His hands released my breasts and his hand moved down my belly then lower, his finger pressing into my clit as he suddenly sank his hips down then plowed back into me.
"Fuck," I cried, arms going up and behind me to wrap around his neck as he dropped again and slammed back into me.
Not fast, but hard, as his finger kept up its relentless torment.
The next time he slammed back into me, my hips crashed down to meet him, making me take him as deeply as my body could allow with a delicious little pinch.
And after all the foreplay torture and his finger working me while his cock invaded me, by the next thrust inward, my walls tightened hard as my breath caught. His finger swiped.
And I freaking shattered.
My entire body convulsed once almost violently as my head slammed into his shoulder, his cock slamming into me still, his finger working me, dragging it out, making one wave crash into another until I was sure I was setting off car alarms all down the street as my vision flashed blindingly white for an alarming moment before I slowly came back to myself- my body slick, my breathing erratic, my thighs shaking, a whimper still coming from my lips even after the waves tapered off.
Against my back, his chest was as labored as mine, his body just as slick, his heart just as pounding.
The side of his face pressed into mine as he let out a long, slow breath. "Jesus Christ," he said on a harsh growl.
I took a similarly deep breath, exhaling slowly, realizing what I had just done.
I had just made things get infinitely more complicated than they needed to be.
About a thousand what-if thoughts swarmed my brain in the span of seconds, each more dramatic than the last.
"Still inside you and you're already freaking out?" he asked, but sounded amused as his head ducked and he bit into my neck playfully. His hips dropped and I lost him as he moved away from me and toward the hall to, I imagined, toss the condom, as I scrambled to find my shirt and panties, yanking them on with some kind of warp-speed I didn't know I was capable of accomplishing.
By the time I heard the footsteps in the hallway again, I was mostly-clothed and sitting up against the headboard.
Brant walked in, paused for a second, brow raised at finding me up and dressed, then moved to his pants, slipped them on, and proceeded to throw himself onto my bed on his stomach, letting out a loud sigh.
"Alright, get on with it."
"Get on with what?" I asked, looking down at his back because his face was on the mattress so I could do so without being seen.
His head twisted to look at me, brown eyes warm, smile teasing. "Whatever it is you think you need to be freaking out about right now."
"I don't know..." I started to object, not having thought anything through enough yet to bring it up.
"Don't make yourself a liar and insult me in the process," he cut me off, tone that condescending sharp that only lawyers (or doctors) can seem to pull off with any authority. "I am going to take what is a real wild leap here," he went on, tone sarcastic, "and assume it's because we work together and live next door and I'm friends with your mother."
"As if there needs to be anything more than that."
"Maddy, we're fucking adults. I am intimately aware of the fact that you were no starry-eyed virgin going into this. You knew what you were doing. I knew what I was doing. We enjoyed it. Maybe we will want repeats. Maybe not. Maybe we will want more than repeats. Again, maybe not. But whatever happens, we'll be grown-ups about it. For chrissakes, you got engaged to and dumped within twenty-four hours by a guy you'd been with for five years and you didn't go all batshit crazy over that. So I think whatever goes on here, we'll be fine."
I couldn't exactly find any fault with that logic.
Actually, I was pretty sure I could if I tried.
But, the fact of the matter was, I didn't want to.
I liked Brant.
I was attracted to him.
And I had just been given the orgasm of a lifetime.
If there was a chance for a repeat of that, without drama, well, then maybe he was right.
Maybe it would be fine.
Rocky Road Bars
Brant
After the very short, very honest talk, we took ourselves back downstairs to eat the macaroni she made, watched more of her TV marathon, and then she eventually passed out on the couch and I carried her back to bed before heading back to my own place, not sure how she would feel if Alice came home to find me there still.
Yes, they were both adults.
And, yes, Alice had been out all night with a man herself.
But she was still her mother and I had no clue if that would wig her out.
I slept, went for my run, got ready for work, and headed out.
It was the first time ever that I was there to be at work first. Alice's car was at the house so she was back from her overnight date, but she was either just running late or had stopped to talk to Maddy.
I couldn't help but wonder what she would say.
While we both agreed to doing... something, we hadn't exactly ironed out the details about it. Were we just screwing around? Did she want to work toward something more? Was it maybe too soon, all things considered?
I had no idea.
So I figured I would have to play it by ear, take my cue from her and her actions.
When she came in, gave me a short "mornin'" and disappeared into the back, I got the distinct impression that my ass had another talk with her in the very near future.
Then, about three hours later, the first group of early risers coming in for coffee and to read the paper or chit-chat, she finally came back in with a tray of what looked like bars of mixed chocolate and stuck them in the display case before putting one on a plate, as she always did, and walked my way.
I poured her black coffee and turned as she came up to the other side of the counter.
"What's this?" I asked, putting her cup on the counter next to the plate.
"Rocky Road Bars," she supplied with a shrug.
"Is that some kind of message?" I asked, head dipped.
"Message?" she asked, her brows drawing together and proving that it wasn't.
