Chasing The O

by LaBelle, Lorelai

  He lifted my face so that our eyes met. “I would never cheat on you, Maci. Never.”

  “I know . . .” I leaned up to accept his kiss. He took me in his arms and held me until the ache inside faded. “I think we should cross making a home video off the list,” I said about twenty minutes later, snuggled on the enormous couch. “I don’t think I’ll ever be in the mood for it.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, it kind of ruined it for me, too.” He paused for a moment, and then added, “So we’re all right, right?”

  “I think so.”

  “I’m not sure what that means.”

  “It means yes, but I need a few days to clear my head,” I explained.

  “Oh, okay,” he sighed. “Well, I’m leaving on Monday for San Francisco and won’t be back until Wednesday. I have to meet with some investors down there. Is that enough time to ‘clear your head’?”

  “It should be . . . Shit,” I blurted, rolling off the couch.

  “What?”

  “I forgot about Danielle, she’s parked down on the street.”

  “Are you leaving right now? I can give you a ride home.”

  “No, it’s all right. I need to stop by the bakery.” I put on my shoes and started for the elevator. “There are still some money issues to resolve.”

  “All right.” He got up and trailed behind me. Giving me a long embrace, he kissed me goodbye before I stepped into the steel box. “I guess I’ll see you Wednesday.”

  I blew him one last kiss goodbye before the doors closed and I was left with my own puzzling thoughts.

  16

  MR. HAMMER

  Vince posted a security duo on my street before he left, worried that Luke might show up. One of them even followed me to work and sat in the bakery most of the day. It was supposed to be comforting, but it was almost as creepy as if it were Luke. For all I knew, it was Luke, except Vince said he screened the two guys, and picked them personally.

  The days slogged by, and when Wednesday rolled around, I was excited that Vince was coming home. I felt really out of it for about a day after the incident, questioning our relationship—my commitment—but by Monday night I was longing for Vince, missing his voice, his breath, his sweet smell.

  Wednesday night was extra special because Danielle was having her first improv show in northeast Portland. She had been practicing for weeks, and wouldn’t let any of us know about her progress, wanting us to wait for the show. Packed with people, the small room was stuffy and hot. Danielle went on stage with the first group, where they took turns asking the audience to fill in the prompts. Ashley, Bridgett, and I filled in a few of the blanks. Danielle joined our table when her group finished, and we all patted her on the back for a job well done. I kept looking at my watch as the night went by and other groups performed. Vince’s plane was supposed to land at 7:10, but at 8:50 he still was a no-show. The whole production ended by 9:30.

  “Sorry Vince missed it,” I said to Danielle.

  She shrugged, not bothered by his absence. She had been blown away at first by the story of the sex tape and Luke, the drug addict. Now it was old news. “He’s a busy man,” she said. “I just wanted my girls here.”

  Just then, Vince walked through the door, rushing to our table. “I missed it all, didn’t I?” he sighed. “The plane was late getting in.”

  “Yeah, but the brewery next door is still open if you guys want to get drinks,” Ashley said.

  I leapt to my feet, throwing my arms around him. “Hey!”

  He hugged me back. “Hey.” He kissed me softly, and I could feel the others staring at us.

  “I think these two are going to get some private drinks,” Danielle laughed.

  “That’s all right,” Bridgett said, “I’m tired anyway. I think I’ll just head home.” Awkwardness filled the air, mostly between Bridgett and Vince. Both glanced around the room, avoiding eye contact. I hadn’t seen much of Bridgett outside of work since the affair with the basketball cards. We had amicably settled all that had happened, resolving our debt issue and her desperate, spur-of-the-moment decision to steal, but there was still some tension between us. We both knew it would be a while before we reached our old “normal.”

  Everyone stood after a short pause, and as we parted for the night, Ashley caught Vince’s arm. “Hey, you still owe me a timeslot for a presentation.”

  “Oh, right.” Vince took out his wallet. “Here’s my secretary’s card. Set it all up with her.” Ashley smiled as Danielle pulled her away.

