by Billy Storm
I guess that’s part of my draw to this chick. Okay, okay, I’ve watched her for a while. She’s just so opposite of any of the clones I know. She knows she’s different and she doesn’t give a shit. Her black hair is often piled on her head in these huge curls that bounce with each step…it’s weird; she’s weird. Hello, the woman is working at a strip club in a pair of sneakers. Who does that? The Converse made me smile, but it made my balls tingle too. I own a gym, and I see some of the best female bodies out there. Many of them have no qualms nailing a personal trainer. Hell, it’s kinda the norm with many girls. Hell, it’s the norm for me; well, it has been anyhow.
There she is. Her hair is back up again and it bugs me. I just want to pull out that hair tie and run my fingers through the dark strands and see if they feel as smooth as they look. I roll down my window when she gets closer, half afraid if I scare her, she’ll pull a gun out or something on me. Skye has proven tonight that she’s definitely a badass. “Hey, sweetheart.” Shit! I see her jump and regret hits me hard.
“Asshole? What in the hell, dude?” Ahh…the dude word is back. Although, I prefer dude to asshole, but whatever. “Are you stalking me or something?” I’m surprised when she walks closer to my car. I don’t dare get out with the apes making their rounds in the parking lot.
I think about what she said and decide to answer. “I guess you could say the ‘or something’.” What in the hell is my draw to this woman? It boggles my mind, but every time I see her, my body goes nuts. Hasn’t failed yet. My jeans suddenly feel tight; I’m not sure what to say next. Skye has already proven that she’s not like the other bimbos that I’m used to.
She looks over her shoulder when someone calls out “Sunny.” I forgot for a moment that is her name here. I can’t make out what she’s saying to whoever until she turns and looks right at me. “You still here for Stella?” Stella? What the fuck is a Stella? I shake my head because I have no clue what or who she’s even talking about.
“If it isn’t Mr. Gorgeous. Hiya, Handsome, you waiting on lil’ ol’ me?” Oh sweet baby Jesus, it’s the dry humper. Not that she wasn’t beautiful…in a far too tan and way too much bleach kinda way. And to think she could pass as a sister to my last dozen lovers. Talk about being caught in a rut. I wasn’t just caught there, but I plowed that fucker deeper and twice as wide. I decided that this was Stella.
“Bye, Stell.” When Skye hugged her, I cringed—I didn’t want her contaminated and this blonde had literally rubbed me the wrong way. “See ya around, Asshole.” She said as she walked past my car to her Focus, slid in, and started the engine. In only seconds, she was pulling out of her parking space and turning back onto Oakley. What in the fuck just happened?
“What are you thinking, handsome?” It took me a sec to realize she was talking to me.
“You have a good night.” I say as I pull away. Glancing in my review mirror, I see her watching me leave. I’m just not even close to interested and if I move it, I can catch up to Skye. Going fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit, I don’t have any clue where she’s gone. Either she drives like a maniac or I didn’t see her turn. Well, that was a big fucking waste of time. Turning onto Fifth, I head toward the gym. My townhouse is only five miles away from my business. I’m thankful that Rich is opening tomorrow—not me.
I’m really not happy with the way the night has turned out. Now that I have a minute to think, I realize that Skye really thought I was there to see the blonde. God, she must think I really enjoyed the lap dance. Which probably meant she really thought I’d wanted the lap dance in the first place. Crap.
And the confusion was all on me. I hadn’t wanted to show my interest in her so I’d pretended to be watching the woman on the stage…Stella. When I shake my head at my own stupidity, the throbbing starts. How the hell does she work in that club and not get a headache?
**Skye**
My head is pounding. I’ve already taken four ibuprofens, and I hoped this bath soothed my aching feet and back. I’ve been on my feet for hours and hours. At least I don’t have to work at the diner tomorrow. However, I work a double at the club. Woe is me, right? Life is a bitch, but luckily so am I. Yup, she’s met her match here.
I know how I want to live and I’m willing to work my ass off to get there. All right, so my ass isn’t going anywhere…if only I could work my ass off. I’m so stupid. When I shake my head at that thought, my headache makes itself known…again. Every weekend I find myself in the same spot: in the tub by candlelight, a glass of Blanton’s in my hand, Billie Holiday drifting from my iPod and me attempting to center myself.
