by L. B. Dunbar
“I don’t know,” she says, pulling back only slightly. Her arms loosen from my neck, slipping open so her hands rest on my shoulders. Her legs are loosening as well until I grip under one thigh, holding her in place at my waist. “I was trying to find it the second after I fell.”
My eyes scan the water, looking for a scrap of light blue material possibly floating on the surface. The search appears futile, and I return my gaze to the hint of her breasts, barely hidden by the roll of water between us. Her fingers come to my temple, and she brushes back my hair, which I can only imagine looks wild from the tumble in the water. The touch feels hesitant but gentle, loving even, and my body trembles for a new reason. I want her touching me like this again. Her hand cups the back of my neck, and I lick my lips, wanting to kiss her. My eyes catch hers, and I find her watching my mouth.
“Lily pad,” I whisper, leaning for her.
“Don’t kiss me,” she whispers in return, and I bite my tongue hard enough to draw blood. Why? I want to scream, but I know why. I wasn’t going to, sarcasm mocks inside my head, but my heart knows the truth.
I nod once, slowly, exaggerating my understanding. She releases her hold on my neck, but both my hands cup the back of her thighs, tugging her against me. I shift upward to show her what she’s once again done to me. I’m rock solid beneath the tepid water because of her. Her heat boils around me, and I feel nothing below my waist but her core at the tip of my length. I drag her downward and feel her buoy back up. Her hands return to my shoulders for leverage.
“Lil, I want you.” The truth is painful, as painful as the pressure building at the base of my spine. I want this woman. Her sounds. Her movements. I want inside her like I’ve never been. She smiles in response, a teasing curl to her lips. She knows what she’s doing to me. “You temptress.”
She chuckles as she drags herself down my length and pulls herself upward with the help of my shoulders. My fingers dig into the underside of her thighs, forcing her to grind harder and dig deeper against me. My eyes watch her mouth, open and wavering, sucking in breaths with each press against me. I’m on the verge of taking that mouth and dipping into her core when an annoying beep bubbles up from under water.
“Damn it.” The timer on my waterproof watch warns me the hour rental of her board is almost up. In fact, we only have five more minutes, and it isn’t enough time to complete what I need to finish with her.
“We should go,” she says although she doesn’t move from my grasp.
“It’s time to leave,” I reiterate but thrust against her once again. Her nails scratch at my shoulders, and I relish the sharp sting. My fingers press firmer at her cool skin underwater, holding her in place. My hips roll, and I imagine filling her in one hefty thrust. The release would be so sweet. I pulse and jerk, but I can’t do this here. My dick weeps, but my heart cries out—you don’t get to cheat, you need to be inside her. My forehead lowers to her shoulder.
“Brut,” she whispers at my ear, and I shiver from my name in her sultry tone. It’s another sound I’ll add to my list. “Thank you.”
My head springs up, and I stare at her, my expression asking the question: What for? But she simply shakes her head, a pleasing grin illuminating her features. A glow of utter pride graces her cheeks. She presses back from me, and without a word, she treads away from me.
11
More warning bells
[Brut]
She pauses as she nears the shallow depths, and I hesitate, wondering what she’ll do next. The upper half of her suit is gone forever, and as much as I want to see her parade up the beach only partially clad, the image sparks me to swim faster. I don’t want anyone else looking at her.
“Lil,” I call out, and she stills, hesitating as I approach. “Here.” I peel off my surf shirt and hold it out to her. It’s sticky and drippy because it’s soaking wet. She hovers in the shallows, turning her back to the shore so others won’t see but giving me a peep show.
I turn away out of respect, but damn if I don’t want to tackle her back and finish what we started, completing our sexy act by satisfying her. It occurs to me we haven’t even kissed, and we haven’t physically touched skin. The thought makes me chuckle; it’s so reminiscent of our experiences when we were younger. Lily on my lap, her skirt hiked up, grinding against me. Lily on her back, my legs between her thighs, dry humping her. Clothing was a dreaded barrier. But back then, she let me kiss her. Kiss the fuck out of her.
She’s struggling with the wet material but finally wrestles it to her waist. She stands to her full height.
