Chasing The O

by LaBelle, Lorelai

  His fingers, tongue, and nose were moving so fast—keeping pace with my hands—that I had to shout out, “Softer, softer.” He complied for a moment, but soon he was lost in my grip.

  “I’m gonna come,” he warned. I put my mouth fully over his head, preparing myself for what was about to happen, stroking his long slick shaft as fast as I could. His head swelled a bit more, signaling his climax. Suddenly, his cock pulsed, shooting a stream of semen straight at the back of my throat—surprise flooded my body. He cried out, over and over, and my hand never stopped until he stilled, empty.

  His penis throbbed, still stiff, the blue veins bulging. I rolled off him, hot semen in my mouth. His eyes were barely open, but when I turned to him, he gazed at me, elated. I swallowed the oozing liquid and his cock responded with an aroused pulse. “That was so hot,” he said, his breath rough. I slowly licked my lips, my eyes locked with his. I had never felt so sexy and erotic.

  He waved me to him, and as I leaned in, his hands wrapped around my body, pulling me into his arms. The hard kiss that came next surprised me, his tongue in my mouth, exploring, swirling, sliding across mine. I could sense his satisfaction—his gratefulness. He pulled away, smiling. “Now it’s time for me to finish what I was doing.” He lay back down, clutched my hips, and slid down across the sheets so that his head was under my pussy.

  His tongue and fingers resumed their play. My hips rocked up and down his face like I was fucking him. After swallowing his load, I was so charged that it only took a few minutes for me to peak, and I yelled and yelled, unable to control what came out. It was the only release my body knew.

  The flash of red never came. Instead, the pressure remained down in my clit, and then surged out to my fingers and toes in an explosion that splintered every cell in my body. When I finally opened my eyes, I was staring at the ceiling, my eyes twitching. I looked down and noticed that I was gripping him so intensely, I was practically tearing out his hair. I immediately released my hold. “Sorry.”

  He craned his head and peered into my eyes. “For what?”

  “If I pulled too hard.”

  He kissed my wet lips. “You pulled just right.”

  13

  THURSDAYS

  After we crossed “69” off our list, we seemed to do it every night we saw each other, the foreplay lasting minutes to over an hour, and often ending with Vince flipping me over and coming inside me. Almost two weeks had passed since the first time I gave my first blow job that wonderful Saturday night. The first week flew by at work. Although, apparently, Vince and Alma’s demonstration for PGE on Wednesday didn’t go as well as they’d hoped.

  On Thursday, Vince blew me off again, swearing he had to work that night. It was the third straight Thursday in a row that he “had to work late,” and a suspicion seeped into my brain. I ignored it over the following fantastic weekend spent in the bedroom. But when I asked him if he wanted to go out on the fourth Thursday, my gut was telling me something was up. Something bad.

  “Do you think he’s cheating on you?” Danielle asked Wednesday night, right after I’d received a rejection that said he had to work late tomorrow. We were in the kitchen cooking. Well, really she was cooking and I was complaining, speculating about what he was actually doing on Thursday nights. We were guzzling the sweet, nut brown beer from our growlers like two fishes.

  “I don’t see how I could let him get so close and not know,” I said, staring at the text. “I mean, I’ve never been this intimate with a guy before, and even with Ryan I could see it coming. I denied it, but I could still see it coming. I just don’t understand why he won’t tell me what he’s actually doing every Thursday.”

  She gave me a doubtful look. “So what are you going to do?”

  That was a good question. What could I do? Stalk him? A light bulb went on in my head. “What if we staked out his place?”

  She laughed at me. “What are we, spies?”

  “We don’t have to be spies. More like detectives,” I said, pulling up Google Maps and searching for a place around Vince’s building that would be good to park incognito.

  “You don’t think that sounds a little ridiculous?”

  “Does it?”

  She sighed. “Really? You sound like an obsessive psycho.”

  “Ouch,” I said, pretending the remark had stung. “I think ‘psycho’ was a bit strong.” I got out two plates when the timer went off.