  I got into Vince’s warm car. “How was the trip?” I asked.

  “Boring,” he replied, “and the whole time I was thinking about getting back to you.” He turned south onto MLK. “I have another surprise for you.”

  “From San Francisco?” I asked, wondering what gift he might have gotten me down there. He turned onto Broadway heading for the Broadway Bridge and downtown. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see,” he said with a hint of anticipation. He parked in front of an old two-story brick building that looked like they were half apartments, half office spaces.

  Following his cue, I got out of the car. “What’s here?”

  He walked up the steps and opened the door for me, refraining from giving anything away with words. “Stay here for a moment,” he said, heading up the staircase to the right. I didn’t bother asking for how long. My phone vibrated about five minutes later with a text from Vince that read, “Room 226.” I ambled up the steps, reading the numbers, and following them to the end of the hall. A metal sign hung on the door and I laughed when I read it: “Private Investigator”.

  I opened the door and found myself in a waiting room with another door at the far end. There was a bag sitting on the desk, which was presumably the secretary’s station. I shuffled through the bag, grabbing a black vintage V-neck evening gown, complete with black evening gloves, a black Empress Eugenie hat, and a beige three-button wool coat with faux fur around the neck.

  It took a few minutes for me to put everything on, but soon I knocked on the second door, fully dressed in the nineteen thirties costume. Walking through that door was like stepping into a movie. Vince had the entire room decorated with authentic antiques from the thirties. At the far end sat Vince behind a huge desk, his legs crossed on top of it, a cigarette in his hand, and his fedora tipped over one eye. His charcoal drape suit was heavily padded in the chest and shoulders.

  “My secretary tells me you’ve got a case for me? What seems to be the trouble, ma’am?” Vince asked in a deep, smooth voice.

  I knew nothing of role-play and I hadn’t had time to prepare. What could I say to sound authentic? Did it even matter? “It’s my brother, Mr. . .?”

  “The name’s Tommy Hammer, ma’am, and I’ve solved over a hundred cases, so why don’t you sit down and tell me about your brother.”

  “Tommy Hammer?” I laughed.

  “You got a problem with the name, babe, then take your case to someone else.”

  “You’re very good at this,” I said, taking a seat on the other side of the desk. “Do you actually want me to make up a story?”

  “Make up a story? Honey, I want you to tell me the truth,” he said, still in character. “I bet it was those no-good mobsters down on Amsterdam. Did they take your brother?” He slammed a fist on the desk before I could answer, and then jumped to his feet. “I knew it was those scumbags. Was he murdered? Dumped into the river?”

  It was easy to see that he was very into his role. He wanted me to play along, which was the point, but it was really the whole setup that turned me on. My heart was fluttering as he paced behind his desk, waiting for me to reply. “They took him, Mr. Hammer,” I said in a squeaky voice. “Mickey Billa and his gang—they took him yesterday, and no one has seen him since.”

  “Billa and his gang, eh? Looks like I’ll be needing this.” He took out an old revolver from a holster around his waist and placed it on the desk. I flinched. “It’s not loaded, doll. Nothing to fear.”
>
  “Okay, good. I’m not a fan of guns,” I admitted. “Is that a real cigarette?”

  He tossed it on the desk. “Nah, it’s one of those e-cigarettes. It’s not on either.” He returned to his seat, kicked up his loafers, and leaned back in his chair. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Mrs. . .?”

  “Betty,” I said, thinking fast. “Betty—uh—Betty Crocker.”

  Vince pursed his lips, holding back his laugher. “Betty Crocker? Really?” His voice broke out of character.

  “Betty Gipson . . . sorry. The stress—it’s making me forget my own name.”

  “Well, Mrs. Gipson, I hope you don’t mind me telling you that you’re the prettiest lady I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I’ve traveled all over the world solving cases.” He waved his hand across a wall map as he talked.

