I Want You_An Erotic Short

by Kenya Wright

  “Stop.” She turned to me and pointed a shaky finger. “This is inappropriate.”

  “No. You're relationship with my dad is inappropriate. I'm just the guy that's going to save you.”

  “You're his son, and I don't need to be saved.”

  “He's going to break your heart, even more than he already has.”

  “Enough.”

  “Is it enough?”

  “What?”

  “Are you happy?”

  “None of your business.”

  “It’s my business because I want you for myself.”

  “Okay. Let’s stop right now. I mean, please tell me you’re joking. Adrian, come back to reality.” She waved her hands. “This is crazy talk.”

  “Is it?”

  “I’m going on my run. Have a good day.”

  “At least let me know if you’re happy.”

  “Goodbye.” She turned around and ran off.

  “Carmen! Wait! Let’s talk about this.”

  She raced away like her life depended on it.

  And it pissed me off. So I did what I promised the therapist I wouldn’t do anymore. I rushed upstairs, my dick swollen in my pants, and I waited yet again.

  She’ll be back in an hour. I know her routine. She’ll shower, wash her hair, and maybe trim up that pretty little pussy of hers. Who knows why she sits in that damn shower forever? She takes long ones. Either way, I’ll have my fun with those damn shorts she’s been taunting me with all morning.

  I gripped my throbbing dick and forced myself not to start stroking yet.

  But while you’re in there, spreading bubbles all over those hungry nipples, I’m going to spill my seed all over those tiny little shorts.

  I pictured her when she ran away, that bottom jiggling with every step.

  I’m going to run those sweaty shorts all over my dick.

  For all of my life, I’d never hurt anyone. I gave money to charity, fought the good fight when I spotted injustice in the world. My face had been seen right next to other rich faces that fled to rescue the poor.

  I was a good man.

  But when it came to Carmen, I just couldn’t be good.

  I couldn’t be sane.

  So I jacked off, and she caught me.

  Now what do I do? She’ll think I’m a freak. And I am, but I was hoping she’d figure that out later.

  “Fuck!” I fell back on my bed and closed my eyes.

  Last week's conversation with her played in my mind. It had been Carmen’s birthday, and Dad had forgotten to come home. I had the chef create a six-course meal in her honor and made her dress up and come downstairs to dine with me.

  Carmen did what I asked. That night, she’d sparkled. Her gown had been made of some soft bronze material that wrapped around every curve.

  We had a blast. After her third glass of wine, she giggled and did horrible cartoon impressions. We debated on the meaning of religion and then told each other dirty jokes.

  She mind-fucked me into orgasms. I drowned in Carmen. Her words were silk, her skin so soft. I touched that flesh the few moments I could, brushing against her, unnoticed.

  And at the end of the night with full bellies and drunken conversation, I gave her my gift, and because she was so sad about Dad forgetting her birthday, I told her it was from him.

  Adrian, you're so stupid.

  I sat there and watched her open the box and pull out a new laptop.

  Lying, I smiled. “Dad bought it for you so that you could write. It’s a high-tech version with all the best writing software already uploaded.”

  A grin exploded onto her face. “All this time I figured Nick didn’t take my writing seriously.”

  “You’re talented. Of course he would take it seriously.”

  “How would you know? You’ve never read my books.”

  “Correction.” I held up my finger. “I’ve read all ten books. You can quiz me on this when the chef brings out the coffee.”

  “Deal.”

  I hugged her and counted three seconds in my head before I let her go. “Happy Birthday, Carmen.”

  “Thanks, Adrian.” Grinning, she stared at the gift for a few more seconds. “He remembered my birthday. God, I thought he'd forgotten.”

  “Yes, Dad is a great guy.”

  And on the inside, I’d died a little.

  Chapter 3

  A Masturbating God

  Carmen

  “Yes, Carmen.” Adrian stroked that huge cock in my bedroom. “Right there. All over that pretty face. That’s where I’ll paint you.”

