by Alexis Angel
He pauses for a few minutes, just looking. My pussy shivers, getting wetter by the second.
His hands go away for a second. Then, he leans over me.
“Open your mouth.”
Intrigued, I do as he says while closing my eyes.
He places one of the fancy chocolates on my tongue.
“Suck on it…slowly.”
He runs his hands down my body and grips my ass as he goes down on his knees. Then, he starts eating me out, slowly at first, then faster. He grips my cheeks and pushes his tongue down to the clit, then back up to my pussy, mouthing into the slit.
The chocolate on my tongue and the fixed attention on my pussy is too much, and when he sticks two fingers in, I come like a fucking waterfall. My entire body shakes, and I collapse against the back of the sofa, trying to swallow my chocolate and to remember how to breathe.
Just as I think this can’t get any hotter, I feel him stand up, and his cock starts pushing at my wet pussy. I’m still shuddering from before, but the arousal is rising again.
“Put it in!” I grip the lounge with both hands, bracing myself. “Fuck me hard!”
He slides in slowly for the first stroke. He waits until he has pushed his way in, right to the hilt, as if he wants to learn the shape of my cunt.
I feel my pussy constricting around him, and he moans. I gasp, starting to writhe, just a little.
He starts thrusting, hard and fast. His hips slam into me, and I brace myself firmly against the couch to give as good as I get. He groans, cock pumping in and out, harder and faster than I have ever been fucked before.
Deep tremors from inside me shudder the length of his cock, gripping and slipping against his hard thrusts. He puts both hands on my hips and rams me with sharp, fast strokes until he comes, cock jerking as he pours hot cum deep inside me.
He collapses on top of me for a moment, both of us breathing hard, before he falls on to the couch. He lies back, looking magnificent in all his muscled glory, cock still standing tall and glistening.
I pour him some champagne and hand him the glass, placing a strawberry in his mouth. He chews it down, juice running over his lip as he takes a sip of champagne.
“This really fixed my day. I don’t suppose you have any oil? I could really use a rubdown.”
With an excited shriek, I leap up and run to the bathroom. I grab the bottle of sweet-smelling oil and a couple of silk scarves.
I dance back to the lounge and show him the oil. “Ready when you are, babe.”
He looks at me like I’m a dream come true.
I grin, secretly thinking of what I’m going to do to him, the scarves hidden behind my back.
“You are a magnificent woman.”
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. The bedroom’s just through there. I’ll follow you in.” I bat my eyelashes at him innocently. “Leave your work phone out here, though. I’d hate for you to get…all tied up.”
Alexis and WineBar #11
I must have drank until I passed out. I don’t know how many bottles of wine I went through with my friend but it was enough that I woke up with cotton mouth and a pounding headache.
I found out that WineBar had gotten drunk with his friends.
Two days later, he was on a flight to Miami.
And I cried.
I loved him.
This was the man that had driven me around my city, showing me parts of it that I had never known.
Here was a man that made everything feel new.
Who once drank all the Tito’s in a bar.
Who put me on a pedestal and worshipped me.
And who now with his absence caused that pedestal to crack and break.
I was broken. On the floor.
Dragged through the mud.
Torn.
There was no hope.
How could I have been so stupid?
There was no us.
Only me.
And the dark night of despair.
Emilia
Not that damn song again.
I swear, it’s haunting me. Following me everywhere I go.
Can’t a girl just wallow in her heartbreak in peace?
I knock back my shot of tequila and try to forget. A challenge that’s becoming nearly Herculean.
“Can I get another?” I gesture frantically for the bartender as soon as my glass hits the polished wood.
He’s right there, pouring my fourth—or is it fifth?—shot.
“Let me guess,” he says with a wink, “you don’t like flying?”
I nod my head, even though flying doesn’t bother me in the least, because it’s a lot easier to just go along with what he says rather than explain to him why I’m actually drinking myself into oblivion while I wait on my flight to Fiji.
Yeah, that’s right. I’m drowning my sorrows before I run away. Go ahead and judge. You wouldn’t be the first.
As if on cue, my phone lights up with a text from Erin.
Are you sure you’re making the right decision?
I can practically hear the concern through the screen.
No, I’m not sure if I’m making the fucking right decision. But at this point, I can’t stick around the Bradford for another second.
I have to get away. Get some clarity. Figure out where things went so horribly wrong.
Plus, there’s no fucking way I could stand it if I happened to run into Evan in the hallway. Or worse—if he happened to not be alone.
My stomach clenches at the mere thought, and my heart feels like it’s going to rip my chest right open. I always thought that the term heartbreak was pretty stupid. Like, really, how can a heart fucking break?
Yeah, well, fuck me then. I was dead wrong. Because right now, the pain feels more like torture. Like this stupid organ in my chest is literally cracking, fracturing, fucking shattering.
