Lake Redstone

by Hollyfield, J. D.

  “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

  Yes, sir. I hope he knows any more friction is going to detonate my orgasm even quicker. My legs go around his waist, followed by another strangled moan. This position allows him to push even deeper into me, and a cry of ecstasy erupts up my throat. He suddenly flips us, and a squeal travels up my throat as I pop up on top and find myself now in control.

  “Fucking beautiful,” he pants, working my hips up and down over his hardness. My hands press against his pecs, my nails digging into his inked skin. My eyes work their way up his sexy chest until I capture his eyes. Lust. Hunger. Need. I suck in a lungful of air, feeling drunk on the rawness. It gives me the boost of confidence I need, knowing I’m causing those emotions. Closing my eyes, I slightly bend my neck back and ride him, each stroke leisured. I want to stay in control, but my orgasm is knocking at my door, ready to blow the entire house up around us. I start to work my hips faster, my lips parting as a slow moan releases.

  A growl deep inside Jim’s chest reverberates under my hands, and his grip around my waist tightens. He presses down on my hips, pushing his hips up until he’s so deep inside me, my legs tremble around him.

  “Oh, I’m not done with you yet,” he breathes before flipping us again, my back hitting the mattress. His eyes find mine, no doubt showing me he’s right there with me, hanging off the edge of oblivion. His hips pull back, and with all his strength, he powers into me, his mouth falling onto mine as he kisses me senseless. One, two…twenty—I lose count of how many times he dangles me over the ledge until finally, the world around us denotes into an explosive orgasm as we fly over the edge of ecstasy together.

  Casey

  Unlike my usual mornings, this one doesn’t have me waking from a dream where my libido gets screwed out of the screwing. The sun beating in from the window has my eyes fluttering open to see a set of real-life arms wrapped around my waist, resting against my ribcage. The warm body nestled behind me and feel of his chest rising and falling as he soundly sleeps has me sighing sheepishly into my pillow. In your face, Axl Rose and hot teacher. I wonder if those dreams would have even been as good as last night. I smirk into the pillow, trying to hide the blush spreading along my cheeks. Holy hot stallion—

  “What are you thinking about?” A deep voice tickles my eardrums. Warm lips press against my neck as Jim lays a slow kiss to my skin. I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of my boyfriend’s—my eyes shoot back open. Reality sets in like a freight train carrying a load of “oh my god, I had hot, crazy sex with my fake boyfriend last night and now we’re cuddling” reality, ready to crash and burn.

  “Uh, nothing, just…” Just that I have no idea how to act in this moment! Last night was hot and amazing and we both wanted it. I sure wanted it. But we’d been drinking. Our adrenaline was high due to our near-death experience. It’s morning, and everything is…normal. Is this where we both pretend we’ve made a huge mistake and run to the bathroom and never return? Do I roll over and ask him for round two? Do I pretend I have narcolepsy and start to snore?

  “Your tense body tells me you’re about to freak out. Probably tell me last night was a mistake and possibly elbow me in the balls, in which I’d tell you it wasn’t a mistake and to please spare my balls.”

  Oh, he’s good.

  “I wasn’t.” I totally was.

  “Well, if it matters, last night was amazing. I normally don’t let girls I don’t know take advantage of me, but it was well worth it—ouch!”

  My elbow meets his gut, and I twist in his arms. I expect to see pain in his eyes when I face him, but there’s humor there. “I did not take advantage of you,” I pout.

  “I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I remember you demanding I—shit!” he yelps as I take two fingers to his nipple, clamp hard, and twist. “Jesus, my poor nipple, what did it ever do to you?” He laughs, and before I can attack his other one, he flips me, my back landing on the mattress. He’s up and straddling me, hovering over me, his bare chest on full display. I’m trying to muster up my angry face, but my eyes can’t stay focused. “See something you like?” He continues to tease me, flexing his pecs.

  “Not a single—okay, knock it off!” Jesus he’s got a great chest. Even more so, his laugh is infectious, addictive. I want more and more and more of it. I can’t argue with what he’s saying. There was no holding back last night. I felt something, and I chose to explore it. And the deeper I went, I realized I wanted so much more.

