by Marr, Maggie
Me sucking her tits is a trigger for her.
I know she’s wet now. I know the motion of her hips will continue until she’s satisfied.
Which will be a while.
I intend to make her come over and over and over again. I intend to erase her tears, her doubt, her pain. I intend to imprint myself and our time together upon her soul so that after we’re finished, no matter who she’s with, she’ll never forget her Wonderfuck.
I won’t forget her.
I roll the taut nipple around in my mouth and my fingertips skim over her belly to her sex. I brush over her clit with my fingertip. She grasps my hair in her hands.
“Please.” She bucks her hips up to my hand. I pulse two fingers deep into her sex, and her muscles clamp around me.
“Please, oh yes, please!”
I want her. I want her now. I want her the way that I want to take her.
I pull out my fingers and flip her onto her stomach. I need this. I want this. I pull her up onto her knees. My fingertips return to her sex, circling her clit. I bend over her back and she tips her round ass toward me, inviting me to fuck her. Fuck her fast and hard.
And I want this.
I want to pound deep into her over and over again. To make her mine, to prove she’s mine to fuck. I grab a condom and unroll it onto my shaft. Heat pulses in my legs and climbs up to my balls. My back muscles tighten as my cock strains to plunge deep into her sex.
She looks around at me. Her eyes are liquid lust. Besotted with desire. There’s a beast deep inside me, one that I don’t let out when I’m wonderfucking, one I haven’t let out in years. A gluttonous creature that takes what he wants. A beast who doesn’t give like Wonderfuck gives. A part of my sexuality that I thought died with Susie, but the beast awakens now. Awakens with the curve of Tara’s ass pressing against my cock, with the gleam in her eyes, with the hint of her tantalizing smile. I rub the flat of my hand on her ass.
So beautiful.
So round.
Smack.
Tara moans.
The tiniest red mark outlined on the fair skin of her ass. My cock throbs. I bite down hard on my bottom lip. I reach forward and intertwine my fingers in Tara’s lush brown hair. I grasp it tightly and I pull. She looks back at me.
“Is this okay?” I’m barely able to speak. My words, my voice, are thick with lust, with heat, with the desire I’ve contained for nearly six years.
“I want you,” she says. “It turns me on.”
Her words are all I need. I press the head of my cock to her entrance and tug her hair. Her head lifts up and back. With one hand on her hip, I thrust hard and deep into her. I’m hip deep into Tara. I stroke back out and plunge deep into her sex again. Heat rockets through me. I won’t last. Can’t last.
My breath is hot quick pants as I pulse in and out. I lean forward and kiss the corner of her mouth. I’m above her, and I pull harder on her hair.
“Please, God, yes, please!” she wails.
Her sex clamps around me and her ass presses toward me.
Oh. So. Deep.
Come jets from my balls and through my shaft, and I turn to stone above her with one hard thrust. She tightens around me.
“Oh my God, Jake, oh my God.”
We both come, and I’m so lost that I can’t even tell her that I’m not Jake, that I’m the Wonderfuck.
* * *
“Are we allowed to go out together?” she asks. “I mean as Wonderfuck?”
I lay in bed beside her, both my arms are wrapped around her. Her ass is toward me so I can’t see her face. Want laces the question she’s asked. Not sexual want, but a desire to get what she asked for.
“I know the rules about anonymity, but is there a rule about going and doing something while we’re together?”
I know it’s not a good idea, but it’s what I want too. I press my lips to the back of her neck. Her body responds. Her body always responds to my kiss.
“What did you have in mind?”
She rolls over in my arms and faces me. Her beautiful face with those sharp, focused sky-blue eyes. Her soft smooth skin and the sparkling smile that makes me smile in return.
“There’s an opening at The Legend Gallery in Venice. I like the artist. Thought maybe we could go.”
I kiss the tip of her nose. I want her to be happy. I want to please her in more ways than simply the physical.
“We can do that.”
