by Anne Leigh
“What?” Her voice was small, the greens in her eyes were more prominent than the brown hues, and she looked so tiny against my big-ass black leather couch.
“You heard me,” I said, my voice harsh. I was done with cloaking the venom of my anger, but for her sake, I repeated, “I said, strip.”
“Like my clothes?”
“You have fifteen seconds to strip down to nothing or I will do it for you,” I commanded. I’d never felt the itch to spank a woman, but then again I’d never been with Bridgette.
“Oh-kay.” Doubt littered all over her voice, but she stood up against the rustic green Grecian rug that the interior decorator had placed in the space between the couch and entertainment center. Lea said it would exude homey-ness, and I agreed because it made my place look a notch below the ultimate bachelor pad. It was nice to have a few feminine touches here and there.
Though right now, I couldn’t help but admire the view of Bridgette’s tiny toes bare against my rug.
They were painted light blue with stars on them and the sight of them made my mouth water.
I was still reeling with anger, but it was slowly being overtaken by desire.
She lowered her jeans and the sight of the lacy black panties covering her pussy made my cock harder than a metal pole.
Fuck, she was luscious.
She was small, but she was all curves.
I’d touched her boobs many times now, and they were more than a handful.
The fire in her eyes was now spitting embers at me. She’d gone from a clueless woman to one who was now filled with challenge.
The next article to go was her top and as she lifted her hands to grab the edges of her blouse and slowly loop it away from her neck to remove it, I couldn’t wait to touch her silky skin with my fingers.
But I remained in my spot.
A few feet away from her, savoring the delicious creature unwrapping herself for me.
At my command.
Now standing in her lacy bra and panties, her eyes issued a dare, her voice was steady, “You want me to take it all off?”
My throat bobbed and I said, “All of it.”
I was punishing her, but now I was the one being punished.
She folded her arms in the back to unclasp her bra and the sight of those gorgeous breasts were enough to make me weak in the knees.
“Fuck,” I eked out, my hands going to my shirt and taking it off.
Her hands lingered on the only black lace covering her body and before she could take them off, I closed the gap between us.
My big hands spanned her spine and slowly I lowered us to the couch.
I skimmed the soft skin of her back as she whispered, “Scott…”
“Yeah,” I answered. Gone was the anger that harbored inside of me. In its place was the lust that I’d been carrying on for her.
I’d been waiting.
I’d been patient for her to finally see me as someone who she could possibly be in a relationship with.
She wasn’t a casual fling.
She wasn’t a one-time girl.
“I want you.” Her words launched the raging wildfire inside of me into a full-blown explosion. “Please, Scott.”
The way she said my name, I wanted to hear it that way always.
Over and over again.
My hands grazed her face and I pressed a kiss to her right earlobe.
Teasing it, sucking it, rolling the tiny skin around my tongue.
We’d made out a lot and I knew that she liked this.
I lowered my hands to her arms as I continued paying attention to that part of her ear, her neck arched back and my tongue traveled lower. As I licked her neck, I tasted coconuts and berries. The combination so unexpected, much like the woman in front of me.
She was smart, but she was oblivious about the way she made me feel.
She was beautiful, but she wanted to meld into the background.
She was shy, but she was outspoken about things that she was passionate about.
My lips grazed her left nipple and she let out an, “Ohhhh…”
I loved sucking on her nipples. They were succulent and ripe and they felt amazing on my tongue. I especially liked seeing the way the skin around her nipples turned darker after I’d sucked on them for a long time.
Her hands grabbed my hair and her legs opened up, the scent of her arousal reaching my nose.
It was musky and sweet and deciding that my hands couldn’t wait any longer, I pushed her panties to the side and caressed the skin that covered her center.
A long groan of need came out of her mouth, “Scott…please.”
My voice was muffled since her right boob was still inside my mouth. “What do you want?”
I knew what she wanted, but I wanted her to let me know.
“Touch me.” She asked, a plea in her voice, “Please.”
“No.” I shook my head, “You’ve been a naughty girl. You’re gonna have to wait.”
I wasn’t going to give her the release that she wanted. Not until I could hold out.
From the way my cock was trying to find a way out of my jeans, I knew it wasn’t going to be any longer but hey, I got to try.
I continued sucking and licking on her breasts, savoring the precious globes in my hands. I took my time with them, wanting to know them just a little bit better. I was familiar with the way her skin pebbled when she was aroused, and the way she squirmed against my right hand. My hand that was still grazing the front of her pussy, not daring a finger to enter her, knew that she was aching for release.
My tongue continued its assault on the other breast and once I determined it was enough, I slowly tucked my hands into the sides of her lace panties.
“Lift up,” I commanded, her ass rising as I lowered the lace away from her body and down to the floor.
At the sight of her uncovered pussy, the landing strip faint in the center, I muttered a heated, “Fuck.”
She was shimmering with wetness, and I felt my cock dripping with pre-cum.
