Forever Falling (Sunshine and Moonlight Book 2)

by Paige Randall

  She continues to study him with a savvy smile. “You are a bad one, aren’t you? You have a room here?” He shakes his head. “Mine then.” She places a key in his lap, taking a feel of the merchandise he is offering. “Give me ten minutes.” She leaves him to pay her tab and walks straight to the elevator, no looking back.

  When he knocks, she answers by cracking the door and walking into the room. He walks in and sits in a soft, brown chair by the bed. The chair isn’t for hours of lounging, the arms are low and the back is narrow, but it is wide and will suit his needs just fine. She sits on the edge of the bed in a white hotel robe. She manages to make it look sexy, draping the center low. Her toes are tipped in red and they remind him of Elizabeth’s toes. This makes him angry.

  “I won’t kiss you. Your kiss is for your husband,” He unbuckles his pants but leaves the rest for her. He hears a shower turn on in the next room. Oh good, thin walls. He likes thin walls.

  She moves across the room and kneels between his legs. He appreciates her silence. Her robe intentionally drapes lower. He wants to touch her, to move the robe off her but doesn’t. First things first. She unfastens his pants and he lifts himself so she can slide them to his ankles. There is no place he would rather be on the planet, than sitting with his pants around his ankles and an eager woman between his knees, deciding best how to please him. And please him she does. She uses her mouth with the aggression of a woman who is confident in her skills. She uses her hand creatively to support the work of her mouth.

  Twelve minutes later, he does pull the robe from her and give her the fuck of her life. He leans her over the back of the same chair and wraps his hand around her neck. He applies enough pressure to make her feel controlled but not raped, a little choke fuck. She is too wild and he can tell she desperately wants to be controlled. He could tell before he moved across the bar. He isn’t a hitter, but he knows when someone wants a little discomfort to move things forward and heighten the experience.

  After he comes a second time, he pulls up his pants and buckles his belt and asks, “Are you satisfied?”

  Tying the robe around her waist, she nods without looking at him and he walks out the door.

  Back at his hotel, he strips, showers and calls down for a burger, fries and chocolate shake. He flips through channels, and finds Julie Andrews singing, How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria. He turns the TV to face the table and bites into the burger humming along to the tune.

  The next morning, Callum feels refreshed. The lay served its purpose. Thoughts of Elizabeth and London are more distant, not at the front of his brain tormenting him with regret. Running the streets of Asheville, early before foot and car traffic can impede his speed, he feels better than he has felt since the plane landed. Even elated. The beauty of the low morning sun over the mountains catches his eye. He scopes out a place to stop for breakfast on his way out of town. The city is full of head shops and art galleries, restaurant after restaurant. Construction cranes reach toward the sky and a reversing trash truck sounds in the distance. Bronze art lines the town square and, even this early, an old bearded man with a guitar stands on a corner singing a song Callum doesn’t know about lost love. Callum shakes his head at the cliché and runs faster, pulling a sprint until he is well winded.

  Asheville is like a pill. A happy pill. It is the furthest thing he can imagine from London. For a city, the pace is much calmer, the buildings are low, the mountains, the art, the casually dressed people walking dogs. Dogs are everywhere. He could get a dog. A big white dog with blue eyes. Maybe a Husky. Not a little shitty lap dog. A man’s dog. He could move to Asheville, open a restaurant, get an apartment over a head shop and walk his dog in the mountains. It sounds like a good life plan. He feels good, energetic.

  Back at the hotel, he decides not to live in Asheville. There is a lot more to see in American. He can’t choose the first city he sees as his new home. Callum grabs a quick shower, skips the shave, packs and checks out before heading to Tupelo Honey for a big breakfast. He eats biscuits, over easy eggs, smoky sausage gravy, bacon and a bowl of berries. The food is well prepared and he is pleased, satisfied.

  Callum drives out of the city thinking it was a good night in Asheville. He will come back here someday. It feels very American and he likes it. He likes the women here too. He remembers the feel of her neck under one hand while making her come with the other hand. And how he filled her. It was a good night in Asheville indeed.

