“Who says that’s what I want to do? I like buses. That give me less reason to wake up with a tree on my head. And the wheels of a tire leaving their mark upon me.
“I’m a careful driver” -
“I see the learner tag on there.” Sandy walks to the station that is directly next to the building.
“No.” Oh, she’s winding me up with that. I had to check. Not a good look. “Where do you need to go, I’ll drop ya?”
“Home. That’s all. And I don’t rightly want you to know that.”
“Wow.”
“What?” Her friend Claire came over but took her time on purpose.
“I’ve never had a woman treat me as if I’m some guy begging to get her number.”
“Money makes you aim a little higher.”
“Maybe. But for me I like to keep things regular. If you give me a google you’ll see that I try to keep my money second, and personal interests first.”
“Jonathan, my bus is coming. Now, I really must thank you for this single mom opportunity, but I think we aren’t that compatible.”
“Step in my mazda and we’ll find out.”
“I” –
“I’ll see you later, Sandy. I’ll collect your daughter.” She gave me a smile to warm for children to see. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Mains.”
I’d forgotten her name, oops, but the bus arrived, and she got on with Sandy superglued and unable to understand that her friend had just placed her in my hands. “I think your next bus doesn’t come for the next twenty minutes, so I think by then we could have a little chat.”
…
I never pushed a conversation in the mazda. I drove, and Sandy sat afraid to move encase she might damage the silver leather or bruise the headrest. The car was only one-of-two that I had. I preferred to keep it reasonable and drive within range of what still was considered cheapish.
Blowing money wasn’t my style. But I did love this part: getting a lovely woman into my car and driving with the window down and no stereo on because I had to try and read what she tangoed with in the moment. Sandy was no Taylor, even with the happy sulk, that was on the horizon if she allowed me to show her that I could be a regular guy to relate to. I tried to waste as much time as possible: checking my petrol meter and zooming with no direction.
“Is there anywhere you would like to see?”
“Moving a little fast there aren’t ya?” That came out stiff like her entire posture.
“I see no point in wasting time. My lifestyle has me on the go. Meetings, training, interviews, coming to see what the heck I signed without properly knowing. It’s how I need to be.”
“And I suppose that’s what the women you involve yourself with expect?”
I scratched my head to think on that one. Did they expect that? “Jeeze. I never thought about expectations. I mean, what do you expect, being with a guy like me?”
“Batmobile stored away somewhere … Butler and maids. Private Island.”
“You got that all from google?”
“It has everything on there about you.”
“Everything? I doubt it knows my deepest and darkest secrets.” I joked to relax her demeanour.
Sandy typed in Jonathan Mains darkest and deepest secrets … “says you don’t wash”
“What!” I took the phone from her to check. “I wear …” I balanced the phone in one hand. “It says I wear the same boxers for more than three days. And have a hairy ass. Confession of an ex-girlfriend.” I had no idea which one, as it claimed more than two could back up that nonsense.
Sandy found was amused and dimly trying not to laugh. “Is that the best they could come up with?” Her body simmered and settled against the seat as I drove her around.
“The price I have to pay for not spending enough on their lavish habits.” I went quiet and Sandy gained more confidence.
“Is that common for you to deal with?”
“Ninety-percent of the time. And God help me if I end up falling for her.”
“And how high is that percentage?”
“Low. Real low. I know what to expect now.”
“Jonathan. Some girls might actually find you handsome”
“Like you? Do you find me handsome?” I exchanged glances between her and the road. But Sandy always won that. And I could see her hands tensing against her thighs. It was bubbling again: what we had experienced during our first real eye-to-eye encounter. It dropped and rose. Rose, then dropped. And I blamed Sandy for going hot and cold. When it should be me fighting the lurgies to keep my hands to myself.
But I stopped in the car park of one of my gyms, it was closed. And I waited to see if there was any chance that I had read her correctly. I never pursued unless there was a real reason to. And my ego did my best to have my money as the confidence booster. It helped. No rich man can’t say it doesn’t add a few inches to any aspect of what could mean.
“Do you want to go inside, and I could give you a tour?
“Jonathan, as a man who likes to move fast. What are you expecting to happen?”
“For us to go to my office and have a glass of wine.”
“And …”
“That’s it.”
“Sure. But I will get out this car because I need to stretch my legs. You’ve been driving me around for at least two hours.”
“You sized me up already Sandy.” She got out and I locked my mazda. “But you should give me a chance. I might surprise you better than you think.”
“We’ll see how you put it down when we get up there.”
Chapter 3
Sandy
Jonathan held the door open for me; helped me over the barrier and then jumped over himself. Usually you would need a membership card. But as he owned it, we walked straight through the main gym that had weight benches, tonnes of dumbbells, machines for back and legs where you add weights, and then his office popped up through a door and a couple of steps.
