by Raquel Belle
“Absolutely!” I grin.
His chest is wet from my juice, like I’ve marked my territory. I reach behind me for his cock and guide him into my pussy, I do it so slowly even I’m going crazy right now. I sit down as slow as I can on his monster and start to grind myself on him, back and forth, and side to side, then in a circular motion.
I’m on fire, I’m in ecstasy…and from the look on Jack’s face, so is he. He takes my breasts in his hands and squeezes them, playing with my nipples. I lean down to kiss him, it’s languid and comfortable, there’s no rush…we have time, we explore each other.
His hips are in sync with mine and his cock searches every part of me. The feeling is electric. It feels like this is where we belong…nowhere else…joined, each of us making the other whole. We keep going, keeping that measured pace, like a volcano slowly bubbling, the lava swirling.
“Together?” he says.
I nod, and then lean back so his cock pushes on that special spot. I feel it, I’m about to burst. Jack puts one hand on my ass and one on my back and pulls me to him. We hold each other tight and quicken our pace—only slightly.
I’m coming, my mouth is against his, we’re breathing the same air, I’m there…the volcano erupts and my brain goes into overdrive, there’s fire raining down all around me. I shut my eyes and hold Jack tighter as I feel him thrust, jerk and explode inside me, but we don’t stop. We’ve timed the orgasm just right so my spasming pussy is massaging and milking every drop out of him. This is the closest two people can be.
We ride the wave to completion. The French call an orgasm La Petite mort—The little death…and when it’s over we lie there in the afterglow of bliss.
I kiss Jack, deeply, then collapse next to him.
“That was a good one,” he says.
“Hell yeah.”
It’s clear that this relationship—if we can call it that now—has reached a new level.
“Jack?”
“Hmm?” Do I tell him? I almost said it last night…but no, if he doesn’t say it back, what then? He asked me to go away with him, but that doesn’t mean anything, we’re just two people who have amazing sex, why wouldn’t you want to travel with someone like that?
Yes, I’m copping out. There’ll be time later. I’ll wait for him to say it first.
I give him a bright smile instead and ask, “Have you ever been to Grand Central Market?”
“I don’t believe I have.”
“Do you want to go to there for breakfast?”
“Sure,” he smiles at me.
***
After we shower and change into jeans and t-shirts we leave the hotel and head for Grand Central Market—my phone says it’ll be about twenty minutes on foot. It’s less than a mile from the hotel so there’s no point in taking the car out. It also gives us a chance to take in the sights. The walk is LA to the core, we probably pass at least a hundred other places we could have had breakfast at.
Walking around in LA is like walking through a mall but outside.
I wanted to take Jack to Grand Central Market because it’s quite an experience if you haven’t been. The place is amazing. How they manage to fit forty different food establishments in here, I don’t know, but you can get anything you want without walking more than a few feet in any direction. Fresh produce, grilled shrimp, ice cream, coffee, doughnuts, steak, chicken, candy, you name it, it’s in here…from every ethnicity too…and they’re all unique.
Explaining it this way doesn’t really do it justice because it sounds like I’m describing a food court…you’ve got to see Grand Central Market to really understand.
I’m here for one thing in particular though, I hold Jack’s hand and navigate us to what I’m hoping he’s going to get a kick out of—I sure as heck think it’s funny.
We get there and he looks up at the sign with a raised brow and a smirk.
“Don’t let the name fool you,” I say, “they make great breakfast sandwiches.”
“Okay, let’s try the Eggslut sandwiches,” he laughs.
He’s not kidding, the place is really called Eggslut, but these sandwiches are not misogynistic in the least. I read somewhere that one of the guys came up with the name from knowing a chef who put a fried egg on everything he made because he thought it just made things better. They called him an Egg Slut.
I lean over the counter and order two bacon, egg and cheese breakfast sandwiches. The brioche bun is to die for!
The line moves pretty quick and in no time at all we’re sitting under an umbrella at the street-side dining tables. We both bite in and I savor the salty, cheesy, eggy, meaty, bready goodness. It’s everything you need for the first meal of the day.
“What do you think?”
“Good,” he says, still chewing.
Jack eats as fast and as much as you’d expect for a man his size, so he’s done when I’m not even a third of the way through mine. I should’ve ordered two for him. As soon as he’s finished he leaves me at the table to pick up some coffees from a nearby stand.
When he comes back we do some people watching in comfortable silence, the way normal couples do. We watch LA go about its business. It’s a nice way to spend a Saturday morning.
Maybe we’ll be the kind of people to do Sunday brunch with our friends?
I’ve never done that before. I wonder?
“Deanna?”
“Mm?” I answer through a mouthful of sandwich. I hand him the rest of it, they’re quite big and I’m already feeling stuffed.
“Thanks,” he takes the half sandwich, chews and swallows it in two bites like it’s a cookie. “You’ve travelled a lot, right?”
“I suppose.”
“Do you think of yourself as a city girl, suburban, small town or middle of nowhere?
“I never really thought about it, why do you ask?”
“Well, I don’t know either, I’ve been all over but there’s nowhere I went where I wanted to stay. I’m just wondering if you ever thought about where you wanted to end up?”
