Chapter Seven
The Westin did a fabulous job bringing its guests into the heart of the city. New York was thumping with energy every second, never slowing down, and when night time fell and the moon shone high in the New York sky, the beat didn’t die, it changed rhythm.
“It’s an amazing city! Look at all the buildings, and the cars, and the lights. Wow, just look Wayne. Look!” Her hands lay flat against the glass window stretching from floor to ceiling of the hotel room’s north wall, and her nose made smudges as her erratic movements seemed an attempt to take in every ounce of the city around her. From far below her feet, to high above her head, the Big Apple swept her away, stole a piece of her excitement, awed and impressed her. So different from the landscape at home of rural fields, a lone police officer, two bars, and a silence in which you could not only hear the sound of the night, but your own heartbeat. She wondered if a single soul would pay any attention if she decided to open the window and scream into the night. Around her people seemed too busy, too preoccupied, but with all right. With this many attractions, opportunities for communication, services that don’t sleep, she too would live life at high-speed not to miss out on any chances. Whatever they might be.
She sighed against the coldness of the glass and listened to soft footsteps moving behind her on the carpet. Wayne was fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist, and walked slowly up to Christine’s sleek figure pressed against the window. As if she was part of it. She looked amazing, he thought. The curve of her body looked incredible in the tight shimmering material that was her dress. The open back didn’t make it any less attractive. The way her excitement moved her body made every muscle on her back twitch and stretch, and he found it profoundly erotic, yet he wasn’t touching her.
She, on the other hand, seemed too engaged in the new world of the large city to turn to him. And here he was, buck naked under the towel, willing to drop it and wait for her command, but it seemed that New York City had more to offer at this minute than he did, and for that he couldn’t blame her. For someone who’d never been to a city with more than a few thousand occupants, this, he knew, looked similar to the whole universe cramped onto one single island. Right now Manhattan had stolen the eyes of his lady, but he was determined to have them back by late evening, or at least by the end of tomorrow. Honestly, any time before touch down at home would be great. A tangible goal.
He turned slightly and went back to his suitcase wide open on the bed, pulled out underwear and decided to get dressed. Watching Christine was like watching a kid in a candy store on Christmas Eve, and he quite enjoyed it.
“You look very nice. I haven’t seen you in a suit since… well, never actually.” The lights of Manhattan had taken a backseat to her view of a very well dressed man in a dark ensemble. And for that he was happy.
“Well, thanks,” he mumbled, stretched a smile and corrected the tie while looking in the mirror.
“And that ass. Meeeow.” With a few steps she was right behind him, grabbing the muscles on the backside of his pants.
“Hey, stop it. I’m trying to get ready here.”
“Man, these feel good,” she said, continuing the stroking of his rounded cheeks. “I can’t stop squeezing them. You, my friend, have a magnificent ass. Oh gosh, I just want to pull these pants down and bite it.”
“Well, yours isn’t too bad either. From the little I’ve seen so far.” He finished off the bothersome knot around his neck and straightened his shirt with his hands.
“Thank you. Well, even I think my ass looks pretty good in this dress.” With a smile she stepped away from him and grabbed her own ass for his viewing, gave it a firm slap, then headed for the door of the hotel room.
“Have you been drinking? And… are you wearing any underwear under there?”
She fingered the small purse sitting in her hand and turned back to him slowly, pursing her lips into a smile.
“No, to both.”
“Oh, dear God. So, theoretically I could just fuck you anywhere by simply lifting up your dress?”
“Just because I’m not wearing anything under this dress,” her hand swiped across her hardening nipple down to her crotch, “doesn’t mean you can touch me. Yet. Patience is a virtue. But with my permission, yes, you could fuck me – theoretically.” She licked her lips and watched him struggle with the front of his pants, hands fumbling around his zipper.
“Are you okay, Wayne?”
“Just have to rearrange things a bit after you said that.”
“Things?” she mumbled low, purring, and teasingly swayed her hips over to him. “What things? This?” Her hand grabbed a firm hold of the standing erection inside his pants.