  “Well, I’m pretty sure Mars can attest to the fact that you didn’t have a bad time yourself. Your moaning and grunting like a wild feline was heard on seven out of eight planets.” I wait for him to confirm or deny. Also, to call me out. I’m pretty sure the moaning was coming from me, and I sounded more like a pterodactyl. Sue me. It’s been a while since I’ve had a night like that, if ever.

  “Then the critics agree. Last night was totally worth it. And I’m glad it happened.” He smiles down at me. That little fluttering in my belly sweeps back into action, swarming into a small tornado. “I’m also hoping you won’t harm me in any way because I’m going to kiss you.”

  I don’t get the chance to reply. His lips find mine, and he does exactly as he said, slow, gentle, Nobel Prize worthy. My heart picks up, and my hands find his chest, sliding up until I’m threading my fingers into his thick hair. My voice betrays me as a soft moan slips from my lips and I tug him closer. Our lips part, and our tongues do a beautiful dance around one another. All too soon, he’s pulling away. If my grip locked around his hair is any sign I disagree with the end of this perfect kiss, I don’t know what is.

  His eyes find mine, holding the same glow as my own. “Don’t worry. There’s more where that came from.”

  Banging from the other side of the wall seizes our attention, followed by yelling. “Seriously! Stop. If I smell another fart, I’m going to murder you. God, did you eat a dead animal?” Another bang, possibly the sound of a shoe hitting the wall. “Sorry, I can’t help it. It had to have been from those stupid craft beers Mick made me drink,” Jerry argues. Another shoe hits the wall. “Oh my god, stop! Get out of here.”

  Ew!

  We both stare at one another a second longer before bursting into a fit of laughter. The next door over opens and slams. Nothing like killing the moment with the mental picture of suffocation by death farts.

  “Not sure I have enough game to get back on track after that—”

  “Yeah. No one does.”

  He chuckles and slides his fingers under my t-shirt. I peek down remembering I’m actually in his shirt and it’s somehow hiked up past my navel. “You truly are lucky, ya know?” His thumbs caress my skin, sending a heat wave down to my toes. “Some people never find that one true friend, let alone a whole squad of them.”

  “What do you mean?” I’m trying to ignore the building temptation to flip him and attack.

  “When I was growing up, I didn’t have many friends. I was an only child, so I basically spent a lot of time alone. My parents traveled a lot, so I had a nanny. She was the closest person to me, but who wants to say their best friend was their live-in caretaker? Anywho, I didn’t make friends easily, and any time I did, they would get run off by my father. He wanted me to be portrayed as this intellectual kid. He didn’t think hanging out with anyone less prestigious was in my best interest. We—he came from money, so ‘no kid of his was going to slum it with the lower class.’ Couldn’t have the Harrison kid hanging out with heathens.”

  He pauses to take a breath. His story surprises me. Never would I have expected he came from money. He doesn’t act like it, nor dress like it.

  “I was a junior in high school when I met Jameson. He was everything my father despised. He came from a shitty family. Chose when he wanted to show up to school. Smoked more pot than Bob Marley. But he was my friend. My only friend. He gave a shit. He was there when my parents weren’t. When I felt like I had no one. He may have come from nothing, but he had more passion and drive for lif
e than anyone I knew.” He stops to brush a strand of hair away from my face. “Anyway, the way you all are, it reminds me of him.”

  My heart is heavy for him. His solemn eyes cloud with emotion sharing this part of his life with me. “It sounds like Jameson is a great friend.”

  “Was. He died right after we graduated high school.”

  There’s a shadow of pain behind his deep-set eyes. “Oh, Jim, I’m so sorry.” My hands lift to cover the bare skin over his heart.

  “It’s okay. Long time ago.”

  “Doesn’t mean it still doesn’t affect you.”

  “I owe him so much. He should be here. Not me.” He shakes his head. “Fuck, sorry. Didn’t mean to get all depressing on you. It’s…I guess I’ve never really shared this story with anyone.”

