Recharged

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Recharged Page 12

by Lulu Pratt


  “No,” he replied, in a husky tone. “But I had reason to hope.”

  The emotion was palpable, and I had heard enough. He moved around the other side of the pool table and placed his hands on my hips. I shuffled back, still on all fours, until my ass was once again flush with his hard cock.

  “No more talking,” Dylan instructed. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

  Everything happened quickly. Both our shirts came off, I spun around and unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them off enough to reveal my thong, he unbuttoned his jeans to reveal tight boxers that bulged at the center.

  He leaned forward and licked my erect nipples. I sighed and arched my back. With every ounce of resolve, I pulled away and returned to my hands and knees.

  He yanked my underwear down until it pooled around my knees, and without hesitation, stuck two of his large, strong fingers into my pussy.

  “Jesus,” he said lowly. “You’re soaked.”

  Like a cat in heat, I bucked down on his fingers, urging them further and further within me. He began to curl and pulsate inside me, moving in circles and moving in and out with an increasing rhythm. He found my g-spot through the fleshy wall and began to stroke it until I panted and heaved with exertion. My arms buckled and I lay my forehead on the pool table’s felt. I could faintly smell the cue chalk and for some reason it turned me on even more.

  “Harder,” I managed to say. “Go harder.”

  “Oh, happily.”

  He immediately began to press and pluck with a strength I’d never felt, expertly maneuvering within me, bringing me closer and closer to orgasm.

  With a flexibility I didn’t even know I possessed, I arched my back and reached behind me to put one hand on his hips and pull them closer. Dylan understood my intention.

  “You want my cock, Zoe?” he questioned smugly, knowing full well that that was exactly what I wanted. His fingers remained in their position, coaxing me further into the depths of pleasure.

  “Yes,” I moaned. “I do, I do.”

  “Okay then.”

  His fingers immediately left me and I felt a conscious ache at their absence. But no sooner could I feel their loss then Dylan had reached around my waist, down my stomach and down my happy trail to reposition his fingers above my clit.

  “Oh, God,” I shrieked as he started to ferociously work at my clit. “Oh my God.”

  At last, he left off my pussy, and I heard the sound of a condom unwrapping. Somehow, I grew even wetter with anticipation.

  The tip of his condom-clad cock brushed over my ass cheeks. I squirmed, trying to blindly maneuver it inside me. He chuckled at my eagerness, and I suppose decided to free me from my agony.

  Because, after what felt like eons of anticipation, Dylan slipped his cock inside me. I was not expecting the girth and I caught my breath trying to adjust to the size. Dylan began to thrust back and forth, stretching me. I groaned as he went deeper and deeper.

  “Fuck!” I shouted, my knees scraping roughly against the pool table felt.

  He hunched low over me, and his fingers returned to my clit. My mind was blank of all worldly concerns, this was just about me, Dylan and finding the ultimate pleasure. We were fucking like wild beasts, as though we’d lost all evolutionary instinct save to screw and get screwed.

  Desperate, I bucked back into him, bringing our bodies even closer, and clenched my pussy around his dick. I had the satisfaction of hearing him groan.

  “If you do that,” he said between pants, “I’m gonna come first. And ladies should always come first.”

  “I don’t care.” Ragged breath. “I’d like you to come.”

  “But I care,” he returned. Not idling around to hear any more arguments, he left off his thrusting and focused on my clit. I didn’t have the strength to debate with him. I knew all of a sudden that I was about to orgasm.

  With a few more final, powerful flicks of his fingers, I came and came hard. I was awash in ecstasy, I’d never felt anything like it before, and I was almost immediately concerned that I’d never feel anything like it again.

  But we weren’t done.

  “You have to finish,” I was able to get out.

  “Very well.”

  Picking my ass back up from its relaxed, sagging position, he realigned it with his cock, entered me, and immediately began stroking, in and out, in and out. I could feel, even though the rubber, the veins in his cock pulsating.

  He grabbed my hips, squeezing my love handles as if holding on for dear life.