  The rest of the drive is more of the same. Callum falls in love with each of the cities he visits. Driving six to eight hours a day, sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on the traffic, he works up a variety of appetites. He samples the cuisine and the women at every stop. The stretch between Kanas City and Denver is toughest. An overturned tractor-trailer turned an eight hour drive into a fourteen hour drive. He didn’t mind too much though. It was still better than being stuck in that fucking kitchen watching Jeremy with his hands on his wife while she still had some of Callum in between her legs.

  Callum samples a lot of local flavors. In Nashville, he spends time with a buxom, redheaded country singer after her set at the Mercy Lounge. Callum sits a few rows back while she belts out tunes about love and pain and finding Jesus. Eventually, she finds Callum and she sings his praises too. Callum doesn’t really enjoy her singing, but he enjoys her tits. She is eager, pulling him into her dressing room with her mouth on his and her hands down his pants. She does exceptional work with her mouth before he bends her over a chipped Formica dressing table circled with light bulbs, half of them are out. Lifting her turquoise sequined dress, he takes her from behind so he can watch himself come in the mirror. He likes the stubble. After, he finds some Memphis style barbeque.

  In St. Louis, Callum enjoys seeing the sights aboard a river boat cruise along the Mississippi. The tour guide is cute with short blonde hair but a little young. After she does her bit, she seeks Callum out on a bench on the back of the boat. She claims to be a writer, but she is probably more of a fantasizer. She takes the tiniest bit of convincing. She has never been with a man like Callum, that much is obvious, but she wants something to write about on her blog. He pulls her into the men’s room. She isn’t that great with her mouth, but Callum gives her points for enthusiasm. After the passengers disembark, he bends her over the railing of the riverboat, lifts her navy blue tour guide skirt, and comes while looking at The Gateway Arch. It is cold, but he doesn’t mind. He gives her a good enough lay to provide material for many future blog posts. On her recommendation, he finds a gooey butter cake and toasted ravioli for dinner. It is a little heavy and over the top but still nice enough.

  Kansas City, Denver and Cheyenne. Another blonde, a brunette and a black haired woman who claims to be of the Cheyenne nation, but Callum thinks she is lying and is really Mexican. He isn’t that good with accents though so he isn’t sure. Kansas City is in the dry storage of an outstanding steak restaurant. He nearly closes his eyes passing through the kitchen because he can’t bear to look at it. The steak is first rate. He opts for the porterhouse with a potato and broccoli. Very traditional. The steak is more memorable than the lay.

  In Denver, he meets a woman in a hotel bar and fucks her high as a kite on the roof of her hotel. He bends his rules in Denver for a young single model type. The sex is extraordinarily athletic. There is a wall fuck against brick, a stair fuck on the way back down, and finally a bed fuck that gets a little too touchy and looky. Callum pretends to fall asleep after the third round until she falls asleep and then he slides into his pants, grabs the rest of his clothes and slips out the door. He doesn’t bother putting his shirt on through the hallway. The patrons of the hotel seem to enjoy the show. He does slide on his shoes and gray jacket for the walk to his hotel next door. He likes Denver more than anyplace else so far.

  And finally he drives the rest of the way and into Park City, Utah. The pot and the sport fucking had him sleeping in, so he arrives in town later than intended. He parks in the historic do
wntown district to stretch his legs before checking into Red Canyons. Walking the streets he thinks Park City looks more like a movie set than a town. The streets are built into a steep incline. Block after colorful block of old west architecture mixed with the modern sensibilities of capitalism. Theaters, galleries, lots of retail and restaurants. The feel is all west. A street musician, with a hat as large as Callum has ever seem, strums a guitar and sings in a tone Callum can’t even understand. Country music is not for him. The hat is interesting though.

  The Stearns Cowboy Shop catches his eye and he goes in, walking the rows of leather boots, hats and bags in every color, breathing in deep the smells of the Wild West. He likes it here. Christmas presents! He chooses four cowboy hats in varying sizes for John, Anna, Clara and Lynn. Callum asks another shopper who looks about Anna’s size to try on the hat intended for Anna. This leads to a brief conversation and a quick fuck in her car at the back of a parking garage with the bag full of boxed hats resting on the cement outside the car. Callum just gives her the easy fuck. He is tired, hungry and anxious to explore Utah.

