by Piper Rayne
“Crystal.” He slides his hand down my arm, eliciting goose bumps in its wake and escorts me out of Surfer Tacos with his hand in mine.
I glance back at the table and wave. Teegan tries to wave me over but no way am I delaying myself one moment of being this guy’s sole attention. He’s exactly what I need to turn this day around.
2
Sophie
We climb into a beat-up Bronco with two surf boards sticking out the back, his wetsuit hanging off one. I’ve never been with a surfer guy before but I’m digging the whole vibe. It makes me feel like I’m eighteen again.
After stopping at the liquor store, I give him directions to my apartment. I’m glad he hasn’t tried to suggest we go to his place. I’m more in control this way. The only downside is that I can’t sneak out in the middle of the night. But who am I kidding? This guy isn’t the type to hang around except for maybe a free breakfast.
“I have an early morning,” I say on our way up the stairs.
“Cool.”
I insert my key and gesture for him to go in ahead of me. He places the beer we bought in the fridge like he’s here all the time.
“Want to go out on my balcony?” I ask when he brings me over a beer.
“I thought you’d have me strapped to the bed already,” he laughs and nods toward the balcony.
“I should probably know at least five things about you before I sleep with you.”
He chuckles. “You already know five things.”
“Which would be?”
“I like beer, I like tacos, I surf, I own a Bronco and I love brunettes.” His wicked smile melts my insides. Now that we’re here I can’t believe that this gorgeous man is in my apartment.
I do all right on the dating front, but this guy’s looks are next level. All my lady parts are lit up wondering when he’s going to give them some attention.
“True enough.”
“Your turn.”
“You want to know five things about me?” I sit down on a chair and he sits down in what is usually only Teegan’s chair.
“I think it’s only fair, no?”
“True. Okay. Um… I’m brunette.”
“No physical qualities,” he says, tipping his beer back.
I nod. “I like beer.” I hold up the bottle. “I like tacos.” He nods and rolls his eyes.
“I must like surfers, especially the abs.” He lifts his shirt and I wouldn’t be surprised if drool drips out of my mouth. “I live in an apartment. And… my parents are divorced.”
He pauses bringing the beer to his mouth and I inwardly reprimand myself for revealing something too personal. Let’s call this what it is. A hookup.
“Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Nah, as long as you’re not expecting me to divulge my shit.”
The journalist in me perks up. Now I want to ask him all the questions. What made you want to wake up at an ungodly hour to surf? Why do you crave the peace of being in the cold water before most of the world has woken up? Are you from California or were you a Midwest boy who grew up with cows and corn only to find your love for the ocean once you arrived in Los Angeles?
“What are you thinking about now?” He asks with curiosity instead of the annoyance I’m used to from people when my mind wanders. I don’t really want to tell him I’m a journalist though because he might get some weird notion that I’m actually a professional or something and this guy doesn’t seem like he’d be into that. Not that I’m all about changing myself for a guy, but the goal here is to get laid.
“Nothing.” I shake my head.
“So, anymore rules you need fulfilled?” He slips off his vans and straightens his long legs out, so his feet press to the railing of my balcony. Even his legs are sexy.
“No. Do you have any rules?”
He takes a moment to think about it. “Everything I want to know, I will. Soon. Want to come over here and sit on my lap?” He lowers his legs and pats his lap.
My patio furniture is exactly what you would expect. Cheap and beat up. So, the fact that I could sit on his lap and the chair might just crumble into pieces is a genuine concern. But because I’m eager to see how he feels, I stand and slip off my own sandals, sitting with my back to his chest, extending my legs so that my feet press to the wrought-iron railing too.
The one good thing about my tiny apartment is that I have a sunset view. As the sun descends in the sky in front of us, it’s only the rise and fall of Trent’s chest on my back that I feel. It’s nice to lay here with him appreciating the sky illuminated with golden hues.
“This is my favorite part of the day,” he says in a low voice beside my ear.
I turn slightly and our lips are so close I assume he’ll break the distance and we’ll kiss then move into something else that will entail moving this small party of two inside before we give my neighbor, Creepy Cliff, a peep show. But he doesn’t kiss me, and my lips continue to itch for the feel of his on them.
“I thought it would be sunrise.”
He nods. “Second favorite is sunrise. But there’s something about sunsets and the close of a day. Like you made it through. Closure.”
For a guy who didn’t want to share much with me, his words speak volumes. Why would it be a struggle to make it through the day for a guy like him? Is that why he took the simple path of being a surfer guy?
“I never thought about it like that. Are you a philosopher?”
He sets his beer down and stretches his arms around my stomach. “Nah, I was a crap student.”
I nod although I wasn’t. I lived and died by my grades.
We watch in silence as the sun is halfway hidden by the horizon. I realize how good this feels, even if I didn’t expect to be cuddling this stranger once we got to my place. Is this what all my friends enjoy about being in a relationship? The quiet and the calm of being in someone’s arms? The difference being that the person holding them thinks they’re the best thing in their life. So, I’m slightly jealous of Teegan and Leo. Doesn’t mean I’d want that day in and day out. Someone to answer to. Someone to doubt whether they’re telling the truth.