I don’t think about the conflict, the possibilities, the damage that could happen to my two worlds. No, I don’t stop to think at all, because this gorgeous woman, with a beautiful face that enchants me, is smiling at me. I’ve just made her happy, and that’s all that matters in the world.
* * *
We fuck in the shower.
Two times.
Fucking her is the best experience of my life.
Chapter 23
The Legend Gallery sits on Venice Beach. It’s a big open space two stories tall.
“They just remodeled.” Tara holds my hand and pulls me inside. Hipsters and models and actors wander the gallery. My heart beats at an erratic pace.
Who am I while I’m here?
With Tara I’m meant to be Wonderfuck, but here, in this space, as I walk by the second person that looks familiar, my breathing grows shallow.
Is this a date?
What the fuck? I bring my hand to my forehead, and Tara turns to me.
“Are you okay? Should we leave?”
I’m processing her words. Thinking about what I need to do versus what I want to do when—
“Yo, Jake! Man, good to see you here!”
I turn. Andrew stands in front of us. Beside him is Ingrid, his wife, a former friend of Susie’s and a hater of me. Andrew clasps my hand and pats me on the back. I meet Ingrid’s gaze and she lifts a brow.
“Jake.” Her tone is cool. I’ve known Ingrid since college. Andrew and Ingrid started dating after Susie and I introduced them to each other.
They both look at Tara.
My throat tightens. They want an introduction, but I’m at a loss. I run my hand through my hair. This . . . my worlds are colliding . . . the woman I loved . . . the woman I destroyed. Ingrid loved her too. Loved us both, and now I’m standing in a public place as Wonderfuck with a woman I want to keep hidden in a separate compartment of my existence. The walls I’ve spent years building are crumbling, taking me and my identity down with them.
“This is . . .”
“Tara.” She finishes my sentence when I stumble. Tara extends her hand first to Ingrid, who introduces herself, and then to Andrew. They don’t mention Susie, although Ingrid continues to shoot sour looks my way.
“Are you a collector of Frederika’s work?” Tara asks.
“Oh, no, no, no.” Ingrid hooks her arm through Andrew’s and glances up at him. “We’re close friends of the gallery owner, but as for the artist?” She purses her lips and shakes her head no.
Ingrid’s gazes runs up and down over Tara as though measuring her worth. Was Ingrid always this big of a snobbish bitch? Did I realize it when I dated Susie? Did Susie realize it? They were absolutely best friends. Ingrid was meant to be in our wedding, would have been if not for . . .
“We do have three Rengalis. That’s the next show. We came by tonight to get a private viewing of our fourth.” Ingrid squeezes Andrew’s arm.
He looks green. From the rumor mill, I know Andrew’s company isn’t doing well. I glance from Andrew to Ingrid. Fuck. She has no idea what’s going on with his business. Deceptive bullshit. Deceptive bullshit of which I want no part.
“We’re going to grab some dinner. Do you two want to join us?” Ingrid asks in a honey-dripping voice.
“No,” I blurt out much too fast. But I don’t want to. I’m here as Wonderfuck, not as Jake, and I don’t want to sink further into this quagmire.
“We just got here,” Tara adds. “And we ate before we arrived. Nice to meet you though.”
“You too,” I
ngrid purrs. They slide past us.
My head fucking hurts.
They’re out the door. Tara’s gaze gathers me up, as though she sees all my broken bits, and that sucks. I feel vulnerable, weak, and like she knows too well who I really am.
“Do you want to leave?”
She does know me. She knows me both too well and just well enough. While a part of me wants run off into the night, shove Tara into an Uber alone and go be Wonderfuck for the rest of my life, another part of me wants to stay with her, walk through the gallery and look at the amazing art by this artist Ingrid is much too pretentious to like, but which Tara loves, which makes me like the artist all the more.
“No.” I shake my head. “I want to be here with you.” I reach out and clasp Tara’s hand with mine. We turn and walk together toward the paintings at the back of the gallery.