“Well, yeah.” Her touch made him stop every movement and let his hands fall to the sides of his clenching thighs. His eyes watching her hand move across the black fabric, failing to conceal a very noticeable bulge. Her pink fingernails scratched the thin fabric and it took everything in his power not to jerk forward into her grip, but he failed miserably. In a dream-like state, he closed his eyes and sucked in a shaky breath until he felt her soft lips on the side of his face. Her lips brushed his skin and the oh so wet tip of her tongue ran over his recently shaved skin.
At the same time her lips trailed up and grazed the bottom of his earlobe, her hand grabbed him even firmer. Making him grow even harder. Bigger. Her warm breath created words that from this moment on would make him think of nothing but sex. No, not sex. Fucking. Naked bodies. Women’s breasts. Voluptuous women’s bodies. Sex. Wanting. Yearning. Cum.
“What do you want me to do to you, Wayne?”
Everything, right now, he thought, his mind burning with erotic images, but nothing but a shallow sigh escaped his lips. He was panting, he noticed. Fuck.
“You want my hand to keep rubbing you like this? Is that what you want?” Each little hair on the back of his neck suddenly erected and a small drop of dew formed between his shoulder blades. What on earth was she doing to him?
“Or, maybe I should let this zipper slide open then let my tongue wander the length of your cock until my lips lock hard around that bulging, pounding head and lather it with my saliva. It would be so slick and wet. You want that, Wayne? My mouth to suck you?”
“Uh…”
“What do you taste like, Wayne? I want to know,” her voice not a purr, merely a whisper. As turned on as he was he found it amazing he could still hear what she was saying. “Taste your lips, taste the skin of your cheeks, taste your cum. Can you do that? Can you come inside my mouth? Let me taste you?”
“Stop, for God’s sake, please stop,” he pleaded. “I’m going to come right now if you don’t stop, Christine.”
“Isn’t that the purpose of this? Sex. To make us come?”
“I’ve never heard anyone talk the way you do,” his voice died into a similar whisper, and she breathed heavily into his ear as her hand made its way inside his pants, and finally stroked him skin to skin. He was warm. And hard.
“Well, Wayne. Welcome to the amazing world of women who know what they want.”
“I’m just… oh, fuuuck.” His head leaned back slightly; his eyes rolled back and shut tightly. His hips had involuntarily started to meet the slow rhythm created by her hand, stroking his warm pounding skin firmly. Just feeling the muscles in her hand move on some part of his body turned him crazy, made him mad.
“What do you want, Wayne? You want to come?”
“Yes,” the roughness of his voice didn’t surprise him, at the same time his breathing increased a few beats.
“Where do you want to come?” she continued. “My face, in my mouth, on my pussy. You want to press yourself inside my ass and come there?”
Her last comment killed his breath, made his eyelids fly open at the speed of light, and as if high on drugs he drowned in her eyes.
“Mhm, I knew it. I now know what you like. That spark in your eyes would be hard to deny,” she whispered, and h
e then knew his secrets were no longer his.
“Um…”
“Are you close, Wayne?” He noticed his body was still moving in rhythm with her hand. Only faster now.
“Yes.” All his energy was currently stored between his legs, there was simply nothing left to create something resembling anything but a whisper. Her voice though, caressed his ears the way her hand caressed his cock. Authoritative. Sensual.
“Maybe you’ve met your match, Wayne Matthews.” And then she did the unthinkable - she stopped touching him.
His mind was screaming a prehistoric growl of displeasure, an inner voice roaring from the bottom of his feet out the top of his head. Infuriated, was the right word. Yet, he wanted nothing but plead her to continue for a mere second longer, letting him find his imminent release.
Instead she placed his rock hard, jerking cock back inside his pants and zipped them back up. He was shocked. No, stunned. What she did was unbelievable. Downright mean.
