by M. Mabie
“That was thoughtful.” I winked at her playing along.
Her face soured and she snaked her tongue out to find the morsel.
“Hey, I thought you said that was mine.”
“Well, that was when I thought you’d earned it by calling me pretty. I’ve since realized you’re just trying to torture me. So, it’s mine.”
“You’re missing it anyway.” And she was, but just barely.
I leaned toward her. She leaned toward me. Her eyes blinked slowly meeting mine. I wanted to jump her right there, where she would least expect it. Instead, I used a move that worked well for me once upon a time and pulled her chair closer to mine while I moved in toward her.
“Whoa, hey,” she clambered. “I think you are flirting with me.” The light in her eyes was so much brighter than I ever really knew possible. She just kept getting better.
My voice low, I said, “Give me that.” And I kissed the place on her cheek, just out of her reach, and picked up the forgotten seafood.
Her head tipped up to me and she moved in to meet my lips, but I pulled back just out of her reach.
“You are a pain in the ass, Señor Moore. Stop teasing me.”
I had to admit. I liked taunting her. “I’d never do that.”
“Yet here you are, pulling away when I want you.”
“You want me, huh?” I asked, knowing we were about to reach the threshold of her comfort with flirty face-to-face talk. I wanted more, too. I always wanted more. “Tell me what you want with me, Ms….” Then I stopped almost calling her Ms. Warren, then concluding it was really Mrs. Kelly. It hurt somewhere in my chest, but I didn’t want to let it show. She’d been doing everything I’d asked of her and in my time, not hers. How she got that name bore fault shared by us both.
Almost shyly, she looked up at me through her bare lashes and said, “I always want you.”
Well, fuck. Those four words were pretty damn sexy. Everything about her was. Deprived looked good on her, or maybe it was my own deprivation playing tricks on me.
“What else?” I was fishing, but we were in new territory for us. Talking, flirting and playing, knowing that it all meant something. Headed somewhere. Somewhere good. Somewhere I’d always wanted it to go, but just didn’t have a map.
“I think your face needs a shave.” She smiled as she studied me.
“And?”
“Have I ever told you how handsome you are?” Thinking back, she hadn’t that I could remember.
“No? I just thought you liked my moves.” I was a little embarrassed and a lot flattered. Turning the tables was a talent she was perfecting and at that moment she was full-out hitting on me.
It was the best seafood lunch-dinner I’d ever had.
“Oh, I like those moves, but all this,” she said and made a circle in front of my face, “is your secret weapon.”
“No, my—” And before I could say cock or dick or whatever other phallic term I could think of, she pressed two fingers to my lips.
“Shhh. Don’t ruin it.” Her brown eyes looked like amber glass sparkling in the Christmas lights strung around the outdoor dining area where we’d taken up residence.
I didn’t say anything, but I gave her a look that said, “Fine. Keep talking.”
“I’ve never met someone who has eyes like yours. Those two green-blue-hazel-whatever eyes can tell me everything I ever need to know. I should have taken them more seriously.”
Her chin pushed out. She wanted a kiss, but I was greedy with her thoughts and I wanted her to keep going. Hearing her talk about me like that was medicinal. I was going to lose my man card, but I wasn’t telling if she wasn’t.
I gave her a swift kiss and pulled away again. She seemed satisfied, for the time being, and then she continued, “Those lips, that mouth. Your tongue. The way they work together. They can make me forget my name and when I remember what it is, they make me want to change it.”
Blake Moore sounded about right.
She got another small kiss for that. Maybe dirty talk wasn’t all “pussy” and “fuck me harder.” The things she was saying were making me hard in my pants and soft and mushy in my heart.
“Sometimes you say such perfect things before I’ve even told you what I’m thinking about. How thoughtful you are. How romantic. Have you always been this irresistible? And the way you know how to touch me. You got me good,” she admitted and shook her head a little, bowing it between us.
The tension was growing a little too strong for dinner talk and I wanted to be in private when my resistance failed. I didn’t have much left. The only thing I could do was be a wise ass—it would buy me time. Hopefully, we could continue our chat back at the room.
“Did you rehearse this? Do you have all of this written down somewhere? Are you holding out on me? I didn’t prepare anything.” I grinned at her to show I was only kidding, but seriously, I was so hard that the end of my dick felt like it was about to explode.
