Blue Bayou Final

by Kate, Jiffy

  “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” I tell her, leaning forward to sweep my mouth over hers, letting our lips touch but not lingering.

  Teasing.

  Tasting.

  Tempting.

  “Maverick,” Carys moans as I do the same with the lower half of our bodies, letting my cock graze her slit. “I need...”

  “Don’t worry,” I whisper. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

  Moving back down her body, I place soft open-mouthed kisses to her skin. Kneeling on the bed and towering above her, I lift her and toss her playfully where I want her, eliciting a squeal. “Stop manhandling me,” she demands with a laugh.

  “I’m getting ready to manhandle the shit out of you,” I warn, crawling back up the bed like a predator. Stopping at my favorite place, her pussy, I dip my head and dart my tongue out, loving the way she bucks at the contact. The more I lap and suck, the more she whimpers and grinds herself into my face.

  I fucking love it.

  Sliding two fingers inside her sweet, wet heat, I pump them in tandem with the strokes of my tongue on her clit. It doesn’t take long until she’s gripping the sheet and writhing beneath me.

  “Oh, God. Ahh,” she moans, letting out a soft scream as her hands go to my hair and she pulls, driving me wild.

  I want to hear her pleasure.

  I want everything she has to offer.

  “Come for me, Carys,” I coax. “I want to hear it.”

  Her hips lift off the bed and then her legs tense as her orgasm crashes through her. I can feel her walls squeezing as I continue to massage her slowly, making sure she gets every last fucking drop of bliss.

  When she’s panting and pulling on my shoulders, silently begging me for more, I kneel on the bed and reach over to the nightstand, grabbing a condom from the box I procured a few days ago in anticipation of this moment.

  Ripping the package with my teeth, I look down to see Carys watching me intently, her bottom lip trapped by her teeth. Expectation, longing, need, want...so many emotions are etched all over her beautiful face and I want to give her everything.

  “You’re gorgeous. Have I told you that lately?” I ask, pinching the tip of the condom and rolling the latex down my shaft, stroking myself lightly. I don’t need any help getting hard. Carys makes me hard by breathing...by fucking existing.

  “Uh, you might’ve mentioned it right before that mind-blowing orgasm,” she says with a hint of shyness to her voice. I watch as she swallows hard, glancing down between us, eyes on my cock.

  “I just don’t want you to forget it...ever,” I tell her softly, decidedly, as I lean down and use my knees to spread her legs wider, giving me room to settle between them.

  “You’re gorgeous too,” Carys says in a rush. “Beautiful.” One of her hands comes up to brush a piece of hair from my forehead; such a tender gesture for a moment like this. But her other hand is firmly on my ass, squeezing.

  I kiss her. Once. Twice. Then, I pull back just in time to see her face as I push inside her.

  Carys and I have been intimate with each other before and it’s always fucking fantastic, but this—finally being inside her, feeling her warmth surround me, pulsing and pulling me deeper—it’s even more than I was expecting or hoping for. It’s better than any fantasy I’ve had about Carys or anyone, for that matter.

  Looking into her eyes, hooded but alight with passion, I’m certain she feels the same way.

  Her lips are parted, so I take advantage and slip my tongue inside her mouth, kissing her deeply and matching the rhythm of my thrusts.

  “Ahhh,” Carys cries out in pleasure, pulling her knees back, allowing me to bury myself deep inside her. The room is filled with her moans and the sound of our bodies coming together.

  Deeper.

  Harder.

  More.

  “It’s so good...so fucking good, Mav.”

  “I know, baby, I know,” I tell her, gritting my teeth in an effort to pace myself, wanting this to last forever, but already feeling the coiling in the pit of my stomach. “You feel incredible, like your sweet pussy was made for me, so tight and perfect. I can’t get enough of you.”

  “I love your dirty talk,” she pants. “Now, fuck me faster.”

  “Your wish, my command,” is all I can grunt out as I speed up my movements. Straightening my arms, I lean back, causing my pelvic bone to hit Carys’ clit with every push. When she cries out, I feel her walls tighten around my dick.