Sue me, I enjoy good music, no matter its age. Oh yeah, you could say I also appreciate a good bourbon. No, I’m not a middle-aged republican white man—I just happen to know good booze when I taste it and at a hundred and twenty bucks a bottle? Blanton’s is definitely a good bourbon, and you pay for quality. I have entirely no business buying it on my wages but I can live off of bourbon and Ramen noodles.
My head keeps replaying the night’s events, and for the life of me, I can’t make sense of any of it. I can’t believe I hit that dude with my tray, head butted him, and had him by the balls all within an hours’ time. It was strange though that he’d been at the diner and later showed up at the club. Wasn’t it?
I’d be worried if he was attracted to me or something, but when the first thing outta his mouth was an insult about my fries? Clearly, I wasn’t his type. Nor was he mine. Not one iota. Sooooo far from the men I’m attracted to. I prefer a nonasshole kinda guy. Yes, yes, I’ve learned that those are few and far between but still I’m a dreamer.
Jesus, the man’s muscles had muscles. What the hell was that? Dude was ripped. Stella’s type all the way and obviously she was his. Good for them. I’m not sure why he felt the need to fuck with me, but I’ve seen all types. Schwarzenegger complex maybe? Pumped guy teasing the fat girl…not exactly original, was it?
However, he had some killer ink. One of my weaknesses…tattoos on a man. I know, I know, not another broad who likes a bad-boy. Yup. Never fails, either. Every time, I swear it will be the last one and every time has been a lie. There is something about men that can rock a pair of ripped jeans, chains, leather, and fuck me hot ass boots. I’m like a junkie. Tap a vein, because mama needs another fix.
Let him be just bad enough that sex is so good, it fucking hurts and just good enough that he grants me the experience more than once. Not that I want anything longer than a few rounds. Hell to the no. I’m not searching for Mr. Right—that’s one of those mythical creatures that I don’t believe in. You’ll see me riding a unicorn with Bigfoot before you see me walk down the aisle.
Truth? I’ve yet to even find a man that can satisfy me in the sack. Thirty-eight years old and I’ve never had a man give me an orgasm. Now, don’t get me wrong, I can orgasm, and I do quite regularly, but never at the hands of someone from the male species…ever…never.
Lets just say I have some rather talented fingers. I don’t always old-school it, my vibrator does the job quite nicely too. I’m not sure why I’ve yet to come with a man. I’ve had some amazing men in my bed. They’ve excited me, they’ve soaked me, but none have ever succeeded in gifting me with an orgasm. I’ve given up and eventually so do they. It does something to a man’s ego when he can’t sexually satisfy his lover, I know, but I’m not capable of faking. One time, I read that faking doesn’t do anyone any good. That I happen to believe. Selfish? Greedy? Nah, why don’t I deserve pleasure as well? If he can’t take it, then, he can move on, and time and time again…they have.
There’s still a need inside me. A need to feel close, to feel intimate, to feel desired, keeps me trying again and again. Even now, I highly doubt it will ever happen, but I still miss having a man in my bed. The way my sheets smell like a man, the feel of a man’s rough hands on my skin, burn from five o’clock shadow on my chest or between my thighs—I miss it all. And if I really am honest, I miss the look in a man’s eyes when I’m on
my knees with his cock between my lips.
That’s control, that’s power, and I crave it like a fucking drug. Literally, having a man by the balls. Oh, oh, or when he’s behind me and just to tease him, I lay my chest on the bed and spread my legs giving him the view he wants so badly. Fuck. Every time I look over my shoulder and watch his reaction. I crave it all. I like sex, I love sex—even if I don’t climax. It’s the power a woman holds in the bedroom, a power that I hold in the bedroom.
I like when a man thinks he’s the one running the show and within minutes, I have him eating out of my hands or between my legs. And, every man thinks he will be the one to make me come, make me reach orgasm. I’ve had them swear they’ll grant me with multiples, having me squirting in minutes. Bullshit. All of it’s complete and utter bullshit. I still enjoy sex like a fucking fiend, orgasm or not, but I’d certainly prefer one over the other. Care to guess? Maybe one day, but I’m not counting on it.