"Never mind," I said, shaking my head, feeling a small wave of relief even if she was standing there wound like a clock for some untold reason.
Maybe that was the reason that when she shrugged at me and went to reach for her coffee, I reached over the counter, snagged her chin in my thumb and forefinger and leaned in to lick a small bit of chocolate from beside her lips from where she had smudged it. Her entire body stiffened then trembled at the contact.
It was all the encouragement I needed.
So right there, a dozen eyes no doubt on us, I framed her face in my hands and pressed my lips to hers.
There was nothing sweet or chaste about it.
I fucking devoured her mouth, my tongue moving to invade, drawing a quiet whimper from her as her hands slammed down on the counter.
The sound was enough to remind me that I couldn't take it any further right then and there and better stop before either of us got too worked up.
But as I pulled away and her eyes fluttered open and all I could see was a deep desire there, I knew she was a little bit more worked up than I intended.
There were a couple chuckles and one brave soul let out a loud whistle as we pulled apart, making my smile tip up slightly, knowing I had just, whether I truly intended it or not, staked a claim. I let the whole town know that I was messing around with one of their favorite daughters.
"I hate you right now," she said, her voice airy, her cheeks pink, her lips swollen.
"No you don't," I countered, shaking my head. "You just hate that you can't climb over this counter and let me fuck you right here and now. Don't worry, you can have me all to yourself in just a couple of hours. If you can control yourself until then..."
"Control myself," she hissed, both looking slightly outraged but also equally amused. "I believe you were the one ha
lf-mauling me in public."
"And I'm pretty sure it was your tongue moving over mine and your whimper I heard, right? Or was that Old Mildred. Hey, Milly..." I started to call, making Maddy's eyes bulge comically as she slammed her hand into my shoulder hard enough to send me back a foot.
"Shut up!" she hissed, making me let out an amused chuckle. "Alright fine. You made your point," she said, shaking her head as she reached for her coffee.
"What was my point, exactly?" I asked, curious.
"You just like... marked your territory or whatever," she said, rolling her eyes at the very idea, but a small smile pulled at her lips.
"So, what, you're mine now?"
Had I not been paying such close attention, I might have missed the way her face seemed to fall for a second, how her eyes went a little shocked and sad, before she put a mask down over her features.
"Oh, I, well... I thought..." she fumbled, shaking her head at her lack of explanations.
"Relax, sweetheart," I said, saving her from her misery. "Like I said last night, I'm in. You were the one who came in all anti-social this morning."
"That had nothing to do with you," she informed me, looking almost pained.
"Alice?"
"My mom needs to find some friends to talk to about sex, Brant. I can't take it. I can't," she said, looking horrified. "I thought I was a cool, mature, experienced, metropolitan woman. But when your mom starts talking about blowjobs, it makes you really, really want to stick your fingers in your ears and scream 'I'm not hearing this, I'm not hearing this' until she shuts up."
"Traumatized for life, huh?"
"He's coming over tonight. Did I mention that part? He's coming to dinner and then, ah, staying the night. Because apparently it's... serious. Do they still sell earplugs at the pharmacy? I think I might actually die of embarrassment if I have to listen to them doing it."
I laughed at that, finding myself somewhat charmed by her embarrassment. "Tell you what, why don't you come to my place for dinner. And stay the night if you want. My bed is on the other side of the house. You won't hear shit. And," I added, leaning forward slightly, watching as her pupils dilated when I was closer. She wanted me alright. "They won't hear anything either," I added with a smirk that made her cheeks heat up again. "You know," I added, wanting to see how red I could make a self-proclaimed 'cool, mature, experienced, metropolitan woman', "you could really get her back with a blowjob story of your own."
"Sh!" she said, looking around herself, all paranoid about being overheard. "And I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because we haven't..." she said, waving a hand, eyes big.
"Well," I said, feeling my cock twitch at the very idea. "We will have to see what we can do about that, won't we?" I asked, watching her eyes get even more heated. Was there anything fucking hotter than a woman who got off on the idea of going down on you? Wasn't sure there was.
I watched as she took a breath, seeming to pull herself together, and gave me a saucy smile, her eyes wicked. "I don't know. Maybe. If you're lucky," she added, walking away.
I waited until she was about halfway across the room before I called to her. "I'll make dinner. You bring dessert. Something with some... whipped cream," I said, voice heavy with innuendo, loving watching the confident mask fall again as her eyes went big and she rushed out toward the back while a chorus of chuckles broke out across the space.
As she moved into the doorway toward the kitchen, she looked over at me, giving me a 'you're gonna pay for that' look.
Quite frankly, I was looking forward to it.
Cookies 'n Cream Cups
Maddy
Okay.
So I knew I was supposed to be pissed that he was being all possessive-alpha-piss-on-what-belongs-to-me... in public. And while I certainly wasn't exactly comfortable with the tongue kissing in front of a woman who taught me my ABCs, I found I actually really liked the display.
I wasn't supposed to.
