Long Schlong Silver

by Kade, Teagan

  She pushes my head back under and makes for the boat. I grab her under the butt and shuttle her back up onto the bow. “Get out of those wet clothes. The blanket’s in the back, but I think you know that by now.”

  She turns giving me the evil eye.

  She strips slowly, bra and panties added to the growing pile of clothes in the back of the boat. She stands there with her back to me, speckled moonlight filtering through the gap between her legs and the what’s still the prettiest damn pussy I’ve ever seen. My cock hardens in the water.

  I reach up for the bow of the boat, pulling myself onto the deck and coming up behind her.

  She yelps when I grab her around the waist, spinning her to face me and kissing her deep.

  It’s not like last time. This isn’t a power struggle. It’s sensual, gentle almost, tiny droplets of water still on her lips as I let my tongue slip between them into the heat of her mouth.

  Her hand goes down to my cock, stroking it lightly in the open air—not that it needs any encouragement.

  I deepen the kiss and hold her face, unable to get enough of her, of her body and heat and magnetic pull. I’m still not entirely clear why I’m drawn to her only that I know I don’t want to be without her. That’s the strange paradox I’m living.

  These thoughts are filtered out of my head as she leans back, breaking the kiss to recline on her back on the hard fiberglass surface of the bow.

  She spreads her legs wide, spreading herself with two fingers. “Kiss me.”

  I lie on my belly and creep forward, closer and closer to the wet eye of her sex.

  It’s nothing but bliss from the first lick. I run the tip of my tongue right down her center, taste how wet and open she is, the deeper flavors that mark out her desire.

  She groans and reaches down for my neck, rocking against me, cooing softly into the night.

  I focus on her clit, let it grow against the porous plane of my tongue while she bucks and moans, the entire boat bobbing in the water.

  There’s another crack of thunder, the boat lit momentarily.

  I come up for air and notice the way she’s looking at me, the sky snared in her eyes and a whole world there for the taking. I see what this has become and know it’s far more than sex now, far more than a simple fling. But more, it’s no longer a competition.

  I place my head back down and lick up the inside of her thighs, taking my time and teasing my way around her pussy, letting her struggle and grab at my hair, beg me to apply my tongue.

  What she doesn’t know is how hot it makes me going down on her like this, how hard my cock’s getting caught between my chest and the fiberglass sandwich below.

  I wait until she’s writhing, grinding up against my entire face. I feel her pulse running through her clit, the way her heartbeat reverberates through her entire body.

  I focus on her breathing and wait, biding my time while I work with the flat of my tongue.

  She rises, building to that timeless crescendo, and just as she pulls in a breath like it’s her very last, I break away, gathering my cock in hand and stroking it before her.

  The desperation is sketched on her face. “Please,” she begs.

  I lie over her and slide myself in to the hilt, the cool of her skin in juxtaposition to the wet heat of her pussy, the impossibly tight, velvety grip it provides.

  She places her head against my shoulders, her nails clawing all down my back to my buttocks as I take her.

  You’d think after hundreds, maybe even thousands of women there would be nothing new, nothing to make my heart beat harder, but the feel of Gisele’s body, the silky depths of her sex… It’s new and wonderful and beyond powerful. It’s what I never knew I was missing until now.

  She holds my buttocks, legs drawn up against my sides so she can take me deeper.

  I draw out, teasing her with shallow thrusts before running deeper again.

  “Yes,” she moans, goosebumps over her skin, a frog croaking somewhere nearby.

  I kiss her and the wider world, the storm, melts away until it’s only us. There, in that confine, my troubles dissipate. The world is once again full of hope and opportunity, but more than that, I see forgiveness, solace—things I thought were lost to me so long ago.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  “I love you too,” she whispers back, her lips soft against the shell of my ear.

  I run as deep as I can, struggling to hold myself back.

  “Take me from behind,” she says, letting go of my buttocks.

  I don’t pull out and flip her over forcefully, slap her ass, and make her call me Daddy.

  No, I slide out slowly, excruciatingly so, and help her to her knees, gently pressing her torso over the top of the windshield and taking grip of her hips.

  She’s so wet and hot I slide in all the way from the first stroke, deep into the wet glove of her pussy, let is pulsate and tighten around me.

  I draw in the night air, let it expand in my chest, my body tightening as I rock forward, letting one hand move forward and take her breasts, lightly thumbing the nipple there until her moans become strangled and I know she won’t be able to take much more.

  A light drizzle starts to fall from above, cold against my back.

  My balls tighten, my thrusting deepening and building, everything rushing together until my vision grows fuzzy around the edges and all I can think about is making us come as one.

  Another strobe of lightning.

  “Yes,” she pants, “keep going… make me…” the greater meaning of her words lost.

  I shout aloud and pound into her, running forward like a sledgehammer to fill her, the hand that was on her breast reaching down to play with her clit.

  It’s like a bolt of electricity runs through her body, her pussy momentarily convulsing around my cock.

  It’s the trigger to the most intense orgasm of my life.

  I thrust one final time, bent over her back as we explode together, her sex squeezing and releasing me in rapid contractions, the stars spanning out under my eyelids and my cock continuing to fire endlessly.