  “Okay,” he gasped. “Okay, I’m coming.”

  No sooner had he said it, then his cock gave one final thrust and I heard him holler. His body spasmed over mine, shaking me with its force. Dylan fully collapsed on top of me, pinning me to the table with the brunt of his weight, his still quivering muscles sending out vibrations. Moments passed in silence as we both recovered from the exertion.

  At last, Dylan said, “I guess I’d better see if Charlie’s done napping.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Dylan

  After we’d finished on the pool table, I’d politely recused myself to put on some clothes and go speak with the bartender.

  “Did I miss anything?” Charlie asked while laying on the couch in the back office.

  “Everything is taken care of,” I said.

  “I guess I’d better come out. You would think that one would get used to having a hangover after the first couple hundred.”

  I chuckled and returned to the bar, where I found Zoe fully clothed and sitting at the counter as if we hadn’t just been intertwined in romantic embraces. She sipped thoughtfully at her scotch, pausing to stare into the glass, as if reading tea leaves.

  The grimy old dude returned to his post behind the bar, and promptly plopped into a stool and laid his head down on the sticky surface. Some service.

  I moved to join Zoe at the bar, easing myself into the uncomfortable bar stool, knowing full well that she might not like what came next.

  “Zoe,” I began. “I wish we could spend the night together. Maybe driving out in my car, sitting in the flat and lookin’ up at all the stars and the moon. That would be a blissful evening.” I cleared my throat and continued. “But, as you know, I have a kid, and I’ve gotta get home to him.”

  She lowered her head and ran a tongue over her lips. I thought I saw water forming at the corners of her eyes, but that might’ve been my imagination.

  “Is this the part,” she asked grimly, “where you tell me you regret everything that happened, and that it’s ‘not fair,’ and that we can’t keep doing this? Because if that’s what this is, just say it.”

  “No, no,” I rushed to say, “that’s not it at all.” I dropped my voice. “I don’t regret a single thing we did. Every moment of it was perfect.”

  That brought a smile to her face. “Really?”

  “Really. But, as much as I’d like to stay with you, the biggest thing in my life is Danny, and he’s gotta come first. I haven’t been spending enough time with him, and he’s a great kid, who deserves better than an absent dad.”

  I watched Zoe consider this, and ultimately decide I was telling the truth. “Okay,” she agreed. “Go take care of Danny.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, and leaned in close. She arched her neck up, waiting for a kiss to land on her lips, but I denied her.

  “Why not?” she whispered. “Are you sure you’re not regretting anything?”

  “Nah. Just wanna make sure I leave you hungry for next time.” I winked, turned on my heel and walked out of O’Reilly’s.

  The next morning, I awoke in a good mood. A really, really good mood. Sure, I’d had to leave early to take care of Danny, but what came before was — you know. Pretty awesome. And when I got home Danny ran into my arms and kissed and hugged me. And, to cap it all off, my mom had made roast beef.

  I’d found myself laying in bed, minutes before sleep, thinking about how lucky I was. It had been a long time since I’d thought myself lucky, or s
ince anyone in the community had looked upon me with a feeling besides pity. But I could feel my course shifting, partly through fate, and partly through the conscious efforts I’d made to piece my life back together.

  Finally, things were looking up.

  I moseyed on down to the station that morning, driving my truck at a swelteringly slow ten miles per hour, cruising under blue skies and dazzling snow. I whistled a jaunty prairie tune. I pulled into the station regretfully, thinking about how nice it would’ve been to spend this beautiful day with my son, or Zoe, or even the two of them together.

  I shocked myself with the last thoughts. First, I was always eager to go to work, it gave me a purpose, and stability. Second… was I already thinking about introducing Zoe to Danny? Could that be? Realistically, I barely knew her. And yet, I knew the parts of her that couldn’t be spoken aloud. Didn’t that mean more than some life stats? Besides, she’d like Danny. I could just feel it.