  I’d come undone, and Adrian did it.

  I was tangled ribbon, and he was a master of fingers with a puzzle maker’s mind. He wound me into knots. No matter how much I tried, the image of him stroking himself would not leave my head.

  “Oh Carmen, baby.”

  Once I dried up and put on my clothes, I sat at my desk and told myself to write. I had to do something. Nick wasn’t answering my phone calls. He barely did anymore. I wasn’t that excited about discussing this matter with him, but a conversation needed to be had.

  “Oh, Carmen. I dreamed you’d be this good.”

  Sighing, I figured I could just turn on my new laptop and type out a story like I’d planned on doing all day.

  “Like that, Carmen.”

  This was the moment when I would start a new novel. Excitement ran through my body at the thought. I’d hoped to explore a mystery within a high-fantasy setting and had a large new notebook to prepare all of the world building. It would be my best work ever. My hands would create a bestselling fantasy novel today.

  “All over that pretty face. That’s where I’ll paint you.”

  Instead, all I typed out was sex. Lust and heat glittered across ever chapter, paragraph, and sentence. Adrian had knocked me so far back that now, I couldn’t get him out of my head. Even my artistic side was affected.

  With horror, I looked at my computer screen and read what I’d written today.

  Prologue

  A god stroked himself within the privacy of the forest, right as the sun lathered the dark sky in golden hues and the tired moon made its way to sleep.

  Although he sat on the ground, his pale, bald head reached well over the tops of trees. All humans far and high could see those blue lips as he groaned into the wind, blowing out a black gas that reminded most of the scent of burnt cloves.

  His turquoise eyes reflected sunlight that glowed along the hills.

  It caught the attention of a shepherd off in the distance. He covered his young son's gaze while they sat on their horse, herding the sheep up a mountain. The boy didn't dare move his father's hand as he imagined the many things a god would be doing to make such noises—yanking an enchanted sword away from his chest after a great battle in the heavens, or perhaps he mourned the death of all the goddesses.

  The god stroked himself and groaned again. Birds rushed from the trees near him. The land rumbled with the sound.

  “What is he doing, Father?” the boy asked.

  “What Gods tend to do now that all the goddesses are gone.” The shepherd spit on the ground, moved his herd along, and made sure to keep their backs to the god's lewd activities.

  “Which God is it?” the boy asked.

  “Kroll.”

  “He's my favorite of the four.” Excitement surged in the boy's chest. “Will there be more goddesses one day?”

  “I pray to the Mother that none will come and that these gods will wither away soon.”

  “Well I miss the goddesses and hope the gods don't go too.”

  When the goddesses died, the very essence of feminine magic fled their sliced bodies, traveled on the furious winds, and hid in the most unusual places on earth. Only four gods remained. They did not chase the essence.

  Perhaps, they should have.

  Because the essence had seeped into the very forest where Kroll masturbated.

  Trees formed into the image of women, their trunks curving into ho
urglass shapes. Bark softened into silky textures and tantalizing hands. Branches arched into sensual positions and reminded many of bending female bottoms propped up in the air to be stroked.

  Soft giggling traveled through the leaves.

  When it rained, the trees wept. When the storm calmed, they danced, branches swaying and dipping to the music of the breeze.

  When the sun hit the leaves just right, they sparkled and shined, causing the average human passing by to pause from his journey and recite a native poem on love. Floral fragrances radiated from the fertile soil. Even the dew on the blades of grass smelled of sweetness and beauty.

  And deep within the forest, sixteen warlocks hid, ready to kill any creature created from the god’s sperm.

  “Oh come alive.” The god, Kroll pointed his hungry length toward the forest's canyon. It was carved out between two cliffs that expanded like a goddess’s hips. Sparkling blue waterfalls gushed out the center. Once again, the forest had formed into a moist opening that the god wished to pound into.