It wasn't modern or progressive to admit that you liked to, for all intents and purposes, be claimed.
But that couldn't change the fact that when Brant was doing the claiming with that sexy smirk of his lips and those warm brown eyes and that lazy confidence of his, yeah, I found I really liked being claimed.
Which was why I was standing in my mother's kitchen and carefully swirling whipped cream into the little single serving dessert cups full of layers of crumbled Oreo cookies and chocolate pudding.
I would be bringing the remainder of the whipped cream with me to Brant's.
You know... in case the cups needed a top off when it started to fall.
Or, well, that was what I was telling myself.
And my mother.
Because godawful, uncomfortable blowjob talk aside, there was no way I was going to tell her I was really bringing it because I wanted Brant to cover me in it... and lick it off.
Or that I wanted to do the same to him.
There was a knock at the door a moment after I ran upstairs to do a quick freshening up- changing, spraying on a small amount of perfume, doing a fix of my eye makeup.
"That'd be my gentleman caller!" my mother said in a dramatic southern accent that had me smiling at my reflection.
It might have been a bit uncomfortable to know details about your mother's sex life, but I was genuinely loving seeing her so happy, so excited about another person. It had been so long for her and she had so much love to give.
And on top of that, I knew I would eventually move on and move out again. It was something I felt guilty about whenever I thought about it. It was different when I was eighteen and somewhat selfish and making the decision to better my life with education.
Being back with her, falling into routines with her, being more mature and seeing beyond my own wants and needs, it bothered me to think of her all alone in the house all the time.
I hoped whoever her 'gentleman caller' was was of the lasting variety.
"Oh, honey," she said with a smile as I came down, something that had obviously made them spring apart because he had her lipstick on his face, something she noticed as I stepped into the entryway and she reached up to wipe it away.
Her boyfriend was somewhat new to the town, having moved back to care for his ailing mother before she passed three months before. He had apparently fallen for the town (and maybe a little bit my mother) and decided to stay.
From the scoop she had given me, he was a retiree from a big deal marketing gig back in California. There was a laid-back kind of air to him in his jeans and gray sweater. His skin was tanned, his hair blond but graying slightly, his eyes blue and warm.
And when my mom reached up to wipe the lipstick away and he looked down at her, the look he gave her was all I needed to know that I liked him. Anyone who could look at my mother like she was the most amazing creature in the world, yeah, he had my immediate approval.
"Hi, I'm Maddy," I said, offering my hand.
He shook it, giving me a smile. "Rob," he told me. "I've heard so much..." he started, only to be interrupted by a loud pounding to the wall that had my mother's framed pictures of herbs shaking.
"That'd be your dinner bell," my mother said, giving me a warm smile and I knew without her having to say anything that she was happy that I was going to see Brant. Not because she wanted to be alone with Rob, though I was sure there was some of that, but because she liked the idea of me and Brant.
I also realized because of the way she spoke of him and he and I together that she had, in fact, never liked Rich. It was something I had never known before, her always being kind to him. But it had been a formal type of kind. It was a 'my daughter is dating you and you seem to make her happy so I have to accept you' kind of kind.
How had I never seen that before?
I guess the answer was easy; I didn't want to.
What a bubble I had been living in.
"Alright," I said, giving them a smile as I went to grab my purse which was doubling as my overnig
ht bag- having learned in college to pack only the very essentials so it never looked like I was moving in with a guy on the first official overnight. "It was nice meeting you, Rob. Have fun. I left some extra dessert in the fridge for you," I said, moving toward the kitchen to grab the dessert for me and Brant and going out the back door then around the porch to the front where I knocked and listened to some slamming inside before I heard footsteps.
The door flew open to show Brant in jeans and a tee, a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder, brows drawn together. "You're knocking?" he asked, sounding completely thrown off by that.
"Should I have pounded on the wall back at you instead?" I asked as he moved back to invite me in.
His side of the house was nothing like my mother's. Not that I had been expecting it to be, but it was almost strange seeing as the floorpan was nearly identical but looked so different with his decorating choices. Which were sparse. My mother, the lover of knickknacks, found places to stash everything. Brant liked a cleaner look with his almost silverish-gray walls, black bookshelves, leather couch, coffee table, and dining set. All the floors had been redone and stained a darker shade than my mother's. The stairs had no carpets. There were no pictures on the wall, but a few canvas pieces of art that had likely come from his time in the City seeing as our little town didn't have anything even resembling an art gallery.
"Come on through and put those in the fridge," he called and I realized while I had paused to look around, he had kept walking, obviously needing to keep an eye on dinner.
I shook my head and moved into the small kitchen that looked a lot like my mother's style-wise except Brant had a big coffee machine on his counter. Not a coffeepot, mind you. It was a coffee station. There was a drip, sure, but also a spot for espresso beans and a frother for lattes.
I walked to the fridge and slipped the desserts and whipped cream inside, taking a deep breath. "What is that?" I asked, not able to place the smell that still somehow made my stomach growl.
Peace, Love, & Macarons Page 7