* * *
We’re closing in on forty-eight hours. Aside from Cheryl, I’ve never stayed with a woman this long since I began wonderfucking. I need to leave. I need to tell Tara that we have to leave—
“I need to go,” Tara says and stretches her arms over her head.
Wait . . . what? She wants to go? She wants to leave? She can just get out of this bed and walk away from what we’re doing here?
Tara closes her computer and flips her glasses on top of her head. “Jango—my dog,” she adds, as a nod toward my anonymity rule, “has been with the dog sitter for two days, and I have work to do.”
We both have lives to return to, but the realization that this is the end of our second time together and that I’ll soon be ending our Wonderfucking time together is nearly too heavy to bear.
I lift her computer from her lap and set it on the nightstand. I take her glasses from the top of her head.
“We can leave,” I say. I press my lips to her cheek. I pull back and look into her eyes. “After we fuck one more time.”
She smiles. A devilish gleam glows in her eye.
“You won’t get any arguments from me.” Her hands reach out to my cock. She strokes down and up with a firm grasp. Her gaze doesn’t waver from mine. She presses her lips to my lips and pushes me back onto the bed. She leans over me now, her breasts against my chest. She lifts her leg and straddles my body. I grasp her hips and lift upward. I shift her body forward, positioning her sex above my mouth.
This is what I want. I want her hot glistening sex just above my lips. I hold her still. I reach out my tongue and lave up one side of her.
Tara’s head falls back and she braces her palms on the headboard.
“Oh my fucking God,” she says over pants of pleasure. I pull her clit into my mouth. My tongue strokes the letters of the words I will never say to her. She grasps one of her breasts and plays with her nipple.
Fuck.
So hot. So beautiful. I want her.
I suck hard on her clit and then let her flesh slide from my mouth. I reach up with my tongue and shift her body forward to pull her down onto it. I slide my tongue deep into her hot core. I probe deep and hard into her sex. Her juices come into my mouth. Her sex clasps around me.
She slides up and down on my tongue.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she gasps.
I lift her hips and shift her back. I pull her clit into my mouth again. I spell out the words on her flesh.
“Please, oh my God, please, Jake, wonderfuck me.”
I can’t hold back. I roll a condom onto my shaft. She hovers above me, her eyes open.
“I love having you inside me.”
She grasps my cock with both hands and slowly, ever so slowly, more slowly than I want, more slowly than I can take, more slowly that I can stand, she slides her hot sex down over me. She takes all of me. She’s beyond beautiful. She’s a fucking goddess. She’s everything feminine and gorgeous, all that I could want or need, and she’s sitting with my cock thrust deep inside of her.
Tara pulls her sex up along my shaft until all that remains inside her is the head of my cock.
My breath stalls in my chest. The only thing I want on this entire planet, this entire world, my entire universe, is for her hot body to thrust down.
And she does. Her breasts bounce. I take in her beauty, the tiny rosebud nipples and her belly and her lush brown hair, as she rolls forward and back above me. Tara’s gaze never leaves my face. We’re locked together. In this moment, she’s in control, she’s in command. She lifts her body. I press my fingertip to her clit. Her mouth drops open and she gasps.
She slams her body down onto me. Her rhythm grows faster. She moves up and down, up and down. My fingertip circles her clit. I don’t have much time left. Her sex clenches tight around my shaft. She moans, and then a shriek rips from her lips.
Heat jets through me, to the base of my back, and down my shaft. Come explodes from me, and we both fall over the edge.
* * *
The ride home sucks. The ride home has never sucked like this before. Never. My body aches. My muscles are sore.
But my heart.
My heart is shredded.
Wonderfuck’s heart doesn’t hurt.
I am screwed.
So fucked.
I climb into the elevator. I’ve waited two hours. I even picked up food. I don’t want to see Tara in the hall. The elevator doors open. I walk down my hall. I stop in the middle, no-man’s land. As much as I don’t want to see Tara, God, I fucking do. I will her to open her door. I think of Jango and will her to know that I am standing here. I will them both to have a sudden urge to go for a walk.
I wait.