I swallowed a thick gulp of air to gain some composure.
“God, Bridgette – you’re so beautiful.” This time, I looked up at her.
Her hazel eyes were thick with emotions and her lips, still untouched by my mouth, opened to say, “Have me.”
I nodded my head and said, “You and me…we’re not nothing.”
My cock was dying from a case of blue balls, but I wanted her to know, before we did this, that she was not nothing to me.
Her eyes glimmered with understanding. “Okay.”
“Say it, babe.” I said, my fingers hovering around her naked pussy, “Say it.”
“We’re not nothing,” she acquiesced, her voice hoarse with the pleasure I was denying her from completing.
“Good –“ As I plunged a thick finger inside of her.
“Aaahhh…” Her soft moans became louder and she grinded on my finger, riding it, using it for her pleasure.
I used my thumb to circle her clit as I pushed another one inside of her. Then as fast as I pushed them in, I took them out.
“Nnnnooo,” her voice broke out in despair. The emptiness I was leaving her with was unbearable, but I didn’t want my fingers to have all the fun. I raised the fingers slick with her fluids to my mouth, “You taste so good.”
Her mouth opened and her hands clamped to my head, pulling me in to kiss her on her mouth.
Fuck.
I’d never been this hard in my life.
Our tongues tangled, suckling, kissing, licking. Her moans were caught inside my mouth as I let my fingers do all the work, rubbing, entering her pussy, pulling out, pushing them in, curling them under so she could find her pleasure.
Her body started to vibrate with need and this time, I added another finger.
Her pussy walls contracted to accommodate the intrusion, and slowly I moved my fingers. Slow, fast, slow, in, and out.
Her breaths were quicker and as she reached her climax, her mouth cla
mped on my left shoulder and her teeth sank into my skin.
Hard.
And I was ready to come on that spot.
Her eyes were glazed with passion and as I removed my fingers from her heat, I felt her hands around my face.
“Take me to your bed.” She was telling not asking and I was in no shape or form to deny her.
I carried her naked body twenty steps to my bedroom, and within the span of that time her lips gently nibbled and grazed my jaw.
She was emanating so much heat even after her release that I found my body responding to her needs, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before I burned from the inside.
“Condom,” I said, it wasn’t a question. I was just stating the fact that I was protecting her first and foremost. From anything that she didn’t want. I practiced safe sex, every single time.
Her lips opened and then closed.
She was now straddling me as I sat on top of my bed. My boxers and jeans were scattered all over the floor, it was a struggle to get them off, but it was a battle that I won.
“What is it, Bridge?” I croaked, because if she didn’t want to do this right now, I wasn’t going to force her, but someone might have to find my blue balls and resuscitate it.
“We’re not nothing,” she husked, her wet pussy grinded on my abs as she tried to topple me down the bed.
“Yeah,” I agreed and my left hand stroked the side of her face. She was as naked as I was and as her body dipped in soft curves, I couldn’t help but admire the soft slope of her stomach. I’d always thought that she was stunning, but right then, she looked ethereal.
The way her skin glowed under my bedroom lights was unexplainable.
The way her eyes ignited the flames of desire inside of me was beyond words.
“I’m on the pill.” She said with no hesitation, no preamble to her assertion. “If you want –“
This woman.
Death of me.
My lips found her mouth and her body slid down as I sat up, my cock inches away from her delectable ass.
“Are you sure?” I asked again. I was always safe and this, what she was giving me right now, was an assurance that I didn’t even know I was seeking, but I was desperately wanting.
Trust.
She was giving me her trust.
She nodded her head, her dark hair messy and sweaty across her face from all of our exertions, her body carrying remnants of my want for her through the whisker burns I’d left across her breasts and her stomach and I knew, I just knew, that she’d always be special to me.
I pushed the bed covers down and placed two pillows atop each other and positioned her head so I could make her feel comfortable.
But as I moved around, Bridgette’s hand halted me, “Scott, I’m fine.”
I’d never been given this amount of trust by a woman.
And I found myself at a loss…for something to do.
Something to give her.
Bridgette’s eyes lingered on my face for one, two, five beats before saying, “I don’t know what to say. I feel like I should give you something. I’ve never –“
“Yourself, Scott. Just give me you.” She cut me off before I could give a voice to all of the insecurities I’d harbored about her, about us, about what we were.
My mouth pressed against her lips and I kissed her with the passion that I couldn’t give a voice to.
Football season was going to start again.
She was going to be busy.
I was going to be busy.
But this right here, as my cock entered her body, without any armor, I promised myself that I wouldn’t forget what she was giving me.
This tiny woman who was looking up at me with so much tenderness in her eyes, and as my body sank into hers, I bottled all the little moans she was emitting.
She was unabashed with her words, the honesty always filling them even when they hurt me.
Weeks ago, chance brought us together.
This time, as I entered her and pulled out of her to chase my own climax, I was making a solemn promise that I would keep us together.