“Well, how do I look?”
Like a fucking wet dream. Literally, she’s wet, and I’m dreaming of rubbing my dick between the seam of her breasts now plastered under the material of my shirt. She’s a wet T-shirt fantasy I can live with for years. The vision will include the fact she’s wearing my clothing.
“Beautiful,” I choke out because I can’t find my voice. She looks ethereal with water droplets on her skin and the sunshine enhancing her tan. She takes my breath away, and when she slicks back her short, waterlogged hair with both hands, I’m a goner. My obituary would state: “Man drowns from wet dream vision.”
I stand as well, tugging at the hem of my shorts which can’t hide the wood that won’t subside. Lily breaks the meter stick of my threshold. I’ve decided I’ll be perpetually hard around her.
It’s been a great day, and once we hand in her board and return to the house, I ask her to dinner.
And she refuses me again.
What the fuck?
“I think I’ll take a warm shower. My muscles are starting to feel the ache of surfing,” she offers by way of excuse.
Let me relieve those muscles, I beg, but the sting of her rejection leads to another emotion. Irritation. A great day and no dinner. An orgasm and no lip action. I’m beginning to waver in my patience.
+ + +
I shouldn’t have gone out alone. I should have demanded she go with me, or better yet, I should have stayed in. Only, when she thanked me for the surfing lesson and excused herself for the shower, I was pissed. I showered quickly myself and then snuck out. My body hums. My limbs limber with pent-up energy, and my heart races with desire, but I didn’t understand what happened.
I replay the day as I pull into the lot of a famous seafood bar and stare at the restaurant sign. I don’t want to be here alone. I don’t want to eat out anymore. I want company, and I want Lily. I reverse my SUV but chicken out on returning immediately to the house. I opt for a long drive instead.
One of my favorite parts of restoring cars includes the test drive. The purr of a project finalized is a sweet melody. I love to wind up the hills around LA and wander down to the coast, listening to the hum of a well-tuned engine in an older ride brought back to life. This is what Lily is doing to me. She’s revving me up, only she’s not letting me drive.
I curve down Highway 5, taking in the dimming light of another day. People seem to stop along the southern coastline and breathe a moment, as if inhaling some unknown fragrance from the dipping sun. I realize I’ve lost sight of how much I enjoy California living somewhere along the way. Maybe I don’t always recognize the easy pace because LA is so fast, but down here, life moves a little slower. As I pull into a parking lot along the public beach, I think of exiting my SUV, but a peek at the lowering light, closing out another day hits me in the chest—I’m missing out on another evening with her. We only have the week, and I can’t keep running away. And I’m not letting her run away either.
A slower pace. Lily and I aren’t in a race, even if I want to speed things up. But we’ve already missed out on twenty-two years. It’s been my fault, and I admit as much, but I’m not making any more excuses. I want Lily back.
I peel out of the lot and head to the house. Opening the door, another heavenly fragrance assaults my olfactory senses. This smell is rich and sweet, causing me to salivate.
“What is that?” Whatever it is, I want to frost her in it an
d then devour every inch afterward. Her back remains to me, her hips wiggling as she pours something in a rhythm. Plop. Plop. Plop. Then squeaky lyrics echo in the kitchen, and I realize she has earbuds in. I step up behind her, finding a cupcake pan filled with gooey batter waiting to be baked. Another tray bakes in the oven, causing the sweet aroma in the room. Vanilla, cinnamon, and something I can’t distinguish. My mouth waters all the same.
Lily turns with a sharp twist, her eyes widening at my close presence. I’m swiped across the chest with a spatula, coating me in batter. The offending instrument remains in her hand as she pulls back, and her eyes widen even more.
“Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry.” She tugs at the wire leading to the buds in her ears. “I didn’t hear you come in.” A playful expression dances in her blue eyes, doing nothing to lower the beat of my heart. Her gaze falls to my chest, which lifts and lowers as if I’m working up to run a mile. She bites her lip, holding back laughter as she waves her free hand at me. “I didn’t mean to get your shirt.”
The mixture soaks through my linen button-down, and I reach for the buttons, unlooping one at a time.