For now, I’ll concentrate on work. Not exactly using my brain, but I enjoy working at the club. Knowing I can’t work there forever has me wracking my brain trying to figure out my next move. I’m doing some college courses online, nothing special just some business management stuff. Not that I know what I’m going to do with the classes I’m taking. All I do know is that I’m preparing for something; I’m just unaware what that something is right now.
I do know that I’d rather not be stuck in this apartment and I won’t be. Next weekend, I move into my new townhouse. I’ve never been a homeowner, always rented, but no longer. I’ve purchased a town home just a few miles from the diner and less than ten miles from the club. It’s a beautiful new construction in a gated community. I feel safe there and that’s something I haven’t felt since my father died.
After he passed and my mother sold the house, I moved from one friends’ couch to another’s until I found an apartment. This is my third apartment. Each time I moved to a better neighborhood, a better building. The lease is up next month on this place; I will not be re-leasing. Nope, I, Skye Briar Blake am an official homeowner. One step toward what I want…what I think I want.
Closing my eyes, I tried to forget about moving and about my back, about my sore feet, but I’m unable to forget about the dude, the asshole. It was all so strange and I still can’t make sense of it or him. He’s probably getting carnal knowledge of Stella at this very second. Gross. Really friggin’ gross. I love Stella, I really do, but the woman makes me look like a nun compared to her conquests. I’d say more power to her, but I’ve seen some of the gems she’s brought home.
Maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all. I’ve been soaking in a warm tub, my bourbon long gone, and my sexual frustration at an all-time high. Places that had no business reacting to a stranger were tingling and aching. His rudeness left my panties damp and my nether regions begging for attention.
Yeah, my pussy is shameless like that. Although I can understand completely, it’s been quite a while since the attention whore had gotten…well, any attention.
Putting my empty glass down next to the bathtub, I blow out a few of the candles leaving only a couple burning, and I lie back against the tub, closing my eyes and the asshole’s face appears behind my eyelids. He looks cocky and arrogant even in my fantasy and fuck if that doesn’t get me ten times hotter. What was it about him?
He’s sitting at the same table he had joined me at earlier. The same table where he insulted me, stole my fries, and eventually drank my soda. Eyeing me with nothing but intent. “Bend over the table and don’t say a word, Skye or should I call you Sunny as I fuck you?”
He knows my names, both of them, few did.
I was frozen in place. As if there was a chance of a different decision, I stood still and ignored his command.
His hands toy with the stiff fabric of my diner uniform, and in one fluid motion, he has the dress above my ass and hips and has me bent over the formica just as he wanted, just as he demanded.
His hands squeeze my ass almost to the point of pain, and I pray he doesn’t stop. “No panties? You are one naughty girl, Skye.” Letting his finger follow the crack of my ass down, I know the second he finds out how wet I am. “You liked waiting on me that much, huh?” Busted. “Good, because I’ve been hard since you served me my fries.” Thank you.
Within seconds, I hear his zipper, and I know he’s freeing himself from his denim barricade. Instantly, I feel the smooth, hot skin of his dick against my ass cheeks. The thick head of his shaft pushes its way against my swollen pussy until he is lined up and he plunges into me. Nothing sweet nor slow—this was a fast, can’t-get-enough fucking. Sometimes a girl just needed to be fucked, and this was one of those times.
Pushing against him with each thrust, it’s like we’re in a race to the finish line. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. The sound of his body colliding with mine echoes in the diner. The space smells of deep-fried sex.
For the briefest moment, I question myself. I don’t even know this man. Yet, it’s as if my body knows his and vice versa. I feel my body react to his like it has never reacted to another. My God! My climax is nearing; I can feel it, and it’s coming closer with every pant of his warm breath that touches my skin and with each soft moan I let slip through my lips.
Nameless asshole increases his speed as he feels my sex start to tighten around him. “Your pussy—goddamn!” he growls in my ear as he bites along my shoulders. Removing one hand from my hip, he pulls me back by my throat and bites me—bites the hell out of me, biting along my neck and jaw. The muscles in his thighs began to quiver from pure exhaustion.