“I’m ready to go back to the hotel and talk more about this,” I said coolly.
“Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s get some beers to go.” She really was a bright girl. “Dos mas!”
“Good plan. You pack up the rest of those legs and I’ll go settle up and see if the bar will sell me a few to take back with us.”
She nodded and began sorting through the shell ruins for crabs uneaten.
When we got back to the hotel—the heaven we made into our little home—she went to the bathroom to change out of her swimsuit, telling me she didn’t want mildew and I went to the kitchen area to put away the leftovers and put the beer in the refrigerator.
When she came back out, her hair was down and brushed out and she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.
Oh. Fucking. Hell. That vixen.
“Want to continue our talk outside?” she asked, then slowly walked toward the sliding doors, which opened up to our porch area, above the private stretch of beach that was all ours—for a pretty penny.
What do you say to a question like that? What do you say to a body like that? The answer is nothing. You don’t say a damn thing. You grab a bucket of ice, fill it and add the beers you just put in the fridge. Then drop your pants. Of course, she didn’t say to do any of that. It was obviously implied.
I watched as she pushed open the tall glass doors. Naked. Then she found a few towels where the staff kept them for quick access.
Did I mention she was naked?
I watched her hips sway as she walked out into the moonlight and she continued until she got to the hammock near the edge of the veranda. I stopped outside the doors and stared. She was stunning.
I was going to do every single thing in my power to have her for myself. Not just her hypnotic body, I’d had that many times. I wanted everything else.
Her desire.
Her heart.
Her smiles.
Her thoughts and dreams.
Her pleasure.
Her laughs.
Her comfort.
Her future.
She gave me a look over her shoulders and a light breeze blew through her hair. Maybe I’d had too much to drink. Maybe it was that place. Or maybe—just maybe—that look was real and she’d told me the truth. She wanted all of me, too.
My touch.
My ear to listen.
My arms to hold her.
My love.
And I was going to give her those and more.
“You look gorgeous, honeybee,” I said barely loud enough for her to hear me over the waves lapping the beach only feet below.
“Can we lay out here for a while?” She sounded like a child, hopeful and wanting.
“We can do whatever you want,” I answered as I closed the distance between her and me. I then placed the tub of ice and beer on the ground beside the mesh swing, then she turned to face me.
Hammocks are tricky bastards. One wrong move and the sweet seduction of the moment could be turned into a clumsy topple to the ground. But that didn’t matte
r. We’d flopped in life before and hitting the ground wouldn’t hurt nearly as bad.
It came up past her knees, but below her waist, and she leaned back to sit. The oversized hammock lowered with her weight. Where she sat, her head was at just the right height. The urge to touch myself, naked as I was, became too much for me to fight. My hand found my dick, or possibly it was the other way around. I was already as hard as I’d been at the restaurant and my need for her fought all other bodily functions down with one hand tied behind its back.
“Casey, it’s so perfect. How did we actually get here? How is this all possible? I never thought we’d get a chance to…” and she trailed off looking up at me.
Those were great questions and they demanded attention.
“We’re here because how much we want each other is stronger than our fear of being with each other. And it’s possible because what we have doesn’t give up.” For being on the spot, those answers were pretty dead-nuts on point.
After I finished speaking, her eyes trailed down my body. Over my chest where she lingered, studying my tattoo.
Betty Mine. And she was.
My hand continued to knead and pull some of the tension from my cock, but her mouth would have been better.
And then it was.
We traded, her hand for mine. Her fingers curled around me and like they always did, my knees threatened to resign their posts holding me up. She could tell I was less than steady on my feet. I loved watching how excited my lack of control made her.
“Sit with me,” she said.
We fell into the netting and faced each other, her hand never leaving my cock.
“I love this,” she whispered.
“Which part?” I hardly believed it was the giving a hand-job part.
“Just being here. Having nowhere to go tomorrow. No plans. No one to explain anything to. No one to think about, but you.” Either she knew what I’d wanted to hear or we were operating on the same frequency. My wandering hand found her wet as she skillfully slid hers up, around and down my dick. She shifted and opened herself up to me. It was those little things she did that were so fucking hot. I ran my fingers over her heated skin and she lifted into my touch.
It had only been a week or two since that last time we were together—in the back of the car at Cory and Micah’s wedding—but everything about this felt new and different and unknown. Felt real. Felt like forever.