  I pretended to blush, putting my hand over my mouth and batting my eyes. “Oh, detective.” I got up, no longer able to play the back-and-forth game. “I must confess, I’ve never seen such a strong and handsome man,” I said with a sultry, seductive voice. I walked around to him and leaned on the desk. I ran my fingers up his thighs to his crotch, rubbing his cock. “I must also confess the real reason I came down here tonight.”

  “Oh?” He moved his legs to the floor, giving me better access. “And that is?”

  I unbuttoned his pants, taking my time with the zipper. “To see if you could solve the case of the missing orgasm.” It was hard not to laugh as the words left my mouth. I pulled down his underwear and grabbed his stiffening shaft. I knelt between his legs. He melted in my grip, moaning.

  His hips rocked up. I twirled my tongue around his swelling head. He responded with a thankful gasp, grabbing my hair, weaving his fingers in it. He yanked me closer. My mouth engulfed him as I tried to put my lips in front of my teeth. He pushed too fast and my front teeth slid along his soft skin. He must have liked it because he groaned in pleasure.

  I massaged his balls with one hand, stroking his shaft with the other, while my tongue licked underneath his head. His grip on my hair tightened, and his hips started thrusting, his cock sliding through my fingers, hitting the back of my mouth. I gave up stroking and clenched the base of his hard-on, forcing the blood to the tip.

  His breath had increased to rapid huffs, so he slowed to prevent from coming too early, and removed my hands from his soft, freshly shaven balls. He helped me to my feet as a signal that we were moving on. Rising off the chair, he kissed my breasts, then my open mouth. From inside his jacket, he pulled out a small purple tube of lube and a plastic package containing what looked like a thumb.

  “What’s that?” I asked, my voice jerking with hesitation. We had never used a sex toy before.

  “It’s a finger vibrator,” he said, his character voice forgotten. With the package already cut open, he tore the rest of the plastic apart. “I thought it’d be a good idea since you get more stimulation from your clit.”

  The way he said it made it all sound so calculated and detached. My face must have showed my displeasure, because he followed it up with, “I mean, I thought it’d be good because my tongue can’t be down there at the same time. Do you not want to try it?” His head sunk a little, disappointed by my tone of rejection.

  “I didn’t say that. It’s just not very nineteen thirties,” I lied, a little afraid of the device. What would it feel like? What if I didn’t like it and he took it personally? I sidestepped caution. That was the old me. The new me experimented. The new me wasn’t afraid of risk. “Put it on.”

  We both looked down and saw that his hard-on was fading, so instead of jumping right into sex, he pushed me against the desk and gave me a long, wet kiss. Our tongues met, swirling, rubbing, mingling in passion. I inhaled his deeply-missed scent. It didn’t take long for his erection to return.

  He pushed me up on the desk. “Wait.” I stopped him and twisted around to gaze at all the old objects on the desk. “I’ve always wanted to do this.” I bent over and swept everything to the floor, leaving the wood surface bare. “There. Much better.”

  He laughed, and then launched me onto the desk again, slipping a strap down my shoulder. “Leave it on,” I whispered. “It’s part of the fun.”

  After returning the strap, he grabbed his coat. “This too?” he asked, smiling.

  I nodded, opening the bottle of lube, pouring it over his cock. I gave it a few quick pumps. He put out his hand and I poured a pile on his palm. With his dry hand, he peeled back the long dress, slipping off my panties. His skillful fingers slid down my clit to my pussy and up again, pinching my clit with the lube.

  I gasped, the anticipation of his touch coiled inside me.

  He found my inner lips and stroked them between his thumb and index finger. I could feel them slowly parting as wetness flooded his fingers. Warmth crept from my pussy to my stomach, tingling.

  Seizing his shaft, I guided him inside me, and he slowly pushed through, penetrating my desire. A surge of electricity shot deep inside me. My hands wrapped around his suit, pulling him tighter. His left hand glided from my hips to my lower back, holding me steady as he thrust—in and out, in and out—his movements were delicate and controlled.

  Before he lost himself, he slipped the finger vibrator on his right thumb, and then clicked the end. It started humming away. His cock began plunging deeper as his thumb cruised down my thigh.