He’s lost control and can’t slow down, hammering into me hard enough that the table moves, my knuckles bright white where I grip the edge of the table so tightly. I am as far gone as he is.
When I gasp, he knows I’m about to come. He takes his hand from my throat—which was a fucking turn on and he covers my mouth when I start getting a little loud.
I don’t have the strength to stop my orgasm; there’s no way to stop myself from coming like a mad woman. I bite his hand. I bite it hard.
He continues, not faltering as he pumps into me. Biting my neck as wave after wave of electricity leaves his body and pours into mine. My flesh between his teeth, his left hand grips me so hard I know that I’m going to be bruised, and I want it, I crave it, I want to see his passion mark me. His body twitches with the aftershocks of his cataclysmic orgasm, and I smile as I drift into euphoria. I drift further, with the hint of Cool Water cologne filling my senses.
When I shiver, I realize it’s not from my release this time, but because the water has gone cold. My back, my feet, all forgotten, I only remember the orgasm that I just gave myself with my own hand—all while thoughts of the wrong guy are playing in my head. Once again, it is only in my dreams, night or day that a man has given me an orgasm. Because once again, I am simply a girl in her own tub with an imagination and a sexual hunger that’s yet to be satisfied by anyone other than herself.
Chapter Four
**Jaden**
Looking out the front windows of my gym for the hundredth time in the last six hours has me wincing, and I shake my head at my actions. Fuck, my head still hurts. Of course, the music coming over the speakers in here isn’t helping, but I can’t turn it off. No, I’ve got clients asking me daily if I’ll crank it up, change the station, what-the-fuck-ever. My mood is shitty to say the least and only a tenth of it is from my unending headache. I’d say I was lucky if I slept more than a couple of hours.
Confused, that’s what I am. I am confused as fuck. Jesus, thinking of my actions last night I can’t believe what I did. Like some lovesick puppy, I followed her. I followed Skye. She’s so not my type it’s not even funny. Yet, I’m drawn to her like a fucking industrial strength magnet.
Looking around the studio, I see at least five women that I’m sure I could fuck in my office right now. A couple of them I actually have—not that they knew about each other. Each thought they’d be the one to chang
e me, change my playboy ways. It still kills me that every piece of ass swears she’ll be the one to lock me down. Not happenin’. Nope, I like my freedom. I’m a pussy connoisseur, and I’m not looking to change that title anytime soon. Some men are addicted to sports, some are motor heads, some drink too much; I like the feel of sinking inside some hot, wet pussy. It’s my weakness, my kryptonite, but hell if I’m looking for rehabilitation. I’d rather sink deeper into this addiction, if you know what I mean.
Turning back to my clients…a woman catches my eye. Not for any other reason than the blatant eye fuck she throws my way. I’m willing to lie to myself a bit longer. I am going to pretend that she’s not the spitting image of the bitch from the strip club last night. Bella? Ella—no, Stella, that was her name.
I can ignore the fact that she has three clones in this very room at this very moment. Blonde, stacked—obviously a set of silicone Ziplocs on her chest. Don’t get me wrong; I couldn’t give a shit less if her rack is real or fake. I’ve never really given it a second thought. Tits are tits, and I happen to be a man who can appreciate a nice set…born with or bought.
I’ve always enjoyed the feel of being stalked, of being the one pursued. Very seldom have I ever been the one hunting my prey. What man doesn’t want to be some chick’s prey? She does the work and I reap the benefits—ain’t a damn thing wrong with that in my eyes. Melinda—no, Melissa, stares at me like she’s thirsty and my cock is the only thing that will quench her thirst. Fine by me. “C’mon baby, no need to play shy.” Even I smile at my whispered plea, but hell if it isn’t true. I give her a nod; it the only encouragement she needs, and I watch her walk my way. She’s fit as fuck. Her tummy clearly shows a six-pack that she’s no doubt worked for in my gym and others for hours, days, and most likely years. The tiniest black shorts encase her quads like they were molded only for her.