  Beads of sweat drip from my forehead onto her beautiful breasts, mingling with her own, and I immediately lean forward to lick the moisture off her nipples.

  “Yes...uhh...do that again,” she demands and I’m more than happy to oblige. I absolutely love that Carys isn’t shy or afraid to tell me what she wants. In fact, it turns me on even more, and I didn’t think that was possible.

  Pleasure begins to build at the base of my spine and I know I can’t hold off much longer. Carys moves her hands back to my ass and pulls me closer to her. I slip my hand between us and rub her clit, giving her the friction she’s so desperately searching for. We’re both close, toeing the line between the growing tension in our bodies and the ecstasy that awaits us once we fall.

  Finally, the tautness snaps and we come. It’s fast, it’s loud, and it’s everything we’ve been working toward for the past two weeks. Pure bliss rushes through my body as I spill inside the condom, leaving me feeling completely spent.

  Carys is still shuddering and holding onto me tightly, making the most delicious noises in my ear. The sights and sounds of her orgasm are my new favorite things, and I want to experience them over and over.

  “I knew it,” Carys says in a voice that is deep and scratchy and sexy as hell.

  “What’s that?”

  “I knew sex with you would kill me dead.” Her laugh is otherworldly, blissed out, and pure sex goddess. “In all the best ways, of course.”

  “But, what a way to go, am I right?” I pepper her neck with hot kisses as she continues to laugh this lazy, sedated, amazing laugh. I’ve always loved Carys’ laugh, but this is a new one and I want to own it. No one gets this one but me.

  A deep sigh is her only response as she tangles her fingers in my hair. She’s relaxed and content, without an ounce of stress, and she’s absolutely breathtaking. I wrap my arms around her, turning so she’s laying on my chest. With deep breaths, I inhale her scent, marking this moment in my mind.

  How am I going to leave her in a few days?

  It hurts too much to think about, so instead, I distract myself by kissing her until we’re both panting and ready for round two.

  Chapter 22

  Carys

  Waking due to the urgency of my bladder, it takes me a second to realize where I am.

  Maverick’s room.

  In Maverick’s arms.

  And deliciously sore in all the right places, thanks to our multiple rounds of sex throughout the night.

  Craning my neck while trying not to wake him, I see that it’s only five in the morning. A tiny bit of early morning light is coming through the sheer curtains, just enough to let me make out Maverick’s features. He’s beautiful, always, but especially when he’s sleeping. The night he fell asleep in the lobby while I was working, I indulged myself, watching him—his long eyelashes that should be illegal for a guy, his chiseled jaw that could cut glass, his high cheekbones.

  Softly, I reach up and run a featherlight touch across his cheek and then follow that with a kiss to his jaw. He doesn’t budge. I don’t blame him. There’s no good reason to be awake right now, except for the fact that if I don’t get to the bathroom, I’m going to have a situation on my hands and some explaining to do.

  As I slip out of bed and tiptoe my way across the room, I bump into the desk. A folder, that must’ve been precariously positioned, falls to the floor and papers scatter.

  “Shit,” I whisper, glancing over to make sure Maverick is still out. Sighing in relief when I see he’s completely
unaware of my clumsiness, I continue to the bathroom to take care of business.

  When I’m done, I leave the door cracked and the light on, so I can see to clean up my mess.

  Kneeling on the floor, I begin to collect the papers, shuffling them into a stack, until something catches my eye.

  Blue Bayou — 123 St. Ann, New Orleans, LA

  Owner — Carys Matthews

  5200 SF

  12 rooms

  Approx. Value — 1.2m

  Proposed Purchase Price — 899,999

  My heart starts beating fast as my eyes scan the document in my hand, and then I scan it again, trying to make sense of what I’m reading. All of this is information on the Blue Bayou. I begin to flip through the rest of the papers, searching for anything that would tell me what this is all about. I know I shouldn’t. These are Maverick’s papers, but this is about me and I have a right to know.