“I guess I should take it off.” The blue of her eyes dials up to a deeper shade. I’m enjoying the heat on her face as I slowly unwrap myself, exposing my chest to her. Her lids lower as she follows the trail of my unveiling, and her breath hitches when I tug the halves open, forcing the material loose from my shorts. I stand a moment, allowing her to drink in my skin on display for only her, dripping with cupcake batter.
“Although I think all is only fair…” My voice fades as I tap her wrist, forcing the spatula to fall forward and hit her in the chest just above the edge of the tank top near her breasts. Still holding her wrist, I drag the kitchen utensil downward, painting her exposed skin and the front of her shirt with the sticky batter. Her breasts rise and fall, matching the pace of mine. Still holding the wrist of the hand with the spatula, I drag her wrist, forcing her to paint over one breast. The wet mixture catches lightly on her firm nipple. She’s definitely turned on.
“Why are you baking?” My voice remains deep and low as I ask.
“I bake when I’m wound up.”
My brow twitches upward. “What’s got you wound up, Lily pad?”
“You.” The whispered response is all I need. She will not escape me again. My mouth crashes against hers. Fingers find her cheeks but quickly delve into her hair as her mouth opens to match mine. I breathe her in like I haven’t breathed in years, gulping at the air only she can provide. The spatula falls to the floor with a clatter before her hands slip to my waist, sliding inside my shirt and wrapping around my lower back. I lean forward, pressing her into the counter behind her as I grind against her, and all the while, my mouth does not leave hers. I won’t be close enough until I enter her, but for now, I want her lips. Tender yet fierce. Demanding yet taken. I savor each pass of our mouths, the curl of tongues, the linger of lips. My hips roll forward, but still, my mouth takes more. She’s the meal I’ve hungered for, and a starving man is…well, starving.
Slowly, I’m lowering us, tugging her down by the force of my fingers still wrapped in her hair. Her body folds against mine as we near the hard wood, and I rotate us so I’m over her. Our position is reminiscent of last night on the beach, only our mouths are joined tonight, and I want more.
I drag my mouth down her jaw, lick at her neck, and release her hair to reach for a breast. My palm settles over one firm globe and massages the weight. I groan, returning to her hungry mouth. She seems to suddenly be famished for me in return, and I relish her eagerness. My fingers continue to knead her breast until I find the hard nub of her nipple. I pinch, and she squeaks.
“I love all your sounds,” I mutter, breaking the kiss for only a second. Her thighs have opened, and I lay my length at her core. Clothes are not going to be the barrier anymore. I need her skin. Fingers deftly find the hem of her shirt and press upward, finding Lily braless.
“Fuck, Lily,” I moan, massaging her ripe breast in earnest. She’s built for her frame. Firm. Stacked. Perfect. My palm covers all of her, and I squeeze, eliciting a deep purr that rumbles down to my dick. My fingers release, pleased with the sound but needing more contact. I tickle down her tight stomach, reaching the waist of her jean shorts.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
My head pops up at the alarm of the oven.
“Cupcakes,” she explains. I ignore the annoying trill and return to her shorts. Popping the button, I find her hands eagerly pressing back at my shirt. It slips over my shoulders and down my back. My bare chest rubs against the batter covering her. Her fingers spread within the mixture, and her nails scrape over my nipples.
“Fuck,” I breathe against her neck. I continue working at her zipper while she forces my shirt off. Our hands become frantic, each searching, seeking. I’m inside her shorts, cupping between her legs when…
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Tug at the handle,” she says. Is this some strange euphemism? But I quickly realize she means the oven door as she’s peering in that direction. I reach to my side, not releasing her wet panties, and yank at the oven catch. Heat releases from the inside, and I return instantly to the heat at my fingertips. I scoop aside the band of her underwear and meet tender folds.
“Brut,” she chokes, a plea in her voice, and I remember the first time I touched her. Her willingness. Her eagerness. Her sound as she came around my fingers. I’m so hard, I’m ready to burst at the reunion of my touch on her core.
