transition to quarterly.”

  So, she’s hiding from me. I don’t like it. On impulse, I grab her phone, press my face next to hers, and snap a picture.

  "I love to read," I say, watching for her reaction. Will she insert another stumbling block?

  She quirks a brow. "Which genre?"

  I shrug. “All of them.”

  She meets my hungry gaze, then slowly spreads her legs. "Erotic romance," she whispers.

  My dick shoots to attention.

  “Hell yeah, woman. Bring it on.” I pull a Prince Harry, biting my own damn lip at the sight of Fiona’s plump snatch. “You are a living, breathing erotic dream.”

  Her eyes widen is surprise. Did she expect me to scoff or minimize her dream of becoming a published author? Why would a college-educated woman want to read stories where she encounters a man who's committed to her happiness and interested in more than getting her drawers down around her ankles? I'm kind of curious.

  "So, you don’t think a college-educated woman who reads and writes about finding love and happiness is a waste of literary talent?”

  Now I’m curious about the type of responses she’s received from other people in her life. No one should have the power to crush her dreams. I, for damn sure, am in her corner.

  “Fuck no,” I say, adamant in my defense. “People watch movies with plenty of butt naked fucking and kissing without one word of criticism. Why should it matter if it’s in print with more details?”

  Fiona nods in agreement. “And,” she pauses, “you've actually read a romance novel?"

  "More than one, thank you very much.”

  Fiona closes her legs and folds them beneath her. The sexy vixen retreats and in her place, a woman eager to learn more about me emerges. This is the real connection moment—beyond the bedroom—I’ve been seeking since the hotel, so I continue. “My mom was a librarian. There is no way she would allow a literary snob in her house."

  She hugs both her knees and I wish it was me in the cradle of her arms. "God bless your mom."

  “I'd like to think that He has. She has two successful sons, one beautiful daughter-in-law—I’m working on number two—and a granddaughter that she adores. We try and spend more time with her now that my father is gone.”

  She nods, but there’s sadness making the movement stiff. "That's really considerate of you."

  "My mom is alone, too." Her tone changes and I notice.

  "Oh, I got the impression she had a man."

  She hisses, not hiding the contempt she feels for the man in her mom’s life.

  "My mom has been involved with a married man for thirty-three years. He's a well-known pastor back at home. She's devoted to him."

  "Whoa.” I can’t hide my shock. The Catholic Church may receive the media coverage, but I suppose all organizations with a tenant of absolute authority resting with one human being can fall into a predatory culture. It was clear, Fiona and her mother have been victimized by a man who had taken a vow to protect them. “How was that growing up?"

  She looks away. "I try not to think about my mom's choices, too afraid I may be repeating her mistakes.”

  “Not with me,” I say, my voice firm.

  She smiles and her posture relaxes. “Not you, Teddy,” she muses, “but, it’s funny how adult women treated me and my mother the same." Instantly, I’m pissed off on her behalf imagining the kind of insults hurled at her because of her mother’s weakness. "I survived."

  But, she’s hurting and the ass-wipe who called the cops and put her out in Endurance couldn’t have helped her self-image. She’s sprawled sideways across the couch. I lift her feet, settle on the couch, and then deposit her bare legs over my hairy thighs.

  "I get what you are saying, but Fiona...” I pause. “You have to recognize you are not like the woman who raised you." I don’t need more details to know I speak the truth. Our time together is limited. I refuse to dwell on old
shit that tore her up inside, so I change course and speed. "Tell me about your book."

  We've ventured into uncharted territory with each other in so many areas. Why not discuss her writing?

  "Nobody said it was my book."

  “Well, it’s on yellow paper, loose at that. I hope you didn't pay full price?"

  Rearing up she swats at my naked chest. "You are too smart for your own damn good." She laughs.

  "I'll tell my mother you said that. When did you start writing?"

  "I tried my hand at writing a non-fiction book right after college. I don't think it was bad, but Amanda started yawning about halfway through the first page. And Lucy, the momma in our quartet, started humming which is always a bad sign."

  I stroke my blunt fingertips down her legs. She smirks a little and I’m trying to figure out if she’s wiggling to get away or move in closer.

  "Tell me what you are writing about," I whisper.

  I feel my pressure rising, my blood slowly boiling at her nearness. Those calves I love, brush up against my boner and she giggles. The little minx likes to play. Don’t poke the bear, baby.

  "I woke up inspired, so I’m making some changes to the original storyline.”

  I’ve known about her book from the beginning. It’s good to see her working on it, considering she was in a creative slump. Inwardly I grin, thinking I might be the muse for one of her book boyfriends.

  “It's about a single woman who refuses to settle." It's becoming difficult to focus. Her voice has taken on a husky quality. Arousal. "She's had enough of waiting for men to acknowledge that she's awesome. So she goes out and claims the life that she wants. No apologies."

  "She sounds like a pretty kick-ass heroine." With one hand I reach over, rubbing one finger along her jawline and down her neck. Her pulse is hammering.

  "She's amazing."

  I’m looking at her, I think. Her gaze meets mine. I can't tell what she's thinking but the desire radiating from her makes my dick dance around.