  There’s information on every property surrounding the hotel—printed papers from Kensington Properties, along with notes made by someone. I recognize the handwriting as Maverick’s from the note he left me. Going back to the papers regarding the Blue Bayou, I see where he’s written figures and numbers down...nothing more than chicken scratch to my uninformed eyes, but I’m guessing they mean something.

  Another line catches my eye: ask Carys about taxes.

  Taxes? What about them? What would he care about my taxes?

  When I look over to the bed, where Maverick is still sleeping, my heart drops.

  Was all of this a ruse?

  Was it all orchestrated?

  My throat tightens at the thought. All this time, I’ve felt like I’ve been gifted this man. Like he fell out of the bright blue sky, right into my hotel, just for me...just when I needed him. But now, I’m putting the pieces of the puzzle together. He was so interested in the Blue Bayou...and me...because it was his job. He was here to make an offer on my hotel? Buy it?

  For what?

  My thoughts go to a conversation we had at Lagniappe, when he was telling me about what he does for a living...buyer, seller, and disposer of dreams. What did he say? By proxy, but by proxy doesn’t equal innocent.

  I trusted him.

  Believed him.

  Fell for him.

  A fool.

  I’m a naive, stupid fool.

  Sucking up the building emotions, my eyes stinging with unshed tears, I stuff the papers back into the folder, climb to my feet, and search for my clothes. I have to get out of here. I need to leave before he wakes up and I’m forced to face him with the new knowledge of who he truly is.

  I can’t.

  I don’t want to.

  I want him to leave.

  I’ll pretend this was a fling and that I got what I came for...but he won’t. He won’t get the Bayou. That’s not happening. Not now. Not ever.

  Throwing my t-shirt on and scrambling into my shorts, I grab my shoes and bolt for the door, allowing myself one look back. One look back at what I thought could potentially be my future, someone I could lean on and be with...grow with. Maverick felt like someone who could make me a better version of myself. But standing in the half-open door, I realize I let myself believe those things because I wanted them. So badly.

  When the door is closed, I take off down the stairs and stop. I can’t look Jules in the face like this. I can’t let him see the devastation that I know is painted all over me, because the second the latch on the door clicked, my tears let loose. I stand there for a moment, frozen with indecision—take the stairs and face Jules or take the elevator and be reminded how happy I was a mere ten hours ago. How quickly things can change.

  How quickly I allowed myself to fall for someone I barely knew.

  I didn’t know him.

  I only knew the Maverick I made up in my head—caring, considerate, strong, dependable, amazing. But now, armed with the truth, I know he’s none of those things. He’s just like his father—selfish, out for himself, manipulative...a liar...who was trying to steal my hotel right out from under me.

  The sadness and hurt starts to morph into anger as I stomp down the stairs, ignoring the concerned look I receive when I reach the bottom.

  George. Of course.

  Jules probably went home an hour ago.

  “Carys?” George asks in a gentle, caring tone, making the lump in my throat grow. My throat constricts as I force down a sob. I can’t, not here, not in front of George.

  I can’t respond with words, only a shake of my head, as I walk past him, straight out the back door, and run across the courtyard to the safety of my apartment. Opening the blue door, I walk in and look around my space...a space I once shared with my mother and grandparents...home. When the lock slides into place, I finally feel free to let go. As I slide down into a puddle on my kitchen floor, hot frustrated tears, accompanied by loud, therapeutic sobs fill the otherwise quiet space.

  Sometimes, you have no choice but to cry. My grandfather once told me that tears are not a sign of weakness, only a sign that we care.

  I do care.

  I care a whole fucking lot.

  After a while, I feel all cried out so I peel myself off the floor and drag myself to my bedroom. I feel drained, exhausted. Standing in the middle of my room, I feel lost. Even though I’m home and in my own space, everything feels off. My world feels out of balance and I can’t think of what to do next. Logically, I should shower and get to work, but I know I can’t do that. I can’t face George or Mary, or God forbid, Maverick.