  I know her mouth is open, that she’s caught in her own sea of ecstasy, but she can’t a make sound, physically unable to get it out of her body is so tortured with sensation.

  *

  I lie there with Gisele’s arm over my chest, her thigh over my leg. It’s better than any blanket.

  We watch the stars above, the storm having moved to the south. Something streaks across the sky.

  I play with her hair, still damp from the water. “Bet you don’t get that out in the city.”

  “The view?” Her voice is still a little gravelly. She clears it. “I can’t say we do. It’s beautiful. She gives a little thrust forward with her hips. “The company helps.”

  I smile knowing she can’t see it, but I couldn’t suppress it if I tried. For the first time in forever, I’m genuinely happy. A meteor could fall from the sky right now, wipe out all civilization and I’d still be smiling, safe in the knowledge I’ve finally found what I’ve been looking for.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  GISELE

  Under the blanket with Bobby, the boat gently bobbing in the water, I’ve never been so at peace. Typically my head is a maelstrom of thought, all of it to do with business, but no longer. I squeeze my thighs together, happily content in another way.

  We’re across the rear seat. Our clothes remain around our feet, only our bodies and this single blanket for warmth, which is fine by me.

  Bobby traces a line across my bare shoulder with the tip of a finger. “What are you thinking about?”

  “I thought you were a mind-reader?”

  “I know what women want. Doesn’t make me telepathic,” he replies.

  I turn away from the sky to look at him. “I’m a woman. Tell me, what do I want?”

  He dips his head. “O-kay. I’ll bite. You want what everyone wants.”

  I shift underneath the blanket. “Let me guess, to be hap
py? I can out-cliché you all day if you like.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s not that simple. People want security first and foremost, and that goes beyond a roof over their head a full belly. They want social security, security within their relationships.”

  “You told me yourself you’ve never been in a relationship that lasted more than a few days.”

  He huffs into the air. “There was one, back in high school.”

  I sit up straighter. “Ah, so the high-school crush is revealed. What happened? She moved to college? Lost her braces?”

  His expression is unmoved. “She was my best-friend’s sister, actually.”

  Damn. “Not the best friend who was in the car accident with you?”

  “The one and only. You can imagine what happened. After it all washed up her parents made sure she stayed as far away from me as possible, sent her halfway across to country to her aunt’s just to be sure. I heard she’s married, four kids, works as some kind of PT.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He rubs his forehead. “No, it’s my fault. I never really took responsibility back then, thought I was above it all… I don’t think I have since, but now, now I realize what I did and how it affected everyone around me, slowly poisoning them, a cancer I created.”

  “It was a long time ago. You can’t beat yourself up twenty-four hours a day. You need to forgive yourself, too.”

  He exhales, long and deep, looking to the stars. “I’m not sure I can. I turned my best friend into a quadriplegic, a fucking human vegetable, and you know what? I’ve never seen him, never apologized. Maybe I should. Maybe it’s time.”

  “Maybe,” I reply, “but you have to be prepared. You think you’re strong enough to handle it, if it turns bad?”

  Now he smiles, flexing his bicep under the blanket. “Strong enough? You know who you’re bunking up with here?”

  I shove him. “Wounds heal, you know, even the ones you try hard to hide.”

  He shakes his head. “You could always become a psychologist, ditch the whole middle-man thing.”

  “I think you know there’s nothing manly about me, mister.”

  His hand finds a breast under the blanket, lightly squeezing. “Oh, yeah. Shit.”

  I shake my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

  He leans his head on the back of the seat, watching the sky, the stars reflected in his corneas until they’re miniature planetariums. “What are you going to do about your job? Are you going to continue with it after this? You’ve got to admit it’s getting pretty fucking dark. Knowles is going to tell his rich friends, make sure you don’t get any more gigs.”

  I’ve considered leaving it all behind. I have plenty of leverage on these individuals, even if I don’t know their names, so to speak. With Bart’s contacts, however, I’m sure I could find out. “You’ve got to understand how hard I’ve worked to build this thing, my brand. It hasn’t been easy.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but have you ever considered what these guys want these things for, the more nefarious offerings?”

  “Most of them are harmless,” I reply. “There was this client once who wanted me to purchase a rare Ferrari off a sheik in Dubai, one of only two ever made.”

  “And you came through?”

  I eye him. “I always come through, but he really, really didn’t want to sell.”

  “So what did you do?”

  I smile thinking back to it. “Told him one of two wasn’t good enough for a man of his standing and convinced Ferrari to make him a one-of-a-kind… at a considerable price, which my client was more than happy to pay.”

  Bobby sits up fully, the blanket falling, the strong, hard lines of his body carved out by the moonlight. “You convinced Ferrari to build this guy a totally unique, one-only car?”

  I wink. “I can be rather persuasive when I want to.”

  Bobby rests back on the bench seat with his hands behind his head. “Oh, I know, but really? Ferrari?”

  “You should have seen what I did with Giorgio Armani.”

  “The company?”