  The slow journey of vibrations built up the suspense as he crossed over my mound to my other thigh. He teased and teased me until I was begging for him to touch my clit. He relented.

  A jolt echoed through my body when the vibrator kissed my clit. Vince’s palm pressed down on my mound while his thumb sent sparks through my veins—my blood screaming with pleasure. He pulled me tighter, kissing my neck and trailing down to my breasts. His hips began picking up momentum—faster, faster, faster—pounding away. It sounded wet and sexy as he slammed into me.

  The vibrator never quit its wonderful assault on my clit. The pressure continued to build deep inside where his cock struck unremittingly. I tucked my face against his neck. His mouth rested next to my ear, panting. Ever so slowly, I began to slip away into a field of red. Everything turned to shades of red, from pink to carmine, and suddenly the color erupted with searing flames as my world exploded. Shards of red flew across the field as the pressure in the back of my neck climaxed, seizing me with rough, sensual hands. My entire body clenched, then went rigid, my head continuing to pulse.

  Then I grew aware of Vince’s teeth digging into my neck, and that his right hand was no longer rubbing my clit but cradling my head, his grip strong, the vibrator buzzing in the air.

  A storm of grunts and shouts followed as Vince came. He stilled, removing his teeth from my tingling neck. He smiled at his handiwork. “I completely lost control,” he huffed, kissing the marks that he left.

  Our shallow breaths filled the air between us. It felt like someone had stolen my lungs and I was fighting for air. “So did I,” I said, half a minute later.

  We listened to the vibrator hum away while we recovered from the sweaty, energy-stealing, body-shaking romp of a lifetime.

  17

  RESTRAINED

  “I keep forgetting to ask you,” I said, as Vince and I drove down 99 East to Oregon City the following Saturday. “Is Terrance your sponsor?” I was driving him this time, though not in Eddie, since Vince let me cruise behind the wheel of his electric Mustang. Terrance was behind us on his motorcycle.

  Vince laughed. “No, Terrance is just my bodyguard. I do have a sponsor, but when I need to, I call Alma, not him. She’s been there through it all, you know?”

  I nodded. “You can always call me, too.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I haven’t had a problem for a few months, but I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”

  “So what’s his deal? How come he’s so cold to me?”

  “Who? Terrance?”

  I glanced in the rearview mirror at the giant beard above the handlebars. “Yeah
, Terrance. He’s never been nice to me. Why is that?”

  “Well, to be honest, I’ve found that he generally dislikes women,” he answered.

  “What do you mean? Like he’s a womanthrope?”

  “Is that one of your crossword words?” he asked, all smiles.

  “Maybe.” I returned his grin with one of my own. “It means he hates women.”

  “He doesn’t hate women,” he said, grimacing in amusement. “He just doesn’t like them very much. He prefers the company of men.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Socially and . . . sexually.”

  “Oh, Danielle was right then. He’s gay.”

  “I don’t know anything about what Danielle said, but yeah, he’s gay,” he said, as though that were an excuse.

  “So? I’ve met plenty of gay men who like women. In fact, I think it’s pretty weird that he doesn’t.”

  “Well, I guess Terrance is one of those few who just completely ignores them.”

  “So you’re saying you don’t think he’ll ever warm up to me?”

  He nodded. “But, I’ve only known him since September, and that’s what?” He counted the months on his fingers as he named them. “Seven months,” he calculated. “That’s not that long. Maybe he just needs a few months to get to know you.”

  “I hope so if he’s always going to be around.” I reflected on Terrance’s behavior over the last few months, how protective he’d been over Vince, making sure people were always at a distance while in line, even at the bakery. There was a certain affection in his eyes when he looked at Vince and I wondered if he thought of him as a brother. It sure seemed that way. What else could explain such devotion?

  “I’ve never met anyone’s parents before,” Vince said abruptly, changing the subject. His voice startled me from my musing.

  “What do you mean? You’ve never met a single parent of anyone ever?” I said sarcastically.