by L.J. Shen
“It’s easier that way,” he said, rolling my hair around his fist and tugging it, arching my back. My neck was long and exposed, and he dragged his hot lips across it, making my thighs quiver with anticipation.
“What’s easier?”
“Not to talk. That’s why I’m The Mute. When you don’t talk, people assume you don’t listen. They stop asking you for shit. They start caring less. People love the sound of voices. Theirs and others. That’s why they love music. I don’t. I don’t like music and I don’t like people. So I don’t say shit. But I never thought it would be like this with Luna.”
The candid revelation caught me off guard. That’s why I barely noticed that his hand was already working the buttons of my gray pants. Trent was like a spice. I tasted him everywhere, even though our lips had never touched. Never would, probably. But he still made my mouth water and my eyes burn.
“I need to fuck you,” he groaned into my neck, crowding me to the wall. “That’s all I can fucking think about, Edie. Your pussy clenching around my cock. I need to fuck you, and it’s fucking with me. With my mind. With my priorities.”
“Then do it,” I moaned, pushing a hand into his slacks and cupping his junk. It was huge, and he was so hard, I actually whimpered. I needed him inside of me, too. I needed him to fill me and make me forget. Forget about Mom, and Jordan leaving, and what I had to do to Trent to protect Theo. Forget that life was mostly a chain of disappointments linking tragedies together.
Trent turned around and pushed a button that made the elevator come to a violent stop. He then scooped me up by the back of my knees, making me wrap my legs around him. He kissed my face for the very first time. Not my lips. My neck and jaw and closed eyes. His straight teeth dragging over my skin teasingly, his tongue darting out for a first taste. I wanted to die in his arms and never come back. I started rubbing him through his briefs, feeling him harden even more against my palm. My panties were so damp, the skin of my sex clung to the fabric.
“Please,” I hissed.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me,” I choked. I never begged. Never had to. I’d had very few partners in my eighteen years, but they were all more than willing to get rid of our clothes before I’d even uttered a word. Not Trent. With him, there was always a push. Then a pull. Then an explosion in-between when we finally happened.
“I don’t have a condom,” he said, just as he tugged my pants awkwardly down between us. My legs were still spread and he started rubbing me through my panties. His cock in my hand, my pussy beneath his fingers, it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted everything.
“I need you inside me,” I moaned.
“That could be arranged.” He smirked, taking a step back and letting me slide down to the floor. My bare knees hit the rough surface, just as his cock sprung out of his white, tight Armani briefs. It was thick, hard, and swollen. He fisted my hair and brought my face to his monstrous dick. I hooked my fingers in the loops of his slacks with one hand and wrapped my fingers around his base with the other, kissing the tip.
“And you said that we’re not allowed to kiss,” I deadpanned. His chuckle vibrated through his strong, muscular body. My hunger for him was so carnal, it wasn’t even dipped with the usual shame of what I wanted to do. I took as much as I could of him, first coating his cock with my saliva before I sucked it like a lollipop, making sounds I knew were driving him mad while pumping his base with my fist.
“Fuck,” he whispered, tugging at my hair harder. I still had my back to the wall, while he stood in the middle of the elevator thrusting himself into my mouth. He stumbled a little, propping one hand against the wall. “Why do I keep coming back for more of you? What makes you so goddamn irresistible?”
I pumped him faster, sucking him off harder. Then I pressed the tip of my tongue to his slit, feeling the salty taste of his pre-cum and nearly blacking out in pleasure. I wasn’t going to answer him.
“Finger yourself,” he commanded, seemingly frustrated with my lack of response. I complied, interested to know where this was going to lead.
Three thuds came from above our heads, like someone had punched the elevator.
“Hey! Is anyone there? This is Clint from maintenance.”
“Fucking Clint from maintenance…” Trent muttered, grabbing onto the back of my head and starting to fuck my mouth mercilessly. Tears stung my eyes, threatening to run down as my gag reflex was assaulted with his cock again and again. “Shove three fingers into yourself. Let go of my dick. Play with yourself. I’m close.”