  He’s leaving soon, I already knew that. He has to go back to Dallas. But now, I also realize what the holdup was—why he kept asking for more time. Foolishly, I thought it was me. I thought he wanted to spend more time with me, allow us a few more days to solidify our relationship before we plunged into the unknown territory of a possible long-distance relationship.

  “So fucking stupid, Carys,” I cry to no one but myself. “So incredibly, fucking stupid.” Falling onto my bed, I stare at the ceiling for a long time, letting the words I read on the document play in my head—trying to make sense of them, trying to think of a good reason Maverick would have that information, other than wanting to buy the Blue Bayou.

  I can’t think of anything.

  A knock on my front door makes me jump. Practically falling off my bed, I crouch down beside it, like it’s going to hide me from the outside world, protect me from whatever is on the other side of my front door. I’m in the back of my apartment, no one can see me, but I still feel exposed.

  I’m not ready to face anyone. I need a while longer to wrap my mind and heart around this.

  Seconds later, there are three more knocks.

  Eventually, the knocking stops, whoever was at the door giving up, and my heartbeat gradually goes back to normal. Thankfully, the rush of adrenaline cleared my head a little.

  A shower.

  I need one.

  I need to wash and get rid of the sex—me, Maverick, us. I need to wash it away, flush it down the drain, along with my feelings and hopes and dreams. Because right now, I’m surrounded by a cacophony of smells, reminding me of last night and killing me softly each time I take a breath.

  My thoughts are overly dramatic for a relationship that is barely two weeks old. I know this.

  I shouldn’t feel this strongly.

  I shouldn’t want him this badly.

  I shouldn’t hate him this much.

  Shedding my clothes and stepping into the steamy shower, I let it all out once more until my chest physically aches, my throat hurts and my eyes burn. I feel like punching the wall, but think twice, thankfully.

  If I’ve learned anything over the last year and a half, it’s that we can’t change circumstances. We can’t make the world treat us kindly. We take what we’re dealt with and we move on with life.

  After dressing and putting my wet hair into a ponytail, I take inventory. My eyes look dull, nothing like they looked when I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror in Maverick’s room. Bu
t that’s also how life is too, right? Everything can change on a dime.

  One second, I was a carefree college student, and in the next breath, I was without a mother and had a hotel dropped in my lap. I didn’t know what I was doing. Those first few months, it was all I could do to pay the utilities on time and make sure George and Mary had a paycheck. I couldn’t remember what day it was or when I’d eaten last. It took a while for me to pull myself out of the dark hole I fell in the day of the car crash. But I did it. And I know I’m not winning any awards for hotel management, but I’m learning and working to make this place better.

  Bracing myself on the kitchen counter, I take deep breaths, working hard to suppress the urge to scream. Because I feel like I’m back to that day, the day my whole world shifted and I felt like I was floating in the universe, alone.

  “Carys.”

  Maverick’s voice on the other side of the door makes me swallow my breath.

  Walking toward the door, I place my hand on the wood, wishing I could open it and pretend like I don’t know. I wish I could go back to being ignorant, when I thought he was here for me.

  “Carys,” he says again, my name sounding rushed. He knocks. Once. Twice.

  Then, my phone rings from the kitchen counter.

  I know he hears it too, because when it stops, he knocks again. “Carys.” This time, my name sounds like a plea. He’s worried. Something has triggered him. Maybe I left the papers in the wrong order? Maybe he already knows that I know?

  Slowly, I unlock the deadbolt and then the bottom lock. Leaning against the door, I rest my head on wood as I look down at my hand on the brass knob and feel the weight of the moment.

  I want to go back.

  I want to go back to Maverick’s room.

  Back to bed.

  Back to being with him.

  I want to go back to yesterday when everything felt possible.

  “Carys,” he whispers. “Open the door, please.”

  When I’m standing face to face with him, the door no longer a barrier, I see the confusion on his beautiful face. His forehead furrows and his eyes look concerned. “Hey.”