“This is my favorite. When the sun is barely visible.” His fingers lift the hem of my shirt and run along my skin, right above the waistband of my pants. It’s a simple move that shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. Everything about this guy is turning me into a hot mess. “Just seconds until it’s over,” he whispers, and a shiver runs up the back of my neck.
I watch the sun disappear and though the sky now has streaks of pink and yellow, darkness will soon consume us.
“Do you watch it every night?” I ask.
He nods. “Pretty much. I live on the beach.” I don’t know if that makes him homeless or if it’s by choice, but my thoughts drift off because his lips brush against my neck. “Is this okay?” he asks, casting open mouth kisses up toward my ear, his fingers gliding up to rest just under my breasts.
“Yeah.” My voice is breathy and full of need given that the space between my legs is pulsing, begging for attention.
“Good.” He takes my earlobe between his teeth and nibbles while his hands glide over my breasts, over my bra. He kneads them and a soft moan escapes me. I guess we’re giving Creepy Cliff a little tease because I do not want to get up right now.
His growing erection bulges against my back, and his lips don’t stop moving. His one hand comes out from under my shirt, just to push my hair off my neck. Then his hand ventures back down, unbuckling my jeans and lowering my zipper. I suck in a breath when his hand slips under the elastic of my panties. He groans dipping one finger through the wetness in my folds. “Damn, you’re soaked.”
I say nothing because I’m not sure what to say. Praise him for being able to make me wet? I can’t imagine he’s ever been with a woman who wasn’t wet after he touched them.
His thumb slowly circles over my clit, and I squirm from pleasure. Like there’s slow-moving lava in my veins, I’m warm and soothed from the inside out
. When his fingers reach my opening, teasing along the rim, I buck from needing more.
He chuckles into my ear. His labored breath racketing up my need even further. “The way your body reacts to me... I fucking love it,” he says. “I could watch you like this all night.”
My head falls to his shoulder and my back moves back and forth on his chest while he continues to tease me. “I need more.”
“I know you do.”
“Like now.”
He chuckles again. “I know.” I hear the smile in his voice. He’s enjoying the act of torturing me and I can’t say I’m not. Usually I’m in charge. Telling the guy exactly how I want it and how to get me off, but Trent seems to know without words exactly where and how to touch me.
“Please,” I resort to begging which only spurs on his laughter more. He dips a finger into my opening arching it up and I buck into his hand. Using his palm, he pushes down on my clit, while I grind on it for the friction I need.
“There you go. Use me however you want.”
His words, his demeanor, his just entire aura is driving me to the edge. Like all he cares about is my pleasure and he’s happy to allow me to take whatever I want, however I want.
“Oh God. Please.” I raise my hips off his lap and his free hand tugs down the cup of my bra, his thumb and forefinger pinching my nipple so hard I come, my body shuttering and writhing from the pleasure while I cry out.
Once my breath has returned to normal, he asks, “Did that take the edge off?”
I nod, not able to speak just yet.
“Good. Now let’s go inside because the guy across the way is creepy as fuck.” He slides his hand out from pants and it takes everything in me not to whine about it.
“Creepy Cliff. Yeah.” My voice is rough.
“He’s got some spank bank material now.”
We walk inside my apartment, abandoning our beers on the outside table. Trent pulls the drapes over the windows and once he feels like we’re shielded from outsider’s eyes he turns to me. “Take off your clothes.” He strips his shirt off doing that sexy guy move where they grab the back of the collar and shrug it forward off their body.
Now I have spank bank material too.
I take no time to tear my shirt and bra off then shimmy out of my jeans. Just as I finish with my panties, he’s there naked just like me, his lips on mine, his hands on my ass, pulling me into his arms.
I jump and he catches me by the ass. I wrap my legs around his waist, his dick hard against my stomach. My eyes roll to the back of my head when he punctuates his hips and grinds his erection against my clit.
Somehow, he gets us into my bedroom, lowering me onto the bed. “You’re gorgeous,” he says.
That orgasm did nothing to wane my arousal for this man, so I open my legs, playing with myself to get him just as turned on as me. But he’s already got a condom in his hand. He tears it open and rolls it down his length without his eyes ever leaving mine.
Then he’s crawling on top of me and his dick thrusts into me. Tingles vibrate through my body as he slides into me without stopping. “Shit, you feel so damn good.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
He chuckles into my neck. Trent circles his hips at first, taking it slow until my fingernails dig into his shoulder and then he flips me over so I’m straddling him. “You seem like a take-charge kind of girl.”
Sinking down on his length I laugh. “This is my favorite position.”
He puts his arms behind his head and nods. “Then by all means, do your worst.”
And I do. I ride him until we’re both grunting, moaning, praising the other and falling into a sweaty mess side by side. Hands down the best sex of my life.
We have it three more times that night and lucky for Trent, I have my own condoms since he definitely didn’t come prepared to sleep with me more than once. The boy scouts should revoke his card. If he was even one. The thought is a reminder that I don’t really know this man.
After every limb of my body is achy and exhausted, I pass out with his arms wrapped around me. Turns out good dick will turn around a bad day.