  After reconsidering carrying four hats around the country, Callum goes back to the shop and asks the girl at the counter to ship the hats to the address Callum has for John’s family in Austin. The girl is pretty with long dark hair and light blue eyes. She reminds him of that actress from Transformers who married that guy from 90210. He can’t remember her name. She offers him some shipping forms and he flips her a twenty for filling them out for him. As she self-consciously tucks her hair behind her ear, smiling expectantly, Callum wonders if he should reconsider his policy against young, single woman for a second time. Fresh from the car fuck, he decides against it. No need to get greedy. He thanks her and ignores her pout when he exits the store before going down the block to 350 Main Cafe.

  Callum sits at the bar in the seat he thinks Aaron Paul sat when he came for Sundance. Feeling very American, Callum orders a double bourbon, buttermilk fried chicken, garlic red skinned mashed potatoes, red eye gravy and braised kale with house-made bacon.

  “What kind of bourbon can I get you?” the bartender asks, pointing to the bourbon bottles on a high shelf.

  Callum realizes he doesn’t know a thing about bourbon and tries to remember what John was drinking. He surveys the shape of the bottles and the color of the labels. One of them has a red waxy top. It wasn’t that one. A few are very square in shape with long necks. Callum visualizes John pouring to fill his glass on the beach. The bottle was rectangular, with rounded shoulders and a short neck.

  “That one, two from the left,” Callum says pointing.

  “Woodford Reserve? Good Kentucky bourbon. An excellent choice,” the bartender pours one for Callum and one for himself. “You new in town? First one’s on the house.”

  Callum laughs and they both tip back their shots. “I always wanted to say that. It just felt right.” The bartender introduces himself as Derrick. He is a native Floridian and arrived in Park City a year ago to ski, fuck and generally have a good time for a year before heading east for law school. He is a good looking guy with long blonde hair pulled tight into a man bun. His skin is dark, reddened by hours in the sun on skis and in the surf.

  Callum inhales the dinner, it is good, while Derrick gives him the rundown on the area, the best bars, restaurants, places to meet the right women. He tells Callum to ski his resort until he gets bored with it and then to come back in for suggestions on other areas. Derrick reminds Callum what he liked about working in restaurants. The camaraderie and lifestyle are like no other. Callum tips him heavily and promises to come back soon. As an afterthought, Callum asks Derrick about Aaron Paul. This in fact is the stool where Aaron Paul sat, or so Derrick says.

  Red Canyons sits at the top of a hill. The lobby is very western in style with wooden carvings, Native American tapestries and lots of leather furniture. Callum decides to stay away from the staff. You don’t shit where you eat. He learned that lesson the hard way in London. He checks in and is pleased to find his room has a nice balcony facing the mountains and a gas fireplace. Despite the cold, he opens with door wide and watches hundreds of skiers descending the mountain and red gondolas climbing up. Bright lights illuminate the slopes. He leaves the door open, points the remote at the fireplace to get it rolling, strips and gets into bed.

  As an afterthought, he wraps a towel around his waist, gathers most of his clothes and sets them in the hall for laundry service. He gets back into bed, feeling a little charged up from just being here and kicks off the blankets to feel the cold air and the warm fire on his skin. With an elbow under his head, he slides a thumb along his mobile photo gallery to look at Elizabeth. Callum is quite the photographer when the subject is naked and prefers to be headless. The photos are filtered into black and white. Elizabeth’s hips and the curve of her ass, just one nipple, his tongue encircling her clitoris (that one took some doing to get right), dark hair spread over a pillow, and his favorite, a shot from behind of her head with her mouth wrapped around him, sucking him in deep. Elizabeth gave glorious head. He can’t look at that without rubbing one off. The cold air, the warm fire, the anticipation of getting back on skis. It is intoxicating. He comes hard and then falls into a peaceful sleep.