But what else can I do at this point but get as far away from Evan as I possibly can? I contemplated some type of Antarctic expedition before remembering I really don’t like the cold all that much. But that’s how far I was willing to go to escape.
I pick up my phone and think about responding to Erin, pouring my heart out yet again and letting her convince me I’m making the wrong decision.
But no. I set it back down. I fucking committed, and I’m seeing this thing through.
Commitment.
At least I don’t have a problem with it.
And that’s what it all boils down to, isn’t it?
Evan won’t commit.
After all this time together, everything we’ve been through. All the ups and downs just to get to being a couple in the first place, followed by the most tumultuous relationship in the history of mankind. On and off again doesn’t even begin to cover it.
We’re such polar opposites. Yet…he complements me in every way. His drive and intensity offsets my wild passion. His steadiness to my free spirit.
Looks like that steadiness fell short when it came down to it.
But what the hell am I doing if I sit around waiting on a man that may never be ready to offer me what I need?
Who knew, right? The ultimate party girl. Purveyor of free love.
Turns out she was really looking for the same thing we all are.
Love.
A future.
A partner.
I knock back the shot of tequila and try to convince myself my watering eyes are from the sting of alcohol infusing my blood.
My phone blinks again, and I hate myself for the jolt of hope that courses through me when I glance down.
Nope. Erin again.
What time is your flight?
Why does it matter? But I pick up my phone and text her back. I still have an hour and half to go. Then I’ll be free from all the memories this city I love so much now holds.
I can’t go to a club without remembering Evan. I can’t look down an alley without thinking of him. I can’t even go to the lounge in my own damn building without remembering that night that c
hanged everything.
“Can I get my check?” I mumble to the bartender, staring blankly down at my phone so no one sees the tears that threaten to overflow.
“Safe travels,” he says as he slides it across the bar. “Enjoy the journey.”
I pause, his words striking me.
The journey.
That’s what this has been, alright. A really long, rocky journey. Unfortunately, my final destination is far from where I thought the road would lead.
But I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again.
I would. Every fucking second of it.
I learned so much about life and love with Evan. About myself. Things I never knew.
So that’s all part of it. And Evan will always be a part of me, even if we aren’t together.
But now, I have to figure out what’s next for me. Where I’ll go from here.
And try to deal with the fact that it’s going to be really fucking painful without him.
I remember the look on his face as I walk slowly toward my gate. When I told him I couldn’t keep doing this.
“So that’s it then?” he asked.
I nodded, tears falling freely.
“Em, come on. Don’t do this. It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“Doesn’t it?” I asked, hope swelling in my chest even as I knew it very much did.
“We have a good thing here. A fucking great thing. Why does that have to change?”
I shook my head sadly. He just didn’t get it.
I changed. He changed me. Made me want more out of life than I realized was possible.
Yet he wasn’t willing to give it to me.
I’m smart enough to know that I can’t waste my life on a guy that may or may not ever be where I’m at.
So that leaves me here. Escaping to another hemisphere. And leaving my heart in New York City.
Evan
“Come on, you motherfucker, get out of the fucking way,” I practically growl as I jump out of the cab and try to field my way through the crowded streets outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
“Yo, buddy!” the cabbie yells through his rolled-down window. “You have to fucking pay.”
I push back over and pull three bills out of my wallet and shove them at him. “Just wait here, okay? I’ll be two minutes.”
His eyebrows fly up to his hairline. “Whatever ya say, buddy.”
Jesus Christ, it’s like this dude is straight out of every movie ever featuring a New York cab driver. But I don’t have the time or the fucking energy to laugh.
I’m on a mission.
I race through the front doors and look around for my friend Charles, one of the priests here at St. Pat’s. I called and told him earlier I needed him for something urgent. A matter of the soul.
Yeah, I’ll probably burn for that one, but right now, there’s only one thing that will save my soul.
Emilia.
And I’m almost out of fucking time.
I pull out my phone to call him and bite out a furious, “Goddammit.”
Someone clears their throat behind me. Fuck. Normally, I might care that I’m swearing in a cathedral, but right now I just don’t have the patience to be bothered.
I spin around. Thank fuck. It’s Charles.
“Come on, man. Let’s go.”
I grab him by the arm and start hauling him toward the door.
“Woah, Evan. What’s gotten into you, man?” He looks genuinely concerned. As he should. I’m a fucking madman at the moment, and anyone who gets in my way will be collateral damage.
I don’t stop walking. “Just come on. I’ll explain on the way to the airport.”
“Airport?”
“Yeah.” That’s all I’m willing to give him until I have him in the cab and know that at least one part of my plan is in place.
The rest? Well, if I were a more religious man, I might say it’d be in God’s hands then. But more likely it’s in the hands of New York City traffic and the fucking TSA.
I almost can’t believe my luck when we get back out and the cabbie is still waiting for us. I halfway figured Louie De Palma himself would have taken off with my money.