  The clock on my dashboard said five to eight, and I realized it was time to hustle. I parked quickly, locked the car and went inside the station. As per usual, it smelled of mothballs and fresh coffee. Tom was waiting in the lobby, which was definitely not usual, he never left his desk if he could help it.

  “Tom,” I said, a small but persistent worry dawning. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” he replied reassuringly, but continued. “Maybe lets us two step into my office.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, and allowed him to escort me back through the rows of desks and into his private office.

  We’d spent plenty of afternoons in here, so I was familiar with the red leather armchair in the corner behind the desk, the one with the brass fixings, which had probably been passed down through generations of staunch police officers. If you looked closely, you could almost make out the different indentations from where each person had shifted to find their comfortable spot. The arms had been worn down with worrying fingers.

  Tom groaned as he sat down in the chair. His back had been going to shit for the last twenty years, but he didn’t like to talk about it. Not very manly, at least by his obscenely high standards. Me, personally, I thought men oughta talk about what hurt ‘em — physically and emotionally.

  “Take a seat,” he instructed, gesturing to one of the low-backed swivel chairs. I plopped down.

  “All right, we’re in your office. So, what’s going on?”

  “I thought you might want to see this file we’re building.”

  He reached into the crevice between leather cushion and arm, and pulled out a manila folder, stuffed to the gills with documents. I swallowed.

  “For which case?” I asked, though there was no need. I knew which case it was for just by the look on Tom’s face. He didn’t gratify my stupid question with a reply.

  Hesitantly, I peeled open the folder, and began to sift through the documents within. As I read, the blood drained from my face.

  “Kid,” Tom said, while I continued to read. “It doesn’t look good.”

  “But this can all be explained—”

  “One of ‘em, sure. But all of ‘em? I don’t think so.”

  “But there’s no way—”

  He sighed, and steepled his fingers like a lecturing teacher. “The items the thief stole were ones the average Joe — sorry, um, the average person — wouldn’t recognize as expensive. Blender, knives… they weren’t recognizable as being nice. Only someone in the know would’ve clocked it.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not evidence.”

  “You’re right. But it is suggestive. Especially given that the alarm was turned off by someone inside the shop.”

  “No, that’s wrong,” I replied urgently. “When we got there, the alarm was ringing.”

  “It’s on a self-timer, so after something like an hour delay, it automatically restarted. Long enough that we wouldn’t be able to firmly place the time of the breakin. Or so they thought.”

  “This still isn’t enough.”

  “Right again. But Dylan… the till wasn’t just smashed open. I had Martin help review the entry history, and the till was opened after the shop closed that afternoon, possibly around the time of the burglary.”

  I gulped, not wanting to hear this next part. “Please, Tom—”

  “The final code in the till was Zoe’s personal entry code.”

  I didn’t want to hear any more. I stood abruptly from my chair and began to pace the short length of the office. Tom’s eyes followed my back and forth.

  “What are you trying to say?” I asked at last.

  He sighed. “Come on, Dylan. I taught you better than that. What am I trying to say?”

  “You’re saying… you’re saying that you think Zoe faked the robbery, maybe with the help of a friend or employee.”

  “Yes,” he affirmed. “And why?”

  “Because if the insurance money would cover the costs of the staged robbery, there’d be enough left over to pay all her debts.”

  Silence. I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. I wished I’d been wrong. Thoughts raced in my head as I tried to reexamine the case from every angle, to dispute evidence and to exonerate Zoe.

  “Well,” Tom interjected, “what do you think?”

  I closed my eyes, and tilted my head to the ceiling, shocked by what I was about to say.

  “I think,” I replied, “that she may have — may have — had something to do with this burglary.”

  And, I thought to myself, I’ve been sleeping with the enemy.

  CHAPTER 21

  Zoe

  The morning after sleeping with Dylan, I waited. I never want to let that phrase become something commonplace, so let me try again. The morning after sleeping with Dylan, arguably the hottest man to ever cross my line of sight… the morning after that, I was back in the bakery, merrily tending to all that needing tending.