  “Maybe,” she teased. She served the chicken pot pie she had prepared the night before. “You really want to do that—stake out his building?”

  “I need to know, Danielle.”

  She frowned, staring at her slice. “It just sounds so extreme and crazy . . . but I’m in if you decide to do it.”

  Scooping up the front chunk, I chewed my first bite. “Hot,” I said, sucking in air with the food on my tongue. I blew on my second bite. “It’s really good.”

  She gave me a thin smile, not too happy about the idea of stalking my billionaire boyfriend. “What if his bodyguard spots us or something? There could be security all over the place that we’ve never seen before.”

  I tilted my head at her, and my hands were moving about as I said, “Really? And I thought I was the paranoid one.”

  “Hey, he’s rich and powerful. I doubt he only has the one bodyguard watching him.” She was already halfway done with her slice, munching it down like there was no tomorrow. “Anyway, say his bodyguards don’t spot us, and he leaves his building, and we follow him . . . what then? What if he’s doing what you think he’s doing? Are you going to break down the door to the cheap motel and go on a rampage?”

  “I don’t know, Danielle.” I shook my head. “You still have that baseball bat?” I smiled over at her. She gave me a nice glare. “I’m not serious.”

  “Then what?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll know the truth and I can deal with it then. It may be that you’re right and he really is just working late, but either way, I’ll know. I’ll know.”

  THE NEXT MORNING PROVED to be another wet one. It was a bummer after such a gorgeous weekend that peaked in the high sixties, but after Monday, the weather turned to rain and more rain.

  Work went slowly, and my gut knotted, churning for most of the day. Nerves were imploring me not to go through with the plan. An inherent curiosity and need to know was telling me to do the opposite. To get away for an hour or more, I walked to the gym, incorporating some weightlifting and stair-stepper time into my workout, and ending with thirty minutes on the elliptical.

  Halfway done, I was surprised when the woman with the luminous blond hair strolled in. Her face grew excited when she saw me, climbing onto the machine beside me. “Hi,” she said, her voice cheerful.

  I turned off my iPod and removed the earbuds. “Hey . . .” I blanked on her name.

  “Emma,” she filled in.

  “Right, sorry.” I was already red, so she probably didn’t even notice my embarrassment. “Maci.”

  “I remember,” she said pointedly. “I’m very good with names and faces,” she added after a brief and awkward beat.

  “I wish I were,” I said, intent on sounding apologetic. Hopefully she wouldn’t bring up the beach house, as that would pose another awkward disaster.

  “So, did you ever find out if your team has a place to stay for Hood to Coast?” she asked with a bright smile.

  “Oh, right. I totally forgot. We do have a place to stay, I guess, but thanks for the kind offer, and sorry that I never called about it.” I couldn’t tell if she bought my act.

  “No worries,” she said, remarkably unfazed. “I had actually forgotten until just now.” Her words didn’t come off as true, but I wasn’t about to call her a liar.

  “I haven’t seen you around for weeks,” I said, trying to direct the conversation in a new direction. “Been sick?”

  “Been out of town,” she replied flatly, making it obvious that she didn’t want to discuss the topic. “Have you seen Vince Forte in lately? I
just love those days when he’s here. He’s such an Adonis.”

  “A geeky Adonis,” I laughed. She was right: he had the looks that drove me wild inside, but he also had had a mind like no other.

  “I don’t think playing video games constitutes a geek anymore.” She looked over at me, her face forming a slight glare.

  I opened my mouth to make a joke about how much he played, but then realized how strange her comment was. How did she know he played video games? It wasn’t on his Wikipedia page. Was she Vince’s mystery woman? The only woman he had been with before me? She certainly didn’t sound like an ex, but I supposed it was possible . . . I chose to further investigate what she knew. “He’s a big gamer?”

  “I don’t know how much he plays, but he supports the field a lot. He gave a speech at PAX Prime last year in Seattle. That’s where I first saw him. I was there with the guy I was dating at the time. I remember melting away as he spoke. He was a lot smaller then, but still sexy as hell.”