Besides with you?
“Tell you the truth, I think one place is as good as another, I don’t think it’s the place that matters as much as the people. If you’re with the people you care about, anywhere could end up being home.”
He smiles. “That’s true isn’t it.” He’s so handsome. He takes my hand from across the table and kisses it. I feel my face get hot and a smile split my face.
“Let’s get some ice-cream,” I say. That’ll cool me down.
And there’s always room for dessert.
“Okay.”
We get up and go back inside to the Fine ice-cream place, we get a scoop each—chocolate choc-chip for me and rum and raison for Jack—then start walking back.
We go two blocks over so we can cut through Pershing Square. It’s a small public park—just one block in size.
There are a few pieces of art placed in strategic locations. It’s nice. I’ve been here a couple of times before. There’s a lot of history to this place. They used it a lot during the second World War. Underneath it is a huge parking garage. That’s LA for you, no space goes to waste.
Jack stops me at every tree that we pass under to kiss me. It’s like we’re on a date.
I’m so happy today, I don’t know what to do with myself.
Maybe I’m going to get a tomorrow, and Jack will be in it.
From the park we walk down Hill Street through to the Jewelry District. I poke my nose at every window we pass, wondering what I’d like for a wedding ring, then realize that I’m getting ahead of myself. Sometimes I have to remind myself to stay present and be in the moment.
If Jack proposed to me, he could do it with a copper washer and I’d say yes.
When we get to 7th Street, we take a right and start heading back to the hotel. On the way we pass an authentic Japanese sushi place. It’s right around the corner from the hotel.
“Do you like sushi?” I ask Jack. We’re still walking hand in hand, taki
ng in the sights, but above all else…enjoying being with each other.
“After the amount of bacon we’ve had this week, something lighter might be in order for lunch today. Do you think it’s too early?”
“We did get going a little late today, mealtimes don’t have to be set, are you hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“Somehow I doubt I would ever get a negative response to that question.”
He laughs. “Looks expensive as hell though. These LA prices are something else.”
“Good thing Anton is paying I say.”
We both laugh and go inside.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jack
We took our time at the Sushi place, sitting side by side in our large booth. It was quiet inside and had a good atmosphere.
In places like Littlefield you can get a full plate for a few dollars—here you get one nugget of salmon for eight dollars. It’s good though.
Today is the day though…its Game Day…if anything goes wrong I wouldn’t want to have denied myself a nice meal. And Deanna really likes it—that’s more important to me than anything else.
We get new stuff every fifteen minutes or so because they’re so intricately prepared. Deanna and I used the time to talk and laugh. We’re there for two hours as each new, fancy dish arrives in their small portions. I didn’t know the names of anything—Deanna did all the ordering.
I needed to stay sharp for later, so no saké…even though the waiter was punting the alcoholic beverages like crazy. There was even Japanese beer, but we decided to have exotic teas with our food instead.
It was a different experience for me. I enjoyed it. Having a lunch to try new things has never been on my list of things to do. It was interesting.
For me, food is all about fueling the machine to get the job done, so this felt like a very domesticated thing to do. I liked it.
I suppose this has been kind of like a vacation in way, I’ve just never had anyone to show me how it’s done…till Deanna.
This is why I enjoy spending time with her so much. We could sit alone in a room together with nothing to do and she’d find a way to make it fun. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing, if I’m with her, I’m happy.
I wished we didn’t have to leave but she gets a call from her friend, Alicia. We’ve got to meet her back at the Sheraton.
We pay the check and start the short walk back to the hotel.
***
When we get there, we sit on the couches in the lobby. Deanna gets on my lap and we cuddle up and talk while we wait. She tells me about how she and Alicia used to share an apartment seven years ago, the funny story about how they met and how Alicia used to practice doing makeup on her.
It feels like we’re on a honeymoon. People smile at us as they walk by…maybe they’re thinking the same thing.
I want it to always be like this. I don’t want this day to end. We’ve just got to get through tonight and then we can start our lives together.
I spot a plus sized woman with green and purple hair wearing a black shirt and black pants walking through the entrance. She has big, square eyeglasses and carries a large case by the handle. She looks around. I turn Deanna’s face to see. “That her?”
“Yes!” Deanna waves to her with a huge smile. The lady waves back and we get up to greet her. “Alicia!” Deanna gives her a hug and a kiss.
“Deedee!” The lady squeals and hugs Deanna back.
Deanna turns to make introductions. “Jack, this is Alicia, but when we’re in the same room I’m Dee and she’s Licia, because together we’re DeeLicias!” They both laugh at the joke, so do I.
I shake Alicia’s hand, “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” she says with a friendly smile, “so, what’s all this about?”
“We’ve got to make Jack look like he’s fifty years old,” Deanna says.
“Is it for an audition or something?”
“Uh…not exactly—”
I interrupt Deanna, “We’d rather not say, and it’s probably best that you don’t know either. That way if anybody should ever ask you, you won’t have to lie.” I don’t want anyone getting involved under false pretenses so I tell it to her straight. “If you’re not comfortable with that, I completely understand.”