I did as I was told, hearing him moan above me and feeling a little shiver running through my body. We could get caught. We would. Clint was obligated to file a report. I knew that because I spent my days printing and filing forms filled out by maintenance people in the building. And what he was going to say was going to ruin us.
“Fuck, Edie, fuck. Don’t stop.”
I didn’t. Tears were now running down my cheeks as I took all of him in my mouth—in and out, in and out—and I felt him jerking on my flattened tongue.
“I’m coming in your mouth.” Statement, not a request. I nodded.
“Anyone there?” Clint echoed above us, and Trent smashed his fist to the wall.
“Trent Rexroth and Edie Van Der Zee from the fifteenth. Would you mind sending fucking help instead of slamming the door?” he roared. There was a brief silence. I didn’t know if Clint was going to get help or try to fix the problem himself.
“Edie,” Trent said, cupping my cheek. “I’m fucking coming.”
In seconds, my mouth was full of warm, thick liquid. All salt and man. I’d done this before, and I always, always swallowed it down before I let the tang assault my taste buds. Not this time. This time I drank him. He was fine wine and I was addicted. I continued touching myself.
“Holy mother of blowjobs,” he moaned, yanking my hair to make me stand up. I got it. We were running out of time. But I still wanted to finish. My hand was still between my legs when I got up on shaky feet. He pushed me against the wall again.
“I want your ass,” he whispered into my ear. “Tell me I can have it this Sunday, and I’ll make you come before fucking Clint arrives.”
“No.” My voice was gruff from lack of talking. “I’m not even close. Now that I know Clint is coming…”
“Clint is not coming, sweetheart,” Trent cut me off, cupping my pussy over my hand and squeezing hard. “You’re coming. If you give me your word I can ride your sweet ass this weekend.”
“I’ve never done anal.”
“I want every hole in your body, Van Der Zee. Hell, I want to create new ones in the process of fucking you.”
I nearly chuckled, but then he placed his fingers on mine and directed me, making me finger myself. I spread my legs as wide as I could, feeling his middle finger caressing my tight hole as he helped me work myself up again.
“You’re quiet today,” he said, his breath hitching once again.
“Thought you’d appreciate it. You don’t like talking to people, right?” I propped one of my legs against his waist and he pushed his middle finger into me—touching my own fingers inside myself—stoking my arousal before slowly pushing the finger up my ass.
“I hate it when people talk. I like it when you do. You’re not like the rest. You always have something interesting to say. You hate this shit as much as I do. The fake rich stuff.”
“You love the fake rich stuff,” I huffed, feeling my lower stomach tickling with an orgasm.
“Nope. Just playing the game, my Little Tide.”
“Did you just give me a nickname?” I smirked, feeling the muscles of my tight hole tightening around his finger. It hurt a little, but mostly felt weird. Not weird bad, either. But the kind you needed to get used to in order to enjoy. The way he worked his fingers over mine…that was the real treat.
“Better than Gidget.” He bit my chin.
“I like Gidget.”
“You like Little Tide more.
”
“No, I don’t.”
“You’re about to.” He slammed his finger deeper into my ass and I yelped, clinging to his broad shoulders. His lips met my ear and he bit my earlobe, smiling.
I exploded on our fingers. Shattering like never before, in a way that made me doubt I’d ever be able to piece myself back together. The shivers were so violent and profound, I thought I was going to break into pieces. Knocks sounded from outside.
“Hey! Hey! Mr. Rexroth? It’s Clint. I’m here with the elevator’s technician, Steve. We’re coming to get you. Stay calm.”
Trent looked down at me, smiling. My cheeks were flushed—I could feel them burning and making the tight space hotter—and our fingers were completely soaked with my juices. He eased his finger out of me, and I noticed how my muscles were no longer tight and tense.
“Are you calm now?” Trent’s voice caressed the crown of my head.
“Physically, yes. But we’re entering danger territory. I’ve never been in waters so deep.” I squeezed my eyes shut, suddenly afraid of being so frank.
“Neither have I, but I’m a good swimmer. And, Edie? You’re an excellent surfer.”