A glass door was what I walked through and saw a recliner seat pushed into a desk with a small plant and a pot of blue biros. There was a weighing scale for him to stand on, and a boxer glove that scored points for the hardest blow! My lady garden was tingling before I could even decide why he was standing there gawping at me.
I was turned on when he came closer and gave me a slight kiss. It made me tense more. I wanted to fight the next kiss, and the next, and so did he. I could feel Jonathan was fighting something within himself as we started to lip-suck for longer periods until our hands moved, caressed, and massaged each other’s bodies.
When it started to heat up, we found ourselves sprawled out all over his desk: knocking over his pens and crashing the small potted plant onto the floor as the dirt sprayed out. Somebody would have to hoover that in the morning.
Jonathan got on top of me … then I got on top of him, but barely moved myself when he started to slide his hand underneath my v-neck and snapped at my bra strap: not taking it off. It did work with loosening me into a calmer connection.
I was quite stiff, and Jonathan moved at my pace to give me some oiling in all the right places. We tumbled and ended up bashing against the sides of the desks: jarring it until us the desk went for the walkies.
Soon enough, I ended up on his lap: riding the lump-of-wood underneath his black jogger trousers. He unbuttoned my cotton top slowly, as I leaned down; gripped both sides of his face and tongue-tussled him until we were numb, and his head started to fall off its neck-hinges. I started to care less about the fact that the gym experiencing it’s opening hours below. Caution was thrown to the wind!
I shoved Jonathan back in our inessential lust of fury that was taking me and him by the lungs, and the recliner seat banged against the glass with gym members and staff who were below us. They couldn’t see from down there, but I and Nathan got off on the glass that bang-bang-bang-banged - and our clothes that appeared on the floor each time.
At one point, I got off Jonathan’s lap, and he spun me around and struggled to pull down my
skirt with his teeth. “Gawddisishard.”
“I can’t hear you. And can you tug down on that a little more gently.” I was trying to help Jonathan out by unbuttoning my skirt slowly, that at the time, was easier to take off from the front.
“Icwanadoit.” I’d reached the final button; and slid it down both legs – taking Jonathan down with me; ow!” His central incisors had got stuck on the label. I got to his level and watched him attend to his teeth. “That frigging hurt” –
“Kiss me!” I jumped his bones, and after two more minutes of getting his trousers and boxers off … I got to work with my mouth - and he gave me a hand with how deep. I cupped his piece inside my fist and sucked with all the energy that a six-hour shift still hadn’t taken from me. Each enjoyment heard was more ignition.
“Right … right … right there. Oh, fu … fuc…. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah!” Jonathan said that three times and then yanked me by my sandy blonde ponytail to come closer for a kiss. Then we wrestled nakedly and rolled over like a see-saw until he landed on top – and I had to get his piece inside me as he caressed my neck with his tongue and it sent tingles down my spine until I fought paralysis.
I laid frozen while he gave me no time to get use to his maniac thrust … when I caught up, the ripples traversed through me and I felt pleasurable chills that came from the weight of his pounding as we banged against the floor over-and-over again.
At times, I closed my eyes and felt the surge of Jonathan who twisted my body so that my thighs were pressed together, and another position took place.
He gripped the side of my thigh, and when that stopped his movement, he raised one of my legs against his bare chest and wormed himself back- in until he could hear my mutual-agreement of; “ooooooh-ooooooh-oooooh.” And then it got even faster; oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh … and then he slowed it down: oh … oh … oh … oh … oh.
His hand massaged my boob carelessly, but I didn’t want him to stop propelling the waves that he had created. But he did, suddenly, and got me up; lifted me by the waist; pressed me against the glass; spread my legs apart; and continued to bury for the vulva-wall that entrapped him inside me.
The volume amplified with my heart beat that escalated when I saw his whole frame bouncing at the same time as me. My back slide against the glass continuously, and his hands dug into my lower waist. My eyes lowered as I saw his wood slap-me-back until my head started to hurt. I slipped … he levelled me back up and looked me dead in the eye. “What’s your answer then?”
“Make me sing?”
“I thought … I … was!?” Smack-smack-smack-smack and no rest. Our bodies turned a mutual cheery blossom red. Jonathan wiped his brow then pecked me on the lips. But something, not sure what, had died in the moment. And he felt it to. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t worry.” But Jonathan’s ego had been bruised. And my patience had exceeded its daily limit. “Or maybe we should get ready?”
“I still have ten-minutes more in me.”
“Hmm.” I bobbled with no lustre on his Jimmy that was still a firm pole. “You sure are.”
“Fine.” He exited; dropped me down; and went to collect his clothes.
After five minutes of our clothes being collected around the office and placed back-on, Jonathan sat on one end of his desk, and me on the other. “And … we’re good.”
“Yeah, Jonathan.” I adjusted my skirt and looked at the reflection in the window to fix my hair that he had wrecked. “Real good. Unless you have complaints?”