  Well, as merry as I could be, given that we were unable to stock about half our usual supplies. Luckily, half the income was from coffee and muffin regulars, those heading to their work, and the coffee machine was in fine shape, and we had all the tools needed to make muffins.

  But coffee and muffins weren’t my passion. I preferred a tangy lemon tart, or a vanilla crème brûlée. Any old schmuck could make coffee and muffins. I was a pastry artist, or at least a highly skilled, professional baker. I opened my own shop to have freedom to play around with different confections, and here I was essentially running a Dunkin’ Donuts. Although, at the moment, we didn’t have the equipment to even make donuts.

  I needed to focus my energy on something I could handle — the fifty cakes. Don’t think I forgot about them. Sure, the robbery set me back, and it was possible I wouldn’t be able to make all fifty, but I figured I could deliver at least half. Though, upon reflection, that meant I’d also have to return half the fees to the company, and I wasn’t quite prepared to do that.

  So that morning, Kelly and I were chugging away on all cylinders. Or I was, at least. She was in charge of the counter, and somehow managed to make the easy task of delivering pastries and hot drinks an arduous undertaking. The shop had reopened, indicated by a sign that brightly proclaimed, ‘Come in!’ The window was still boarded up, but I would cross that bridge when I had the cash flow.

  Meanwhile, I was in the back, covered in flour and splattered milk, when I heard a customer enter and make her way up to Kelly. Setting down the spoon, I shifted my ears so that I could catch the whole interaction.

  “Yo, what do you want,” Kelly said.

  To be clear, she didn’t ask, there was no upward lilt at the end of the sentence. God, this girl had terrible customer service skills.

  “Coffee and muffin please,” the faceless woman replied.

  Yeah, that checked out. All Kelly had to do was pour the coffee and put the muffin in a bag. Surely she could handle that.

  “Coffee machine’s broken,” Kelly replied.

  Uh, it most certainly was not. I quickly dusted off my whitened arms and scram
bled outside to catch the customer before she could leave. The woman raised her brows at my ghostly white hue, but held her tongue.

  “Ma’am,” I said quickly, “so sorry about that, Kelly here is new. The machine’s working fine.” I shot Kelly a death glare. “It just needs to be refilled, which might take some effort, but falls under the job description.”

  Kelly huffed and rolled her eyes, replying, “Oh yeah, right. My bad.”

  A few minutes later, we — no, I — had sorted the customer out, and she left, happily noshing on her blueberry muffin. I immediately turned to Kelly, and fired off, “What the fuck was that?”

  “Oops.”

  “Are you serious? I pay you a fair wage with reasonable hours. What’s the problem?”

  Kelly shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing, I just figure there may not be a bakery here in a few weeks to work at it.”

  My mouth dropped open. This girl sure had a lot of nerve to talk to her boss that way. When I was apprenticing at a pastry shop, if I ever had the gall to speak to the head chef like that, I would’ve been dragged out by my toque blanche.

  But I couldn’t afford to hire someone else. Most everybody in town had a stable job that they wouldn’t leave for part time, day hours. Fallow Springs was the sort of place where you started a job at sixteen and retired from it at sixty-five. In fact, Kelly was already running a little late in ‘finding her calling.’

  More importantly, going through the whole hiring process would take me ages, and with the cake order looming over my head, I wasn’t going to risk it. I didn’t even have the money to hire the two on-call boys to help complete the orders. Looked like it was going to be just me and useless Kelly trying to save the bakery. The thought didn’t exactly fill me with hope.

  I spent the remainder of the day slaving away over my prep station. My arms grew tired from hand-whisking the batter, which I was forced to do given that my machine-operated mixer had been stolen. The time passed fairly quickly since I allowed myself to imagine Dylan fucking me. The faint screams of the previous night echoed in my head, the way he shouted my name and I his. I imagined the whisk was his cock, and in turn beat the batter like Dylan’s pleasure depended on it.

 

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