“JESUS CHRIST, YOU SLEPT WITH her.” Dean closed his eyes, throwing his head back and rubbing his face tiredly. We were all standing by the grill Vicious was manning. He was flipping steaks and burgers, wearing a scowl and semi-casual clothes, while Jaime was unwrapping baked potatoes and dumping enough coleslaw to choke a fucking giraffe into them for the kids. I placed the burgers in their buns methodically on a long porcelain island in Vicious’ six-thousand square foot garden, ignoring them.
They couldn’t know that.
Not from one fucking glance I’d thrown her way while I’d thought no one was looking.
“Spit it out, bastard. We want to know.” Jaime laughed, taking a swig of his Bud Light. Behind him, Daria, his six-year-old, was playing with Vaughn and Knight, Vicious’ and Dean’s kids. Lev and Bailey, the infants, were in baby swings at the far end of the garden, with Rosie and Mel watching over them and sharing iced tea. Emilia, Vicious’ wife, was in the kitchen getting everything ready.
And Luna and Edie were in their own little world, lying on the grass, staring at the sky, their arms tucked under their heads. Edie was talking, and Luna smiled a little and nodded a lot, listening. I was dying to be with them, to get closer, to ask them what they were talking about, but sharing this moment with the two of them was exactly the kind of deep waters Edie was talking about.
“Well.” Dean elbowed my ribs, passing by me with a bowl full of potatoes. “Did you or did you not stick your dick in a teenager?”
I looked up from the buns and the burgers, blinking slowly. Sometimes, it was beneficial to be called The Mute.
“I know you want us to fuck off, but come on, we gotta know. We’re your best friends,” Jaime reminded me, stretching the point by plucking a joint out of his pocket. Dean rolled his eyes, and everybody stopped what they were doing.
“Give it, you little shit. I haven’t had a smoke in a lifetime.” Figured. Dean’s wife had a lung disease. He made countless sacrifices for his family, which made me respect him even more than I had in the past. Rosie looked fine. Normal. Pretty. But still sick. So every time he could get away with smoking pot, we were reminded of how not-so-normal his life was. The fucker had a big heart. He willingly wedded what I bitterly accepted—a situation where we had to take care of someone else.
Dean lit the joint and braced the island, passing it on to me. “Come on, now,” he said, smoke crawling from his lips. “Talk.”
They weren’t going to let it go, so I threw them a bone for no other reason than to shut them the fuck up.
“We have something going on,” I said quietly, not meeting any of their gazes. I took a long hit and passed it on to Vicious, who stared at me questioningly before bringing the blunt to his lips. “It’s nothing. She hangs out with Luna a lot, but she’s got her own shit to take care of at home, and I have my stuff to deal with. It’s just casual. For both of us.”
What a fucking understatement that was. Edie wasn’t casual. She never had been. But admitting to something else was goddamn crazy.
“Should I be the one to point out that Jordan Van Der Zee is our partner, and that you’re the only person he has beef with?” Jaime asked, taking the joint from Vicious. Dean plucked another beer from a bucket full of ice.
“Fuck knows why. Trent is the only person who actually works hard out of us four.” He laughed. Everyone nodded.
“Maybe he really is racist.” Jaime’s voice was depressed.
“Nah. If he were, he’d try to hide it.” Vicious shrugged. “It goes deeper than that. All I know is that Jord wants to kick you off the board, Trent. I see the way he looks at you. Whatever he has on you, it’s big. He wants you out of Fiscal Heights and he wants you out of his life. His daughter is the perfect excuse.”
“No one is going to know,” I gritted out, snatching the joint from Jaime. “We’re careful.”
But even that wasn’t true. Two days ago, I’d had my finger in her ass in the elevator, minutes after she nearly swallowed my cock. We needed to be more cautious, and I needed to stop being drawn to the most dangerous pussy in my vicinity. She was untrustworthy. She wanted to hand her dad all the information he needed on me. Edie Van Der Zee was starting to look a lot like the death of me, and yet here I was, coming back for more and more of her poison. Addicted like a crackhead.
“Are you sleeping with her to get back at her father for trying to get rid of you?” Jaime asked.
I scoffed. “Fuck no.”
“Do you have feelings for her?” Dean added.