  Kroll licked his lips and thrust into his hand faster. “Oh, how I wish you would just come alive.”

  Cool wind streamed through parted branches that arched toward him to get a better view. He glided his closed fingers down the length of his hardness, slipping the soft pads of his fingertips along the throbbing blue point and gasping out loud from the tingling sensations of it all.

  His moans stirred many humans out of sleep. The sounds were loud, yet harmonious, ear-splitting, but vibrated desire through their bodies just the same, motivating many to roll over in their straw beds and ravish their mates.

  Even the hidden warlocks hardened under their thick, black robes. They were part human after all.

  “Oh you goddesses were many things, but this I miss the most.” Sparks of hot pleasure surged through Kroll.

  As he rocked his hips into his hand, his skin shimmered with many colors—lush greens that made the leaves jealous, blushing pinks brighter than any flower, vibrant blues, and on and on at a fast, zipping pace until the god rocked his hips in a fast rhythm and bellowed loud in ecstasy.

  “Yes. I miss those tight wet holes! Oh, how I miss them so!”

  All who lived within or near the forest knew what would come next. Animals hid inside tree trunks and soil. Winged ones escaped to the sky.

  The warlocks covered their head with hoods.

  “Yes! That’s what I want!”

  Hot white liquid gushed out of Kroll's tip and sprayed the center of the forest.

  “Oh, I'll cover you all.” He bucked his hips. “I'll teach you not to tease me. I’ll paint every last one of you!”

  His seed rained down on the forest as he grunted. His body color returned to pale while that hardened flesh trembled like the ground in the midst of an earthquake.

  The god’s sperm lay everywhere.

  Gazing at my computer, I sat back in my seat with my mouth wide open and panties soaked. “I’ve lost my mind! I can’t give this to my publisher!”

  “Oh Carmen.” Adrian stroked himself. “I dreamed you would feel this good.”

  I saved the manuscript, closed the computer, and shook my head over and over as if I’d been stuck in some bad dream.

  “Damn you, Adrian.” I buried my face into my hands. “Okay. I just have to get a grip. I’ll put this down for now and look it over. Maybe there is something I can keep. God, what the hell could I keep from that?”

  I just wish you would get out of my head, Ad

  Chapter 4

  Hallway Stalker

  Adrian

  I knocked on her bedroom door.

  “That better not be you, Adrian,” she called out. “If it is you, I’m going to recommend that you walk away.”

  My closed fist remained near the door. I almost knocked again. Instead, I did as she said and rushed away.

  She’s pissed. I get it.

  After all, she found me in my weakest state—my pants down, cock out, and my mind on her.

  Those damn shorts should be burned. Too bad I can’t just blame it all on the shorts.

  A woman’s garments could do naughty things to a female form and drive men to madness. Yet, those shorts on her body needed to be addressed to the authorities.

  I stared at them as they lay in my hand. I’d planned on giving them back to her, even had one of the staff wash and dry them.

  Now you’ll never talk to me again.

  Carmen remained in her bedroom all afternoon. I’d taken the day off from work. It wasn’t like they needed me there anyway. Plus, Dad held the fort for now—an old man grasping at the corporate strings and hoping he was still relevant in business.

  I wonder if you were surprised at how much I crave you.

  Standing in the hallway a few feet from her door, I lifted those shorts to my face and breathed her natural fragrance into my nostrils. Even with a good washing, her rose scent radiated from the material. That’s all I did for the rest of the day—smelled her shorts and listened to her writing.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. Groan. Annoyed sigh. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  What is she writing? Why does she sound so annoyed?

  Tap. Tap. Groan. Tap. Sigh. Tap.

  Those were the only sounds that flowed from her space to mine, all afternoon. My dick grew hard, and I craved those hard working fingers on me.

  Tap. Tap.

  She was mad at me today. I could tell from the violence in her pressing on those keys. But she was writing, which meant that she might be turned on. She’d confessed that to me one night when we sipped wine.