She couldn’t just stop now? Not when they were so close, well, at least he was. So painfully close that only one more dirty, lust-filled sentence from her mouth would have made him erupt right there in her hand. Cascading his seed across the floor, grunting in pleasure. But no, the pleasure he wanted turned into pain. Physical pain, as everything that recently pulsated through his body got slammed hard with a brick.
“You can’t just stop!” His hands went from tugging at his hair to squeezing his thigh muscles out of discomfort.
“I can do whatever I like.” With a wicked smile she took up the small purse she’d placed on the dresser and walked slowly across the carpeted floor to the door of the hotel room.
“But… no. I… we.”
“We will see where this is going, Mr. Matthews, before we do any more of this.” Her hand pointed leisurely down at his crotch from across the room. “Stop being such a cocky ass all the time and there will be much more from where this came from to venture into for you.”
He said nothing, just bent forward to clamp his large hands atop his knees so as not to buckle under the frustrating pain still pulsating through his lower region. His mind couldn’t concentrate on what she had just told him. Enough of his synapses were occupied with trying to control all his body signals still telling him to fuck.
“Believe me when I said, you’ve met you match. There are things you could only imagine in your wildest fantasies that I can show you. You make up your mind and let me know if you’re staying or going. Stop fucking things up. As I’ve said, I’m not your booty call, but I could be yours, completely, if you’d let me.”
The door of the hotel room swung open and she stepped out into the quiet hallway of the sixteenth floor before she turned around and gave him one of those wicked half-smiles and whispered for his ears only.
“If you only knew how badly I want to do things with you. Dirty. Naughty. Secret things.”
And with that she was gone, and the door to his room slowly closed and shut tightly with the faint sound of a click, shutting the rest of the world out of his life.
“Huh, I’ll be damned.”
Chapter Eight
An entire week had gone by since their trip to New York. Six whole days and nights without seeing any more of Wayne than the back of his dark blue Chevy truck parked in the back alley behind the fire station. Not a phone call since he’d dropped her off at the door step of her house late last Sunday night, but not before sliding a hand over her thigh and leaning in for a kiss before she stepped out of the car.
She’d given him that, knowing he’d wanted much more during their trip, but she hadn’t given in. She couldn’t shake the nauseated feeling of being his booty call of the week, so she’d made a point of not letting him inside her pants, yet.
Instead she’d busied herself with large orders during the dragging hours of the week, meeting new customers, and marketing her new lunch service. At the end of the day it didn’t feel like she’d been baking, more like running a marathon across streets reaching local businesses, smiling excessively, and spreading edible samples for those who wanted to know more about her talent that was not only baking but cooking. Anything to please a customer, she thought, and she was in need of more to make the bakery a success. With a second of free time, agile fingers checked her phone to find disappointment; not a sound from the man that took up so much her time when she was alone. Too much thinking didn’t help anyone, and now living in a town the size of a needle in a haystack on the Midwestern map, the inevitable would happen – she would see him soon.
Not that she was stalking him, she noted, while she took a different route home from work one evening, but driving by hot spots Wayne might have mentioned he enjoyed visiting, she’d seen the dark blue Chevy parked in line next to the rest of the late dwellers of the night. She felt a twang of… she wasn’t quite able to put a finger on it, but if she had to describe it, it was close to jealousy. Her mind tried to rationalize, but the heart said something else. She’d held back in New York, and now she’d pay for it.
She passed slower than the speed limit then regretted the action as soon as her foot had released the gas pedal. It had almost given her a lighter heart attack, as she eyed an infamous well-built body on the other side of the vehicle – Wayne, in dark blue jeans and a tight polo shirt that he seemed to have been born with, talking vivaciously with two very attractive girls. Not women, she thought angrily, they were girls; pencil thin, both having long wavy hair that had probably taken them hours to curl just so, and when being tossed over a bare shoulder would bounce for attention. She knew those tricks, she’d played them all, yet here, the oldest trick in the book, ‘look I’m touching myself where I need you to touch me, please pretty boy, run your fingers through my hair and lick your way down the side of my neck.’