I rolled my eyes, turning to Vicious. “Can you shut them up for me?”
Vicious shrugged. “Do I look like your errand boy? You seem to know how to take care of yourself pretty good.”
I was about to open my mouth and tell them that, in the very near future, Jordan wasn’t going to be a problem for me anymore. Then I heard a shriek coming from behind Dean’s back. I dropped the joint to the grass, hurrying toward the sound I recognized, because I’d studied it too fucking obsessively.
Luna yelping.
“I haven’t done anything to her! I swear!” Daria’s voice screeched. She was running around the lush, carefully cut grass with her blonde ponytails in little pink bows, wearing the ballet uniform she wore constantly. This one made her ex-ballerina mother extra proud. But she was starting to look and feel and talk like a mean girl.
“Oh, no! Luna, sweetie, what’s wrong?” Mel hurried toward the scene at the same time I did. Edie was on one knee, pulling Luna into a hug. Luna buried her face into Edie’s shoulder, and Edie was shooting an ice-cold look I’d never seen before at Daria.
“That was not cool, dude. At all. Did it make you feel good? Hurting her?”
Hurting her? It was the first time I suspected I wasn’t above screaming at a child. I wanted to yell at Daria until every vocal chord in my throat tore apart.
“What the hell is happening here?” I stopped at the same time Mel did. She looked at me helplessly. We hadn’t spoken to each other since I shit all over the date she sent me on. She hadn’t mentioned introducing me to anyone since. I considered that a victory.
“I went to get us some lemonade,” Edie was quick to explain, not waiting for guilt-ridden Daria to speak up, “and as I walked back, I noticed Luna’s seahorse was in Daria’s hand. She tore it apart and took out the fluff,” Edie reported, tightening her grip on Luna, who cried harder. Edie stood up, and Luna was wrapped around her like she was her child.
And it broke me.
And made me happy.
And sad.
And so, so fucked.
I turned to Daria. Mel did the same. She was fuming, too, and it took some of the edge off, because at least I knew she was taking this shit seriously.
“Why, Daria? Why did you do that?” Mel crouched in front of her daughter, holding her shoulders.
Her voice was soft, but her imploring eyes were urgent. This wasn’t the first time Daria had been mean to Luna.
Daria hitched one shoulder, staring at the ground with a pout.
“Luna is so nice to you all the time,” Mel stressed. No one asked Luna anything, because all of us knew we weren’t going to get an answer. She was still in Edie’s arms when Daria lifted her gaze slowly and pointed at the far end of the yard. We all followed the line of vision and saw Knight and Vaughn sitting at a picnic table, munching on the burgers I’d made for them.
“What?” Mel asked again, seemingly irritated. Shit. Her kid was boy-crazy at the age of six. Jaime was in for a long fifteen years or so.
“Knight always picks her side.”
“There is no side. Luna is not against you,” Mel said, her flowery skirt flipping in the wind. I had to calm my rage by averting my gaze to my girls again. Edie pressed Luna’s head to her shoulder and shook her head, still shaken by Luna’s reaction.
“How do you mean, sweetie?” Mel asked Daria.
And had I just thought ‘my girls’? Shit, I had. I’d called Edie my girl, even though she wasn’t, even though she never would be. But she fucking felt like it right there and then. Like someone that belonged to me, not because I wanted to tap her ass—even though I did—but because she was made. For. Me.
“Knight always wants to play with her, even when Vaughn and I play a different game. And Luna doesn’t even play. It’s ridiculous. She just stands there, being stupid.”
I took a step forward, but it wasn’t necessary. Edie was next to Daria in a heartbeat, and the look on her face…fucking priceless. She had the potential to be as daunting as her father. She just didn’t want to be.
“That’s enough, Daria. What you’re feeling right now is jealousy. It’s okay, we all do sometimes. But what’s not okay is how you chose to act on that jealousy by taking it out on Luna and her favorite toy. I think you owe her an apology, don’t you?”
There was silence for a moment. Daria twisted her fingers together, looking horrified and embarrassed, pulling at her pink tutu dress. Luna was watching her from the crook of Edie’s neck, her hands around Edie’s shoulders.