  So she had an infatuation with Vince. How lovely. Jealousy didn’t arise like it had when I saw Becky rubbing down his crotch, but I did think it would be a poor decision not to tell her I was dating her crush. “I haven’t seen him in here lately,” I lied. He had virtually stopped going to his other two gyms, opting to work out in the Hawthorne branch so we could see each other daily.

  He had mentioned a business meeting before, and I was pretty sure it was supposed to go all afternoon, so chances were small that he’d show up. That would be an awkward scene.

  “That’s too bad,” she replied. “It’s always easier to work out with some eye candy to distract you.” She grinned at me. “Right?”

  I returned her smile, not knowing what else to do. I still had five minutes left and I didn’t want to quit, but my tongue was tied and my brain absent.

  Emma was friendly, though, and didn’t seem to mind my shortage of words. She detailed her workout regimen, ready for the Bridge to Brews race, which was next Sunday. I really enjoyed her sanguine personality. When I finished, she asked if I’d be in tomorrow at the same time, because she wouldn’t mind a workout partner for the weights downstairs. Since I wanted the same thing, I told her I came in at three almost every weekday. We planned it so that we could be there at the same time.

  Back at home, I grew even more anxious, pacing the living room, waiting for Danielle and our stakeout to begin. I called it that, anyway. She called it stalking. She had grabbed takeout from a Mexican food cart and we shoveled it down. It was 4:50. She had taken off early so we could get there as soon after his meeting as possible.

  “My car or your car?” she asked.

  “Your car makes way less noise,” I said. “Plus mine sticks out more than yours does.” We got in her nice and cozy Crosstrek, heading for Vince’s. “I also like the heated seats.”

  “I just hope this doesn’t end how I think it will.”

  It was 5:37 by the time we reached the Envoy, parking on the narrow street in front of the building. “Oh my God, that’s him!” I spontaneously smacked Danielle’s shoulder with the back of my hand.

  “Hey, watch it!”

  “Sorry.” I pointed. “That’s him. That’s his Mustang.”

  “I know. I hit it, remember?” She kept her lights on as he backed out of the single-car garage. There was no sign of Terrance on his motorcycle, and we were too far away to see how many heads were in the car. He turned his car so that he would drive east, the opposite way we were facing. He came zipping our way.

  “Duck!” I screamed, pulling on Danielle’s wrist. We both bent down below the window. After he passed, we straightened. “Hurry, you have to turn around to catch him.”

  Danielle pulled out and turned for one of the garage doors, readying the car for a three-point turn. It was more like a five-point turn. “Hurry, we’re gonna lose him!”

  “I’m not an Indy racer, Maci,” she growled. She finally aligned with the road, going east, racing after the Spider-Man Mustang. We turned left onto SW Green, then right on SW Vista.

  “I’ve never been over here,” I said, looking at the nice houses. “Where do you think he’s going? He doesn’t have an office in the south.”

  “Doesn’t he have a gym down here?”

  “Lake Oswego,” I corrected. “If he’s going there, he’s taking the long, long way.”

  “Don’t panic yet,” she said, glancing over at me. “Maybe he has another meeting at an office down in southwest or maybe out in a suburb.” My breathing picked up, and I kept thinking I was going to hyperventilate. “If you don’t start breathing, I’m going to turn the car around and go home.”

  I inhaled as deeply as I could and held. “Okay, I’m okay. Keep following him.” We tailed him to SW Patton, taking a right. Danielle remained at least one car behind him at all times. A few times, two or three cars snuck between us. Lucky for us, he never abruptly turned off anywhere. We took a left onto SW Scholls Ferry and followed him for what seemed like forever, all the way down past the Washington Square Mall in Tigard. After we reached highway 217, I yelped, “Turn, turn, turn!”

  Danielle hurtled into the left lane, flying to make the yellow light onto SW Cascade. “Where the hell is he going?” she mumbled to herself. The road ended, and we banked right onto SW Greenburg. The car that had been our buffer took a left at the light, leaving us right behind Vince’s Mustang. She slowed down so that we were four or five car lengths back. Hopefully he wasn’t paying that much attention. It wasn’t getting dark until after 7:30 and if he glanced back with any awareness, he could easily make us out. We went right, down SW Ninety-first until we came to a large apartment complex.