Whatever it might take.
Because it wasn’t every day that a hazel eyed tiny fairy came into my world, and blew every expectation I had out of the water.
Bridgette
All of the kids were painting happy themes today which made my day brighter.
It was hard to get up this morning after consecutive late nights of talking way past midnight on the phone.
The Royals won the preseason games three weeks in a row, and Scott has been pretty much riding the high of winning.
I understood football, but I wasn’t a big fan.
Any sport where a guy could get concussions, spinal injuries, and paralysis wasn’t a good selling point for me to watch it.
My brother played hockey most of his life before switching to rugby. The latter was just as brutal but on a grass surface.
I didn’t watch Bishop’s games. I couldn’t stomach that one wrong move from another person could end his career, or his life. But I was there whenever his body surrendered from the beatings of the sport he played. I might have been little, but I knew the physical toll on a person’s body.
Our father, Beau Cordello, was Hockey’s Hall of Famer. He was also the best at abusing my brother at a very young age. I watched my brother’s childhood fade into the background as my father subjected Bishop to rigorous, soul-battering practices just so my father could be back in the spotlight. Retirement wasn’t a vacation for my father, rather it was the end of his game, his life and he placed the burden on my brother’s shoulders.
And my mother, willing or not, watched it all happen. Which was why until now, I’d avoided her calls and only spoke to her when necessary.
Time healed wounds. But the scars left were forever embedded in your psyche.
“Miss B, what’s a concussion?” Matty, the blue-eyed boy to my right, asked.
Oh.
I must have said it out loud.
“I’m just talking to myself again.” I ruffled his hair and he gave me a side eye, wondering if I was okay.
The one thing I learned from being around children was that they picked up on the slightest things. I wasn’t sad often, but if I was, they tried to make me happy. If I was having a bad day, almost all of them did everything to make my day go smoother. They didn’t have filters. Truth was black or white. Grays were not present yet, and that’s what I loved about being around them.
“Are you sure, Miss B?” Matty asked again, stopping his movement and placing his nylon brush on top of a small round container so it wouldn’t dry out. His favorite palettes were blues and greens, but today he was trying reds. The colors he was combining was translating well into the medium.
“I’m sure, Matty,” I replied in a quiet voice, trying not to distract the other kids who were completely focused in their medium.
They were a boisterous group, but once they settled into the activities I’d planned out for the day, it was hard to take their focus away.
Matty nodded his dark head, picked up his brush, dipped it into the water and then picked a Cadmium Red and started painting again.
The stillness in the room was one of my favorite moments.
It was when everyone was so immersed in their art that they didn’t even notice time passing them by.
I knew the feeling.
Painting allowed me to exist in a world when reality was too much to bear.
It was my medium to express my feelings when speech wasn’t available.
To this day, my mother couldn’t process why I had stopped speaking at two years old.
The brain had a way of coping with trauma, and what Dr. Fortez had told her over and over again was that it was my mind’s way of dealing with stress. Elective mutism he’d called it.
And once I started speaking again at the age of eight, after my brother had convinced my parents to get me into a special school for kids like me. I spoke in short,
two-syllable words. The syllables came out in stutters and the shame on my mother’s face grew exponentially.
I embraced moments like these, in the presence of children who held no judgment against each other, who didn’t care who their parents were or how much each of them were worth.
My mother tried to rile me up last year, and said that I was going to waste my time in college, that the seventeen point eight million I’d inherited from my father would be worth more if I invested it in her company. I had plans for the money, and she wasn’t in on it, and that’s what bugged her the most.
I was turning twenty-one in two months, and from there I could direct where the funds went.
There were millions of people in this world who could make use of it better than I ever would.
“I’m done, Ms. B.” Kaycee, from the back of the room, raised her hand. “I hope you like it.”
“What’s important is that you love it, Kaycee,” I said while taking a few steps towards her, careful not to topple over any paint sets that were on top of the tiny tables.
“I made this for you, Miss B.” Kaycee’s eyes were shining in hope as she pointed to her painting.
Against the white watercolor, splashes of blacks, mixes of cobalt blue, a smattering of purple, and a healthy amount of cadmium orange dominated the page.
On the far right corner, she’d created enough contrast to make out the white, circular shape, one that would be recognizable from anywhere in this Earth.
“I love it, Kaycee.” My voice came out in a breathless hush.
Children.
They listened with their hearts.
And Kaycee, she knew.
My heart belonged up there.
The place where gravity had no room, where the stars, planets, and moons were free to move along their orbits.
Where the purest colors abound, created by the strength of how hydrogen gas absorbed light at particular wavelengths.
At a young age, when my voice box stopped working and every night, when I heard my brother’s soft cries in his bedroom because of his pain, I always looked up at the sky.
Sometimes the stars were vibrant. Sometimes the sky was a cascade of black. Sometimes they were angry streaks of reds and other times as calm as the green Himalayan cedars that our landscaper had imported from Tibet.