  The next morning, he hits the gym hard. He hasn’t touched a weight all week and he’s feeling it. Might as well set up a good routine right off. Doing curls he faces the mirror and evaluates his changing face. He likes the short beard that is filling out, but his hair looks like shit. Biceps look good though. After breakfast, he stops in at the salon and gets his hair shaped up but leaves it longer than he wore it in London. An attractive woman having her toes polished watches him from across the room. Her eyes bat slowly in his direction. She reminds him of someone, but he can’t identify who right off. Not this morning, he thinks and heads off to the ski shop.

  He buys everything, jacket, pants, goggles, gloves, even skis and rods, in black. He likes the Darth Vadar feels. No hat. He could have rented the equipment, but he doesn’t like to share. It is an investment anyway. He’ll be here for a long time.

  When he steps out of the ski shop, there is the same woman again. She looks a little dikey but hot. Dark short hair, too much make-up, blue liner, tight jean and high heeled boots, a sheer top with a dark bra. He gives her a glance and keeps walking. Laila. She looks just like Laila. It is her mouth he remembers first, of course. Wrapped around his cock.

  One of the few benefits of growing up with a nearly perfect older brother, was the access to good parties with lots of liquor and some drugs. Another was the incorrect assumption by all adults, their mother included, that Eric could do no wrong. Callum’s fourteenth summer, the summer after his father died, he dreaded coming home. Boarding school offered distance from his mother’s crying jags and her days spent in a housecoat. Ten weeks seemed a lifetime. Callum’s best friend, Jeremy was traveling with his family overseas for most of the summer so he wouldn’t be around. The thought was torture.

  When Callum arrived home, he was pleasantly surprised to see his mother had taken a job. She seemed to be trying to regain her stiff upper lip, dressing dutifully in bright suits with brass buttons and scarves for her work as a secretary in a law firm.

  Callum found himself on his own a lot. He looked older than his fourteen years. Eric didn’t mind having him around and offered to take him out. It was the first weekend of the summer that they ended up at some house passing around joint after joint and bottles of scotch. Parents were away and their kids didn’t mind draining the stash of liquor or fucking in their house. Eric quickly disappeared with some girl from the neighborhood, winking at his little brother.

  Hendrix’s guitar spilled out of large, ashtray covered, speakers. Callum passed a joint to a redhead curled up in an easy chair with her brunette friend. They looked quite cozy. When the redhead blew her smoke into the brunette’s mouth, Callum figured they were worth watching. Short spiky hair on Brunette. Red’s was long. A few tattoos, lots of blac
k eye liner and about a dozen piercings between them. Mostly ear, nose and Brunette had an eyebrow.

  When they noticed Callum noticing, there was some whispering and giggling before Brunette slipped a hand up Red’s shirt and massaged her breast for Callum to watch. Red licked her lips with desire and put Brunette’s index finger into her mouth all the way before she pulled it out slowly. Callum felt like an asshole because he could not take his eyes off them, but he knew they were fucking with him. Even at fourteen, he knew he didn’t need to chase. He was the chased.

  Fuck them. He got up and walked toward the door. Before he made it to the hallway, they each locked an arm through his.

  “Hi,” Red said. Her voice was low and throaty.

  “Want to hang out?” Brunette said. It wasn’t a question though.

  He didn’t bother answering. They walked him up a wide staircase to a large bedroom. The bed was big and Red pulled off all the bedding except for a bottom sheet. She left a few pillows.

  “How old are you? And don’t fucking lie?” Brunette asked.

  “Fifteen in another few months.”

  “You look at least seventeen, maybe eighteen.” Brunette was the talker. “Virgin?”

  He shrugged at the question. An all-boys school made that more challenging.

  Brunette looked at Redhead and Redhead shrugged too. “He’s young, but I like the looks of him. We can consider it community service. Right?”

  Their accents were strange, definitely American, but strange American.

  Brunette pulled off his shirt and smoothed her hands on his already well-developed pecs. He stood a head taller than her and looked down into her upturned face. Her eyes were icy blue and she was much prettier than the make-up and hair first let on.

  “Nice.” She tasted his nipple. “Very nice.”

  If he could get a blow job out of this, his summer was made.