3
Sophie
I stir awake to the diffused light coming in through the curtain. I stretch and feel deliciously sore. Last night was like a movie where a man somehow knows exactly how to please you. I’m sure all women are different so I’m still wondering how Trent figured me out so easily when I glance over and see the other side of the bed empty.
I should’ve figured but I can’t help but be disappointed that he left in the middle of the night without a goodbye.
That’s all you wanted last night, I remind myself. I might kid myself into thinking I want a relationship like my friends, but those don’t work without trust. I’ve tried a relationship before, and it just pissed the guy off because it would be a game of twenty questions when he returned from the store. If we ate at a restaurant and a hot girl walked in, I’d look to see if he was checking her out. I’m fully aware the problem is myself. But my parent’s relationship left its mark.
I get out of bed seeing it’s already seven o’clock. I have to be downtown by ten which means I better get showered and ready. But first comes coffee. I walk toward the kitchen and remembering the beer bottles we left outside, I open up the curtains and step out onto the balcony. I pick them up and startle when I hear my name.
“Hey, Soph,” Creepy Cliff says, watering his plants in his robe, black socks and sandals.
“Hey Cliff,” I say.
“Saw you had company last night?”
I nod while my face heats.
“I could have sworn it was Calder, but then I thought what on Earth would he be doing in your apartment?”
I nod, picking up the bottles. I don’t know who Calder is and whether he’s his friend or what, but I just want the hell out of here.
“I gotta get ready for work. Bye Cliff.” I wave and he looks like he’s about to say something else, but I smile and shut the patio door.
I dump the remaining backwash from the beers in the sink and place them in the recycling container then prepare the coffee and browse through my phone while I wait for it to brew.
Teegan has added some pictures on Instagram of her and Leo on a walk on the beach last night after dinner. It’s all cutesy and perfect as with everything she posts nowadays.
I click into my email because it’s safer than feeling jealous that everyone else is more normal than me when it comes to having a healthy relationship. There’s one from Henry telling me to make sure I’m there at ten and again, there’s a passive aggressive comment about not causing any waves. Whatever.
The coffee pot is halfway done when I quickly remove the pot and pour myself a cup, the drip burning on the bottom. But I’m desperate and need to get in the shower.
An hour later, I’m squeaky clean, looking respectable and in my car. Thankfully, I Ubered to Surfing Tacos last night otherwise I would’ve had to go out of my way to retrieve my car. I’d planned on getting drunk to console myself over my bad day, but I got Trent instead.
My vehicle is nothing special, but it’s not a hunk of junk either. My memory floats back to Trent’s truck, how although it was old, he kept it nice. Nicer than I would’ve assumed before he opened the door to the passenger seat for me.
As I sit in traffic, I wonder what his morning consists of. Surfing, drinking, no responsibility? It has to be a better life than mine. I’m always comparing myself to everyone else, unhappy with my job, and unsatisfied with my personal life. Even my yoga, Pilates and meditation classes can’t calm me or make me feel centered. I’ll admit it—I’m neurotic.
Though I realize now that Trent’s magic hands seemed to do the trick. It was like he was some magic corkscrew that popped all the stress out of me like a cork from a champagne bottle.
Every time he made me come, I felt more relaxed and more content than I can remember feeling in a really long time. Maybe ever.
My lady bits remember wi
th a pulse that ripples through my body, like it’s sighing, ah Trent.
A horn honks and I slam on my breaks forgetting where I am momentarily. I wave to the guy at my side and he smiles. He’s cute and based on his button-down shirt he’s probably on his way to a steady job. He’s driving a Prius which makes me think he’s probably really reliable. Unfortunately, because I’m not looking to be a missus, I veer away from men like that. I only end up disappointing them. I can’t fit my circle self into their square boxes.
Finally, a lifetime later, I arrive and park my car then walk into the studio under the sign that says “press.” I show my credentials and I snap a picture of me under the sign pointing to the timestamp and send it to Henry. I can’t help but smirk.
“Sophie!” I turn to see that Ian is here. He writes for Foodie, another local magazine that spotlights all the Los Angeles restaurants for foodies to get their food orgasms.
“Hey Ian.” I sit down and cross my legs, happy I chose pants because although it’s relatively warm compared to most of the country, Christmas is almost here and it’s chilly for us thin blooded peeps.
“I thought Carmine was doing the article,” he says.
I narrow my eyes for a moment. How would he know who was going to be here? He waves me off. He seems to know what I’m thinking because he says, “Carmine is seeing my buddy, so I’ve had to hear a lot of bullshit from him about your company.” He leans forward. “You know he’s taking over that publication after Henry retires, right?” He laughs because Henry will never retire. The thought of his nephew taking over gives me a shiver though.
“If that happens, I’m going for your job, Ian.” He chuckles. “I’m serious. Every man for himself.”
“I feel secure with my position, however, I heard that there’s an opening in the social media section. Interested?”
I shrug. To me, Foodie is a lateral shift. Their social media highlights the bakers and cooks who make all those addictive video clips where they’re frosting a cake and it’s accelerated at warp speed. At least with What’s Up LA, I get variety.