  My hands find his face, caressing his warm cheek, the days’ worth of stubble tickling my palm. “Can I ask how he died?”

  “Car accident. He shouldn’t have been out that night. My father and I got into a fight. A nasty one. I was so sick of him trying to run my life. He never cared about my dreams or aspirations. He couldn’t see past the plans he set for me. The rich son following his rich father’s footsteps. I didn’t want to run his company. I could give a rat’s ass about money or image. He said I’d do what he wanted or he’d cut me off. So, I told him to go to hell and took a swing at him. My mom was hysterical, and I took off. Found myself at a party drinking and getting high. I passed out and some chick went through my phone and called the first person in my contacts, which was Jameson. It was close to two in the morning when he came and picked me up. I barely remember because I was so messed up. A truck driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and hit us. Broke my arm, nose, and cracked some ribs. Jameson was dead before help even arrived.”

  My heart cracks. His pain. The sorrow in his eyes. The reliving that night by retelling his story. I should have never asked. “Oh, Jim, I shouldn’t have made you tell—”

  “Hey, I didn’t tell you to feel sorry for me. I just…I’ve never really talked about it, and I felt—”

  “Thank you for sharing with me,” I tell him, wanting to wrap my arms around him. Would that be weird? Are we even on that level where it’s okay for me to comfort him?

  “What about you? What’s your story?”

  Topic change. Totally get it.

  “I don’t really have one. Boring upbringing, even more boring—”

  “June mentioned something about your own dad.”

  Dang it, June! “Would it be corny to admit we kind of have the same story?”

  “Not at all,” he says.

  “My dad was pretty similar to yours. Successful. Pushed me into going to law school. He wanted me to do anything but what I wanted, which was discover myself and let my cards fall into place on their own. He was never around, so he barely knew me. Had no idea I hated the thought of becoming a lawyer or a doctor. I wanted to travel, become an artist, even though I’d never picked up a brush. Thought about becoming an actress. I wanted to be whatever my heart led me to be. Daddy Dearest didn’t feel the same way. The more he tried to control me, the more I acted out. Fast forward a bunch of years of rebellion later, I’m still trying to find myself and I haven’t spoken to my dad in years. If you don’t count the birthday cards he sends with my mom’s forged signature.”

  “Wow,” he says, then dips down to place his lips on mine for a soft, quick kiss. “Our stories are similar.” Another peck. “Sure we don’t have the same dad?”

  “We could—wait, what! Ew!” I slap his side. His chuckle is deep and sexy as he blocks another whack by capturing my arm and raising it above my head.

  “I’m kidding. Don’t beat me. I’ll do whatever you want.” His smile is so darn infectious. He bends forward for another kiss, then lays next to me. Together, we rotate onto our sides to face one another. “Will you tell me more about you?”

  “What do you want to know? All things will lead to disappointment. I’m kinda, as you can already see, a hot mess.”

  His finger brushes over my lips. “Beautiful disaster has a better ring to it.”

  My lips curl into a grin. “I can handle that. But for real, I don’t really know what to say. I don’t have any great stories. I haven’t done anything to be proud of. Actually…there was this one time on Cinco de Mayo—”

  “How about twenty questions? You ask me a question, and I ask you. We’ll feel like we’ve known each other our whole lives before breakfast is even served.” His legs find mine under the covers and tangle around me, tugging me to snuggle closer. “I’ll even let you go first,” he says, threading his fingers inside the shirt of his I’m wearing, brushing against my bare skin.

  I’m a little nervous at what questions he wants to ask me. But even more intrigued at the questions starting to form in my mind. I tuck my hands under my cheek and wiggle my toes in between his. “Okay. I’ll play. How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two.” Damn, okay. Two years older than me. I can handle that.

  “What’s the last craziest thing you’ve done?”

  This one’s easy. “Hiring a guy to play my boyfriend.” I laugh, and he joins me.

  “Fair enough. Your turn.”

  Hmmm…I don’t know whether to go straight to the deep end or start slow, like his favorite color or— “Last time you had sex?”

  “Six hours ago.”

  “No! That’s not what I meant!” I really need to stop hitting him. He covers his head when my hand bonks off his forearm. “Answer the question.”