Suddenly she knew she was gazed upon, looked away from the girls and noticed him. His gawking had gone from the tall ‘pencils’ and peered out onto the darkened road and the side of her car. Drenched in sweat and in total embarrassment of being caught red handed, she’d slumped so far down in her seat she hadn’t been able to see the road in front of her anymore, and she knew if she would have crashed and hurt herself he would have been the one the dispatcher would have called, and nothing would be more humiliating – “Yes, Wayne, you’re saving my sorry ass for driving into a lamp pole, but you’re also the reason why it happened, and I’m pissed at you for ditching me for mid-twenty-something girls. Asshole.”
She drove home in anger and disappointment that night, tossed her bag through the air of the entry way of her house until it smacked hard on the wall next to the door of the bathroom and landed with a thud on the floor, resembling a deflated hot-air balloon. She tossed her shoes in the corner right inside the front door and with irritation she stomped into the downstairs bathroom, stood on the scale and noticed what she already suspected that she was absolutely not a ‘pencil’, but more like a ‘paper weight,’ heavy in places where those girls had nothing.
“I hate girls who can wear strapless dresses and show that much skin!” she’d yelled at herself in the mirror. “You,” she pointed at the heated reflection staring right back at her, “have wrinkles at the corner of your eyes, your boobs are sagging, you can’t bare your midriff and get away with it, and you’re… you’re old. Nobody wants you now. You have done your thing, do you hear me!” Tears stung her eyes, but she wouldn’t allow them to fall. She was way too furious with both her lack of self-confidence and Wayne. “Fuck you, Wayne, you’re a… you’re a whore!” Her hands flew in the air and hit the light switch on the wall enrobing her in darkness. “Just as well, you’re too ugly to look at anyway… fatso.”
The sheets were irritatingly hot and bothersome when she laid down for the night. The thin sheets she’d chosen clung to her body and emphasized the part she disliked the most, and fueled the fire burning within. In an impossible attempt to immediately shrink in size she grabbed her midsection and cursed it for being there, cursed the fact she loved to eat wha
t she baked, and wished she could somewhere find enough motivation to start running, or something that would make it look like she wanted to lose the extra weight. Deep down she knew the reason behind the hatred, and how she’d been noticed early for her ‘womanly’ body, then taken the bite and been blind-sided too young and too innocent. Ever since then she hadn’t cared, had never turned down dessert, loved men who adored her mind not her body, then opened a bakery for a chance to become what she wasn’t then; thin, poster beautiful, and wanted for her looks.
Yet, here she was, angry at other women, angry at young women who stole the looks she deep down wanted from men. A man. From Wayne. Maybe it had come back, she thought, the desire.
“No, I hate younger women. I hate them,” was the last thing she’d said before punching the pillow as a boxing sack, then shoving her face deep down into its defeated clumps of down.
She’d been brave enough to come with him on that once-in-a-lifetime-trip to New York, her thoughts churned not able to rest. She’d shown parts of her true self in front of him. She had even made him crave her that one night when she’d whispered sweet-nothings in his ear. Yet, here she was, alone, fingers clinging to a phone with no messages, and hating herself. She cried herself to sleep, letting the softness of the pillow caress her face, hating him, hating the ‘pencils’ and everything they represented, hating herself.
The house slumbered in the darkness of the night, the light of the sky playing a game of shadow monsters on the walls of the bedroom, but the pillow still held her. Abruptly, something woke her from her dreadful sleep, and she noticed her body had been motionless for the entire time she’d slept despite the distressing sniffling and downright evil thoughts that had churned through her head after it landed on the pillow. Yet, she’d succeeded in shutting out the entire awful world and gotten some shut-eye.
Her hand searched the pillow and noticed moisture. The bed’s faded fabric underneath her was wet with drool. Delicious, she thought. I’m not only fat, ugly, and old, I now also resemble a St. Bernard, devoid of a chance of being cute and petted.
Once Upon A Killing (A Gass County Novel Book 2) Page 5