She looks at Deanna.
“Alicia, I need your help here, it’s to keep us safe, that’s all you really need to know. I called you because I know I can trust you and I know you can keep a secret. You have to swear to me that you’ll never tell anybody about this. When this is over, you never saw either of us, okay?”
“Jeez, Deanna, are you guys in some kind of trouble?”
“Not big trouble, we’re trying to get out of it, I really need you on this.”
“Alright then, I guess. Five hundred bucks is five hundred bucks. Do you guys have a room here?”
“Yeah, this way,” Deanna says.
***
Upstairs in our suite, Alicia tells me it would be better if I showered first so there are no natural body oils on me. I leave her and Deanna to unpack the gear while I do a set of pushups and sit-ups and then hit the shower.
I scrub myself as thoroughly as I can and as I finish drying off, Deanna yells to me to come out with only pants. I do.
In the living room Alicia explains that if I were to pull off my t-shirt roughly once she’s done, I might damage the work she’s going to do. Fair enough.
I sit in the chair they’ve pulled out for me. All of Alicia’s tools are laid out on the table.
There’s a lot! Little jars and brushes of all colors and sizes.
“Can we also do a fake nose and change the facial structure a little bit?” Deanna asks.
“Sure.”
“You can do that?” I say
“Yeah,” she laughs.
“Cool.” I’m impressed.
“So, this stuff I’m using,” she explains as she starts applying God knows what to me, “this is pretty cutting edge, it’s something I’ve been working on in my spare time. It helps getting the actors in and out of makeup a lot faster so they can spend more time on set and less time sitting in chairs. I want to patent it and maybe start my own business. Then production companies will outsource to us.
“Wow,” Deanna says.
“The way it works is that each layer of this putty that I apply will dry into one prosthetic layer, so I can basically build this new face onto you without having specialized individual parts. It takes hardly any time at all to dry, and when it’s done it’s flexible and indistinguishable from the real thing. When you’re done for the day, just peel up a corner and pull it off.”
“Nice,” I say.
“Like the Mission Impossible masks?” Deanna asks.
Alicia laughs, “Yeah, pretty close to that. You can also reuse it if you want. You need to paint your face with a gel and then paste the prosthesis back on. You going to need that?”
“Nah, this is a one-time thing,” I say.
“Crow’s feet, some jowls, maybe a bit of a Neanderthal forehead ridge,” Deanna tells her.
“You trying to make him look old or ugly?”
Deanna laughs, “Old, but also unrecognizable. Do some brown contact lenses too and let’s slick back his hair with gel.”
“Alrighty.”
I let the girls chat and catch up while Alicia works. I run through the plan over and over again in my head. I also need to get into character so I start to imagine what it’s like to be Xander Carruthers—a rich pompous asshole with too much money who cheats on his wife.
***
It takes a little over an hour but when Alicia is done, you’d never mistake me for Jack Morton. I look like a completely different person. It’s an amazing transformation.
Deanna looks me over with a smile, “Yeah, I definitely married you for the money.” She laughs and high-fives Alicia.
“This is really something, Alicia,” I look in the mirror and I’m still kind of stunned that it�
�s me under there.
“Thanks,” she says, growing a broad smile.
The girls start to pack up and I hear a knock on the door. I go over and open it.
“Ugh!’ Anton makes a ghastly face and recoils.
“Looks like they did too good of a job.”
“Morton?” Anton says.
I nod.
“Impressive.”
I jerk my head toward Alicia.
“I’ll come back later then,” he says.
“A few minutes ought to do it.”
He nods and leaves without her seeing him.
I go back to the girls just as they’re saying their goodbyes.
“Thanks so much Licia, I owe you big time,” Deanna hugs her.
“Don’t worry about it, for $500 you get the service and a confidentiality agreement,” she laughs, then turns to me, “Jack.”
I shake her hand, “Alicia, thanks again.”
“No problem, and don’t touch your face for about thirty minutes. After that you’re golden.” She turns back to Deanna, “Let’s meet up before you scoot out of town?”
“I’ll try, maybe tomorrow, I’ll call you,” Deanna says.
“Alrighty then…well, good luck I guess, to both of you.”
“Thanks,” Deanna and I say it together and give her a smile—I don’t know what mine looks like.
Alicia nods, takes her case by the handle, and lets herself out.
“Damn, you’re ugly,” Deanna laughs at me.
“I hope we’re not overdoing things here. Maybe all eyes are going to end up on me and not the damn egg.”
“Nah it’s fine, you’re just ugly enough that people won’t want to look at you more than once. They’ll feel like they’re staring and it’s rude,” Deanna laughs.
Just then Anton comes back so I let him in.
He nods and turns to Deanna, “I need your keys to move the Escalade.”
“They’re on the counter over there,” she points.
Anton goes over, picks up the keys and drops down a different set, “The Porsche is parked in A12, and this is that item you wanted,” he looks at me and sets a small box down on the counter. “And,” he pulls a sheathed hunting knife out of his jacket and sets it down as well. “Are we all good to go?”