Fate just may be on my side.
“Where to?” he asks in his thick Bronx accent.
“JFK. And if you get me there in twenty minutes, there’s a grand in it for you.”
His eyebrows fly up, and he shakes his head, but he doesn’t say he can’t do it. We’ll see just how much money talks.
“Okay, Evan, what’s going on?” Charles says when the taxi lurches forward.
I respond by pulling out my phone and sending him a text.
“There. It’s a link to your boarding pass.”
If Chuck weren’t a man of the cloth, I’m sure he’d be spewing profanity now. “What are you talking about?” he asks instead.
I let out a ragged breath and drag my hand over my face. Fuck, I should have shaved. I probably look as wrecked as I feel. And at this point, who could blame me?
I’ve been a fucking mess since Emilia broke up with me. It’s crazy, really. I mean, who would have thought that the perpetual playboy would meet his match?
But Emilia…what can I say?
She’s perfect. A goddess. She’s, well, everything to me.
And apparently, I’m the jackass that didn’t figure it out until it was almost too late.
I glance at my watch. Still could be if we don’t get to the airport on time.
“Okay, look, Charles. We have tickets to Fiji, and the flight leaves in an hour. My whole fucking life is about to leave on that plane.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. He wouldn’t be wrong. I’m totally fucking crazy for Emilia. Willing to do some crazy shit to win her back, too, it seems.
“Okay, dude, I’m not following.”
We have fifteen minutes to go if Super Cabbie up there comes through for me, so I tell Charles the whole crazy story.
The night we met in the lounge in the Bradford. Our whirlwind romance. All the ups and downs we went through to get to a good place, and even then, we still had our moments.
Things with Emilia have never been easy. They’ve always been off the charts intense, whether we were fucking with wild abandon in a dark alley or proclaiming my love live on the air of a radio station. Nothing we’ve done has been typical.
Or at least it hasn’t felt that way. That’s why I was so fucking shocked when she wanted to call it off because we weren’t following some typical pattern. First comes love, then comes marriage and all that shit.
It didn’t seem like her thing.
Fuck, was I ever fucking wrong as fuck.
When I finish telling Charles the whole thing, he just stares at me, slack-jawed. Like he can’t believe it.
Then he grins. “My, how the mighty have fallen.”
“Fuck you, dude,” I say with a laugh.
But it’s true.
I fucking love her.
And I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose her now.
Which is why when Erin knocked on my door thirty minutes ago, letting me know that Em was leaving the country and she wasn’t sure for how long, I did the only thing I could think of.
I sprang into action.
I formulated a plan there on the spot.
And yeah, it’s fucking crazy.
But not nearly as crazy as I’ll be if I lose the one woman who I don’t want to live without.
For the first time in my life, nothing has been clearer.
I love her. She loves me. And I’m going to make her mine.
“So, um, Evan…I have to ask.” Charles furrows his brow. “What does all this have to do with me?”
I give him a reckless grin. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re going to marry us.”
Emilia
I throw my carry-on into the overhead bin and drop down into my seat, looking around for a flight attendant. I need a drink, stat, if I’m going to make it through this insanely long flight.
&nb
sp; Somehow, I hung around outside the gate long enough that I nearly missed the final boarding call. The plane is packed and ready go. I can’t fucking wait. I think.
And…I need that drink.
I see a brunette in uniform on the phone at the front of the plane and catch her eye, gesturing wildly.
She holds up her index finger and turns her back. Ugh. So much for first-class service.
There’s an elderly gentleman who looks remarkably like Hugh Hefner, complete with smoking jacket, in the seat next to me. He’s looking at me curiously, making me feel a little uncomfortable. You never know what you’re going to get in a flight companion, I guess.
Giving him a polite smile, I sit back in my seat, trying to get comfortable and close my eyes.
…then that fucking song starts playing.
What the ever-loving hell?
I swear to God, it really is haunting me. I have half a mind to stand up and look around the plane to tell whoever is playing it to put on some fucking headphones. No one wants to hear that shit.
I hunker down further in my seat and try to tune it out, but I swear to god, it gets even louder. Like it’s fucking mocking me.
“Emilia.”
The voice coming over the plane’s speakers makes me squeeze my eyes shut even tighter. Because evidently, I’m not handling the copious amounts of tequila very well. What a fucking mess of a day.
“Emilia.”
Jesus Christ, now I’m not only hearing our song, but Evan’s voice is invading my consciousness on some weird psychological level that I don’t understand. I think I need to break up with tequila, too, at this point. Maybe the flight attendant has some vodka?
I sit up straight and look for her again, but this time, the person standing at the front of the plane speaking into the intercom isn’t some flight attendant talking about flotation devices.
It’s Evan.
No. Fucking. Way.
And he’s got his phone held up to the intercom, playing that goddamn, stupid as fuck, perfectly beautiful song.