“Lily. Sugar,” I whisper as a second finger slips forward, and together they dive into her. Her hips roll; her channel clenches. She’s sucking my fingers into her, and I want to give her everything.
Until we hear a banging on the door.
“Fire department.”
I look up to find the kitchen filled with smoke. I release Lily too quickly, instantly missing the warmth of her against my fingers, but the heat in the kitchen is overwhelming. Incessant rapping continues on the side door. I kneel up to find a fireman has already entered through the open back screen door.
“Hey,” I snap, annoyed at the intrusion and concerned for the compromising position of Lily on the kitchen floor. She tugs down her top which is now coated in cupcake batter. Her nipples both stand at attention, and her eyes close at the unsatisfactory position I’ve just left her in. She was so close.
“Sir, we got a call when a beach walker saw the smoke.”
I stand, holding up a finger for Lily to stay hidden behind the island. I reach over for the stove and turn off the oven. The timer stopped with the open oven door. The charred cupcake smell slowly hits me.
“Burnt cupcakes?” The teasing lilt of an officer comes from behind me, and I turn to see a second fireman has entered through the side door. He takes in my shirtless attire and the position of Lily, who slowly rises to sit on the floor. She covers her chest in a giant X as her hands slip up to her shoulders. He addresses her. “Ma’am?”
I reach out my hand, and Lily stares up at me, her face pink with embarrassment.
“What’s going on?” the first officer asks, and I twist to find his eyes leering over the island counter down at Lily who still hasn’t grabbed my hand.
“Burnt cupcakes,” the second officer teases. “Me and the missus have been in the same situation. Might want to keep the windows open to air out the place and call the owner who thinks you’re burning the house down.” The officer’s eyes shift to Lily and back to me. “Although by the look in her eyes, cupcakes had nothing to do with the burning.” Even though a good-natured chuckle follows his comment, I don’t appreciate the humor at Lily’s expense. I’m about to say as much when I gaze down at her.
She isn’t staring at me with the blankness of moments ago. Instead, her blue eyes twinkle, longing in them as she stares at me. A hint of days long ago hovers at the edge of my mind. The glow of her face seems so familiar. Something about those eyes. Her throat pinks, and she quickly turns away. I lose the memory an
d glance over at the officer. He winks at me, keeping his eyes respectfully off Lily.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll call the rental management,” I offer, dismissing both men with a nod. They exit together out the back door. When I turn back for Lily, I find her body curled around the stairwell entrance behind the wall of kitchen cabinets.
“I think I’ll go clean up.” A question lingers in her tone but then her expression shifts. A weak smile graces her face, signaling the moment between us has passed. She disappears behind the stairwell wall, and my shoulders fall. I’ve lost her again.
12
Finally
[Brut]
I hear the shower run, and then I wait. She doesn’t return downstairs, and I don’t know what to do with her supplies. Stacking the unused trays on the counter, I place the remaining batter in the refrigerator. I call the rental management office to explain what happened—with the cupcakes, not with Lily—then I toss the burnt cupcakes into the trash and take the bin out to the dumpster.
When I return, Lily still hasn’t come downstairs, and I decide to shower, but I don’t touch myself. Willing down the hard-on, I’m holding out for bedtime fantasies instead of a quick jerk in the shower. Thoughts of Lily have me taking myself in hand more often than normal lately, and I’m finding the release isn’t enough. After the tease of last evening on the sand and the romp in the ocean earlier, not to mention the kitchen floor, I know Lily is what I need.
I pull on a pair of basketball shorts, commando, and decide to head back down the stairs. As I pass Lily’s closed door, I hear a subtle moan and stop, cataloging it as another sound of hers. Tilting my head, I listen, anticipating more. I shouldn’t do it, I warn myself as my hand reaches for her bedroom door. It isn’t right.
I knock lightly. I almost think I don’t want her to hear me, but then a soft moan greets me again, and instantly, I’m hard. I turn the knob and enter without permission. Stepping forward, I find her room dark. Evening fell quickly after our tryst on the kitchen floor. Lily lies wrapped around a pillow, her back to the door, but more surprising is what she’s wearing. A deep purple lace covers only a sliver of her backside. A matching camisole covers her back.