  “The man,” I smile, thinking of those sun-kissed days in the Greek Isles. They’re a million miles away from this moment, this place. But amongst all that wealth, all that power, there was a nothingness lingering in the background—a void these people couldn’t seem to fill no matter what they bought.

  Bobby leans over to kiss my neck. “But your perfect record has been broken by Yours Truly, and just as well. You would have sold your soul otherwise arranging this sale.”

  He’s right, but it still stings knowing I won’t be able to pull myself back from this. Knowles will make sure my name and brand are mud. I could threaten him, yes, but guys like him have back-channels leading into back-channels that run so deep and dark you’d never be able to trace the source.

  No, if I’m honest, my professional life is done, and maybe it’s for the better.

  “What are we going to do tomorrow?” I purr, attempting to change the subject. I pull myself closer, nipples hard against his skin.

  “Actually, I have something I need to do tomorrow—alone, sorry,” he replies.

  Most women would balk at this, see it as something it’s not, but I simply reply, “Alright. I suppose you want me to keep the bed warm then?

  He pulls me on top of him. “You’ll have to be ready for anything.”

  “I always am,” I smile.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  BOBBY

  It’s a long, three-hour drive to Lewiston Assisted Living Centre.

  I pull up out front with my hands on the wheel and drag in a deep breath.

  Keep driving, a voice says. You can just turn on right around and head home, no damage done.

  But I know deep down I am not that guy anymore. I can’t keep living in cowardice.

  I get out and head in, the lady on the desk surprised when I tell her who I’m here to see.

  “Oh,” she says, carefully plucked eyebrows hitting the roof, “he doesn’t get many visitors. Is this your first time here?”

  I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She hands me a pass and has me sign the visitor sheet. “Alright then. Level Two, Room Two-Oh-Six. I’m sure he’ll be very happy to see you.”

  I beg to differ. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be leaving arm-in-arm with security.

  I take the stairs, the hall getting longer and longer as I walk. I pause outside Room 206, the name ‘Danny Houston’ on the door.

  It’s the right place, alright.

  I go to knock before I realize he ain’t getting up to answer the door.

  I reach for the doorknob and turn, one more intake of breath before I enter.

  The room’s larger than I expected, the walls thick with sports posters, the odd female celebrity in various states of undress.

  The bed is facing towards a floor-to-ceiling window that looks out over sweeping parkland below. It’s not such a bad place to be, far from the sterile compound I’ve imagined all these years.

  I stop dead in my tracks, spotting a framed picture of Danny and me on a set of drawers near his bed, the only picture there. In it, we’re holding each other after a particularly hard-won game, Danny with that boyish grin of his which made the girls go crazy. He looks so happy. We look so happy.

  “Hey, asshole. You going to stand there all day reminiscing or you going to come say hi?”

  It’s so strange hearing his voice.

  I approach the bed with my heart in my throat, all those years of guilt and misery eating me up as I get my first good view of Danny.

  He’s smiling as I come up beside him, that same shit-eating grin. In fact, apart from the fact he’s lost a bit of weight, he’s the same old Danny.

  “I was wondering when you were going to show,” he says.

  I look down before forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, Dan. Truly. All this time…”

  He blows it off. “Water under the bridge, my friend. Water under the b
ridge. Life’s never been better, actually. You seen some of the nurses around here? I mean, my dick doesn’t work but I still got a tongue and tastebuds, you know what I’m saying?” He flicks his tongue out as if to prove said cunnilingus skills.

  I can’t help but smile back. Same old Danny. “Look, Dan,” I begin.

  “No,” he says, cutting me off, his expression suddenly serious, “there’s nothing to apologize for. I made my peace with it a long time ago. I got in the car. I let you drive. I made that choice. It’s not your fault.”

  “But—”

  “No,” he almost shouts it. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me, to pity what my life has become or, hell, get around dreaming up what-ifs all day. It’s poison, my friend. It will eat you alive. I know.”

  I wipe away a single, hot tear and sniff back twenty more. “It’s all my fucking fault, Dan. It was me behind the wheel.”

  Dan nods, but there’s none of the anger there that I expected, none of shouting match I wanted, that scalding I thought I needed. If anything, he looks completely at peace. “Living in the past brings nothing but pain, brother. I imagine you know that better than anyone, but it doesn’t have to define you.”

  I shake my head. “Since when did you become so profound?”

  “You get a lot of time to think in my condition.”

  “But don’t you wish you could have kept playing ball, settled down, had a family?”

  “I’ve had a couple of girlfriends, some longer term than others, a shit-load of one-night stands… Probably more pussy than you’ve seen in the last ten years.”

  “I doubt that,” I laugh, still trying to fight back the emotion. “Everyone knows you only got my sloppy seconds.”

  He looks to the ceiling, smiling wide. “You remember Linda Manning? She sucked my dick so hard I basically had friction burn for a week.”

  I laugh with him. “Yeah. I remember. Mouth like a fucking broken Hoover.”

  “Tits like a pair of pancakes.”

  We smile together.

  “It’s good to see you, Bobby,” he says, and that final slab of stone I’ve been carrying for the last decade is suddenly lifted away like it was never there. “You going to stay for a while or you got somewhere better to be?”