  “I did. You can be more specific in your next one. My turn. When was the last time, before me, you were with a guy?”

  My mouth drops open. Cheater! Embarrassment flushes across my face as I answer. “About a year. But! It’s not because I can’t get a guy. I might not have much going for me, but I still have my morals intact.” And considering I slept with a guy I’ve known for only forty-eight hours, I can use that black kettle now. “My turn. What do you do for a living?”

  His brows go up. “Ahhh, don’t want to know my answer?”

  “Nope, it doesn’t matter.”

  He eyes me for a second before answering. “About a year myself, even if you don’t want to know, and I own a bar.”

  Shut the front door! “You own a bar?”

  “Are you asking another question? You skipped my turn.”

  I roll my eyes and maneuver my legs so I take his captive. “It was rhetorical. That’s awesome, how come you never mentioned it?”

  “Because I’m supposed to be a rich, jet-setter feeding you steak. My turn. Do you really even like steak?”

  At that, I laugh. “I actually do like steak, but I prefer a good, juicy burger. Sweet potato fries over regular, and butter pickles over dill.” He smiles and nods, accepting my answer. “My turn. How do you know so much about music?”

  His response is fast. “I play in a band.”

  Oh, come on! “Now you’re just pulling my chain.”

  “No chain. Only the heartstrings of adoring fans. I play guitar and am lead vocals for an alternative band. Jameson got me into it when we were kids. He handed me a guitar one day and I never put it down. I manage the bar and set up gigs when I can.” Why did he just get a billion times hotter? Hot, magic with his hands, owns a bar—like music to my ears! “Come by sometime and I’ll give you free cover.”

  “Oh, wow, thanks! Going all out.” I fake being annoyed. A wave of silence falls over us. He’s staring at me, making me nervous about his next question.

  “What are your plans after this weekend?”

  And there it is. Short question, lifelong answer. One I don’t have a reply for. What are my plans after this? Probably go home and continue being a loser. Pretend I have all these aspirations when I still can’t figure out my place. “I don’t know. Maybe find a job. Get a haircut. I was thinking about getting a pet. But they say if you can’t keep a plant—”

  “What are your plans with us?”

  …alive.
Fraggle rock! I don’t…I… “That’s two questions,” I say, trying to bide myself some time. I’ve never been one to speak my mind—in a good way, that is—so I don’t know how to honestly tell him what I want to happen. That he follows through with that date he talked about. To see if this strange way we met can blossom into something real. That he envelops himself in my life and doesn’t run scared soon after. They all sound like great answers, too bad I chicken out and turn the tables on him. “My turn. What do you plan on doing with us after this weekend?” Gah! There, I said it. I bite down on my tongue, waiting for his reply. I start counting down from ten, swearing if he doesn’t reply by the time I get to one, I’m jumping ship. Five, four, three—

  “Hmmm, I’ll probably check in with work. Make sure the bar ran smoothly while I was away. Read my mail. Take a nap.” Okay, I’m about to whack him. “A juicy burger does sound nice, so I’ll wait the proper three to five days so I don’t appear too interested, then call a girl who scared me at first, but found a way to really impress me, and ask her out on the date I promised. I’ll cross my fingers she says yes, ’cause even though she’s super violent, I’m starting to really dig her. She has great taste in bikinis, did I mention that?”

  My hand twitches to slap his shoulder, but his comment reminds me I need to calm it. “She sounds like a real catch. Hope she picks up when you call.” I throw humor back at him, and a squeal erupts from my throat as he pounces on me, throwing my back against the mattress.

  “I hope so too. I’d hate to suck down that juicy burger and double order of sweet potato fries with honey mustard dipping sauce and a side of pickles all by my lonesome. And I bet she’s a strawberry shake kinda girl too.”

  Jesus, I don’t know what arouses me more: the way his body straddles mine, the hazed over glaze in his eyes as his fingers brush along the exposed skin around my navel, or the way he described that damn burger and fries. My libido votes the hot guy on top of me, but my stomach, which decides to growl something fierce, chooses the burger.