  “You’ve written a lot of books. How many again?” I’d asked.

  “You know the answer, since you’ve read them all. Ten.” She laughed.

  “Yes, ten.” I poured her more wine.

  “What’s even crazier is that sometimes I can only write when I’m horny.”

  “That’s odd.” I quirked my eyebrows, unsure of how to proceed. She may have been tipsier than I thought. Usually, she never brought up sex while we talked. “Most of your books are fantasy. Wizards and sorcerers. How do you get all of that horniness out of you from just writing?”

  “I don’t write about sex. I just write to relieve my need to have sex.”

  “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “You only write a lot when you’re horny?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Wow.”

  She giggled. “What?”

  “You’ve done nothing but write since you’ve moved into the mansion.” I targeted her with my heated gaze. “Has my dad not been taking care of you?”

  “None of your business.” She brought the glass to her lips and looked away. “So how has work been for you this week?”

  “Not as productive as writing has been for you. Every day, you type for hours on end.” I winked at her. “The publishing company must love it when you don’t get laid.”

  A smile exploded on her face. “If my editor had any idea that I write when I’m horny, she’d probably have me kidnapped and shipped off to an island where no men existed, and there were tons of notebooks and pens to keep me busy.”

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The noise brought me back to the hallway and the sound of Carmen’s typing.

  What story are you creating?

  Tap. Groan. Sigh. Tap. Sigh.

  “No!” Carmen yelled. “This is just insane. Focus. I can’t have him do that.”

  Tap. Tap. Groan.

  Something was off today. Carmen sighed like a woman desperate to get over something. Even the speed of her typing came out faster than usual.

  Have I knocked you off your game? Can’t be. You’re writing. Are you super horny now because of me? No. I can’t even think like that. But what if she’s horny because of me? What would I do?

  I whispered to myself, “I have to see what you wrote.”

  Would it matter? Maybe. What else could I do?

  Then an idea surged to my head.

  “Fuck. I know what I’l
l do.” I left Carmen to her typing and decided to do a little writing of my own. This idea had to work.

  Chapter 5

  Mind Sex

  Carmen

  After penning enough sex to make a porn screenwriter blush, I picked up my phone and texted Nick. I had to get Adrian and that situation off my mind. I had to talk to my fiancé about the whole thing.

  Maybe then the heat will leave my skin, and my freaking panties will stop getting wet!

  I typed in a quick message to my fiancé.

  Me: Will you be home for dinner?

  Nick: I can’t.

  Me: What? Why not?

  Nick: Adrian and I had a busy day at the office.

  I looked up from my phone and glanced at the door.

  What is he talking about? Adrian has been standing outside of my door the majority of the day.

  Another text came through to my phone.

  Nick: We’re going to grab a bite somewhere and then rush back to the office to finish.

  Am I really supposed to believe that? A man who owns several companies has to run back to one of those many corporations and pull an all-nighter? No way.

  Nick worked so hard in his youth that he’d earned the right to hand over negotiations to people he trusted. Even worse, Adrian had been in the hallway outside of my room all day, stalking me. I’d finally caught Nick in a lie. I’d assumed his dishonesty from the very beginning, but then those poems changed my thinking.

  A man who wrote that poetry had a deepness inside of him that was worth exploring and opening up.

  I didn’t even reply. There was no reason to continue the stupidity that we called an engagement. A rushed courtship represented several red flags on both of our ends. It showed how desperate I’d been to be loved, and how hurried he was to get into my panties.

  Stupid, Carmen. So dumb.

  I’d just gotten out of a five-year relationship when I met Nick. My ex-boyfriend, Paul, was a doctor now. We’d met in college and moved to Miami together while he pursued medical school. Once he started residency, lipstick began showing up on the white coats that I washed for him. When I approached him about the lipstick, he admitted that he had an affair with a nurse. I broke up with him that same day.