  “Holy shit!” Danielle burst out, startling me. “What if he has a family down here that he keeps out of the press? He could be a father.”

  The idea overwhelmed me. “No, he couldn’t, could he?”

  “Rich men do it all the time,” she asserted. “They keep it hush-hush with all their money. It’s possible.” Her enthusiasm for the hypothesis did nothing to calm my nerves. She pulled into the expansive parking lot. Signs warned us about towing, but I told Danielle I’d pay the bill if anything happened, so she parked in a vacant spot by the road.

  I ignored a lot of what Danielle said, concentrated on finding Vince. “Do you see his car?” We searched the parking lot, but couldn’t find it in the front area. Walking around to the back, Danielle spotted the blue and red Mustang parked on the other side of a pool.

  “I wish our place had a pool,” Danielle said. “Don’t you?”

  “Do you see Vince anywhere?” I asked with a strained urgency.

  “No,” she answered. “He could be in any one of these apartments.” Two men were walking from their car toward what looked like a community room that some of the bigger complexes had.

  “Maybe there’s something going on in there.” I nodded toward the building. “Let’s check it out.”

  Inside, we found a cramped hall with chairs arranged in a circle, and a table with coffee and snacks. The two men sat down on the far side while another man spoke, though I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying with the rattle of the metal chairs. The man’s tone softened, as though he were ending his speech, and the hall quieted. “So if you’ve had the same trouble with step ten, please feel free to share now, or if you’ve had any other problems, you can share those, too.”

  I could hear the clear tenor of Vince’s familiar voice. “Hi, my name is Vince, and I’m an addict.”

  There was a pause, followed by a collective, “Hi, Vince.”

  “Vince?” I called out, unable to control my reaction.

  I could see his soft curls in front of me as he spun in his seat. Our eyes locked and there was definite panic in his. He jumped up. Terrance jumped beside him. “Maci.” Vince put up his hand at his bodyguard, darting to where Danielle and I stood by the door. “What are you doing here?” he whispered.

  “Wha—what are you doing here? What is this, AA?”

 
“Let’s talk about it outside.” He grabbed hold of my elbow and pushed me toward the door. I squirmed out of his strong grip, turning around.

  Danielle opened the door and exited first, holding it for us. “I’ll let you two talk things over. I’ll be in the car, Maci.”

  I nodded at her, quickly turning back to Vince, in utter shock.

  “It’s NA—Narcotics Anonymous. I’m a drug addict, Maci. Recovering, but still an addict.”

  “What do you mean—what does that mean?” I was shaking my head, my mouth involuntarily open.

  “It means I used to do a lot of drugs. Hard drugs. Terrible, nasty, hard drugs.”

  Disbelief flooded my head, and suddenly the world felt foggy and distant.

  “I think we should go somewhere else to talk about this.” His face was pleading with me.

  About to lash into him, I saw the reasoning behind his suggestion. “Where?”

  “There’s a café not far. Is that all right?” I had never seen such worried eyes before. He was afraid, I could tell—afraid of losing me.

  I wanted to be reasonable, and not let my anger and confusion get the best of me. I simply nodded.

  “I’ll go let Terrance know.” He rushed back inside.

  I plucked my phone from my pocket, hands shaking, and typed out a message to Danielle, asking her to wait thirty minutes since she had her book, then to leave if I didn’t come back by then. If things couldn’t be worked out, Uber and Lyft existed. Walking around the building and pool, I waited by Vince’s car. He came running up from around the building, out of breath.

  “I thought—I thought you’d left,” he gasped. “I’m glad you didn’t.” He unlocked the Mustang. Pulling out, we ended up crossing 99 on Commercial, then parking in front of a chiropractic office on Main Street in Tigard. Neither of us spoke during the short car ride. I was trying to collect my thoughts and keep some composure.