I wait longer than I should.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I turn toward my door. I unlock the lock. I go inside.
I wait.
I shut the door.
I’m Jake.
I’m alone.
Abso-fucking-lutely alone.
Just like I always need to be.
Chapter 24
The Broad isn’t in my top ten places to take a five-year-old in Los Angeles, but Rachel is on an arts and culture kick this summer where Lily is concerned, and they invited me for this outing. Personally, I think Legoland is culturally enriching, or maybe the latest Pixar movie, but Rachel wouldn’t be swayed. We walk to a Takashi Murakami painting trailing Lily, who carries a pad of paper and has a box of crayons in her Hello Kitty backpack.
She plops down in front of the painting. “Mommy, I want to draw this one,” she says. I glance at the Murakami. How absolutely aspirational. My five-year-old niece, a world-class artist.
“Go for it!” Rachel smiles. She glances at me. “You okay?” she whispers.
A half dozen people wander through this gallery, but many are using indoor voices, not whispering.
“I guess. Why?”
“Just checking. We never really talked about your arrest, or that day at Mom’s.”
I flash on the blonde mom, her open mouth fellating my cock. Nope, won’t be sharing that with Rachel.
“And you haven’t said much about your neighbor.”
“Tara.”
Rachel nods.
“Not much to say.” I turn to the giant painting. How long did he work on this piece?
“So you two aren’t . . .”
Her words trail off. Irritation flashes in my chest. I may be her little brother, but do I have to share everything in my life with her?
“Fucking? Dating? What do you want to know, Rachel?”
“Touchy,” she says. She wanders past me toward Lily and leans forward to examine her artwork.
Rachel’s right. I’m damned irritable. Discussing what’s going on between me and Tara with Rachel isn’t an option. It’s confusing and it breaks too many rules. I haven’t heard from Tara in close to two weeks. I also haven’t seen her. I’m beginning to wonder if she still lives across the hall from me.
“Hey.” Rachel walks back to me. “You mentioned something happened between you and Mom? When you took her home from Lily’s performance?”
A
sick feeling slides through my belly, and my stomach folds in on itself. “Do you remember when Dad moved out?”
Color drains from Rachel’s face. Those were dark days in the Reynolds household.
I lower my voice. “Mom started talking to me about . . . what happened.” My gaze meets Rachel’s. “She thought I was Dad.”
“Oh shit.” Rachel’s eyes widen. “Did she think you were—”
“Still cheating on her. Ripped me for gawking at one of the moms in Lily’s class.”
“Were you gawking?”
“No. Besides, that isn’t the uncomfortable part.”
“Right.” Rachel rakes her fingers through her hair. “Right, you’re absolutely right. Wow, that sucks.”
I turn away from Rachel and look at Lily’s picture. Blue and pink fight for primacy on her page.
“I knew like six months before Mom did.” It’s a secret I’ve never shared.
“Wait? What?” Rachel turns to me.
I can’t meet her gaze. This isn’t a story I’ve ever told, not to Mom, not to Rachel, not even to Susie, and Susie and I knew all of each other’s secrets.
“Sixth grade. Skipped fifth period with Jeff Wexler. Took our bikes to Brentwood to get a soda at—” I stop. Why am I telling Rachel this? Why am I even remembering this story?
“And?”
“And we were behind the store, you know, heading up that side street that led to the arcade.”
Rachel nods.
“And I saw Dad.”
“Behind the grocery store?”
“With a woman.”
My heart races. I’m twelve again. Hopping on my bike. The sun beats against my scalp. One hand clutches a cool aluminum can, and the other, my handlebars. We zip around the corner.
Dad’s Mercedes.
Shit. I’m screwed. I duck my head and pedal harder. I sneak a look at his car, to see if he’s looking . . . but he’s not. Through the windshield I see his mouth pressed tight to a woman’s mouth. A blonde woman’s mouth.
Mom isn’t blonde.
My jaw drops.
I nearly steer my bike into his car, but instead I jerk the handlebars. I look back.