“No. none.” He rocked back on the recliner. The bottle of wine remained unopened as he glared at me. “I should drop you home”
“Getting rid of me already?” The text could wait.
“It’s obvious you don’t want to be here?”
“Is this apart of your tactic, Jonathan? Because I’m back on google, and one of your exes claims that she had to ignore your countless times after hearing those overused lines. Just ask me if I’m after your money? That way we can have another sexual episode because I think then, that this could work.
“It would go against my policy.”
“You have a policy? I have to hear this?”
“No single mother’s.”
I nearly fell of my seat, “pass me the wine please. You might’ve have said that before we procreated in your office.”
“I used protection” -
“You did?” A brief pause and rewind took place. “I need to pour this wine successfully into this glass … so be very certain … did you use protection?”
Jonathan showed me an empty magnum wrapper. “I would never have done it without.”
“My daughter isn’t looking for a brother or sister just yet.”
“Thank God. Because I’m the wrong man to provide that” -
“It was a joke”
“Sure. But I’m just letting you know.”
“Ok.” He made me sip my wine clumsily. I had to avoid getting any more on my white cotton jumper. “Now I understood when my friend Steven talked about when a guy gets a thing called a downer on aisle one. I might not be male, but Jonathan made me feel no better about asking for a ride home with the bottle of wine in my grip. “Can you drop me then? Since the moods dropped below conversational.”
That bottle was staying put. And it sat on my lap until I reached my front door. And was the one thing I took from Jonathan’s that Claire got to share that evening. “Is Maria in bed?”
“Tucked her in a few hours ago.” Claire went to double check out the window.
“What are you checking?”
“Jonathan is still out there in that shiny red mazda.” I came to have a nosey without him noticing us two stalkers. Which is what it felt like, but in our defence, he was just chilling and parked with no movement whatsoever. “Why not invite him in?”
“I don’t think so. Not after how he treated me?” Claire closed the curtain and dragged me to sit on the sofa. There was really no need for the dramatics, but I played along and tried to keep her column of gossip 101 alive.
“Tell me everything! Did you sleep with that billionaire?”
“Is it that interesting for you?”
“He’s a young guy who happens to be very successful. It’s a good move to make.”
“Claire, he’s a human being”
“That privilege left when he got himself rich. And he’s a playboy. They all our. You know how they like to have fun. And live fast. And because this one is in fitness it means he’s probably quite efficient in the ooo-la-la department.” She raised an eyebrow for me to confirm the ooo-la-la. But I keep a placid face, and her eyebrows stay raised to my annoyance. “They won’t drop until you tell me what happened?”
“We messed up his office.”
“Oh, you are soooooooo naughty! I knew it wouldn’t take you long to slither out of those clothes.”
“Thanks for your faith in my resistance to rich men.”
Claire scoffs, “so, he was hard to resist?”
“If he’s still out there then my guess about him is right?” Claire gets up and adjusts the blinds, so she can see through the gaps.”
“Mommy,” we both turned to the stairwell where Marie was gripped onto the middle in her care bear pyjama set: with lazy beer asleep like she should be. She slowly came down the steps like a new learner and I picked her up into my arms and gave her small swing around the foyer before forgetting that she had school in the morning and was a hard one to get to sleep.
“Sandy …” I brought Marie into the kitchen like I was carrying a sack of potatoes and blew raspberries on her cheeks. “Sandy …” then I sat her down on the stool and tickled her tiny toes as she kicked and laughed. “Sandy …” If Claire called me one more time - “he’s coming to knock on the door! Should I open it?”
The doorbell rang: ding-dong. “Door mommy.”
“Well, he’s not hanging around”
“Why?”
“He’s off again and heading back into his mazda.” Claire gave
me a bemused look. “He’s almost as”
“Do not compare steel to metal. Can you feed this little one here while I deal with him out there?”
“Deal with him?” Claire looked at me as though I was the mafia.
“Yes. I’m going to call the Godfather and make him get rid of the guy infront of my house.”
“I think Jonathan can buy him off.” I grabbed my jacket as it wasn’t the warmest and headed straight for his mazda that was about to drive off. I gave Claire a glance to close the front door because Marie came to check who it was, and Jonathan caught sight. When I got to his car he was winding down the window but watched my daughter disappear behind the front door.
“Is that your child?”
“Yes.”
“She’s a beautiful kid”
“Thank you. But what are you doing parked out here?”
“I was leaving.”
“Then do so, before I get happy-snappers locating where you are.” I left his window without saying goodbye.
“You not curious as to why I’m hanging around?”
I turned back towards him, because of course, curiosity is my middle name. “I am. But it can’t be to take me and my daughter for a ride?”
“Only you”
“Buh-bye Jonathan.” No more conversing with him.
Perfect Game: A Single Mom & Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Page 2