“Can we stay out here?” she softly asked, but I knew better with what I had planned.
“We can stay out here for a little while if you want to,” I said, my voice gravely and thick with need as I slipped my middle finger inside her and curled it up to the magic spot that only I knew how to find—of that I was confident. Because every time I’d touched it, in all the times and all the places, she’d always looked surprised. “Then we’re going inside, because this feels different than before. I want to make love to you like it’s our first time. Because it feels like it is.”
“Yes,” she agreed—or maybe it was the spot talking.
She gripped the cords above her head, beads of sweat running over her face, when my tongue slid across her sex. My toes curled when she hummed while taking all of me into her mouth. Our moans mixed, our bodies speaking to each other intimately. We worshiped each other and took our time at each glorious fucking step.
Long story short, we both came on the hammock.
Monday, January 11, 2010
IN A NUTSHELL, IT was the best time I’d ever had on a swinging blanket.
The hammock swayed as we touched and kissed each other everywhere. It was a dance of perfectly timed movements, which kept us from tipping. But I wasn’t satisfied.
As frustrating at times as it had been—not being fully intimate with Casey while we’d been away together—in the end it was exactly what we needed. We hiked. We took long swims and naps. We talked about our families more and the places we’d like to travel in the future. The future. I could hardly believe that was a possibility.
But my marriage wasn’t altogether settled. And there was still a chance that Casey might get tired of the situation. However, I had an appointment with a lawyer and I’d already moved out. Two things we both thought would take a lot longer to happen. Despite how uncomfortable it was at first, telling my parents and Grant, I was relieved that process was going quicker than expected.
I was falling even more in love with Casey by the minute. The things I’d always been attracted to only intensified in the sun. His hair, when left to dry and go where it wanted, was out of control, wild and unkempt. His beautiful body hosted a tan I was rightfully jealous of. Golden brown in only a few days. He was cut from a dream list of details that I hadn’t even known I’d wished for.
“I hope you’re not tired,” Casey said from between my legs. We’d mastered a head-to-foot, foot-to-head arrangement that was both balanced on the hammock and which equaled pleasure for both of us. I didn’t respond, but I moaned around his cock. I’d never been in that position before—and even though I was hardly doing my best job with the distraction of him licking and sucking at my sex—I loved being able to taste him while he pleasured me.
Still touching me with one hand, he carefully leaned up.
“I think we’ve hit our limit with luck on this swing, honeybee.” He swung his feet out and steadied it. Then he moved my legs and enfolded them around his waist.
I was love drunk. Pliant. Kissing any skin in front of me.
He picked me up and carried me inside. As he walked, I could feel the length of him pressed between us. I ground myself against him, wanton and full of desire.
He didn’t put me down when he crawled across the top of the bed, I was still clutching his hard body. When I felt the mattress below me, I let my grip on him go. My hands wandered to his face, where I held him still so I could kiss him. The intimate taste of him, already in my mouth, mixed with the taste of me in his, was erotic and delicious.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue passionately gliding over mine. Then his kiss left my mouth and he licked and sucked down my neck. My hips rolled, wanting him.
He shifted so his cock was sliding over my clit and it was divine. I slid up and down his length loving the friction.
“Is that what you want?” he asked, his husky voice cracked when he spoke.
“Casey, please.”
“Why do you want it?”
“Because I love you,” I answered without thought or hesitation. He moaned and lowered himself. Before I could catch a breath, he was blissfully inside me. Then he moaned again, but that time it sounded like my name. His hand moved up my side and found my shoulder, then he followed the length of my arm until he found my hand. He laced our fingers together and pushed them over our heads, underneath a pillow that was farther up the bed. He pushed into me with such power and possession that I saw stars. Or maybe Jesus.
He moved with finesse and timing, slowing down and savoring the feeling of our connection. Then each time the intensity raised, the force of him would rock the bed so I bounced back onto him with just as much pressure. It was heaven.
When he’d get close to his orgasm, he’d back off. Slipping a hand between us, he’d make me come. Then he’d reposition us and start the glorious act over again. I didn’t know how a man could have so much restraint—we’d been teasing each other for days. Yet, when I felt his stomach muscles tighten against my hand or body, he’d slow down like he wasn’t ready for it to end. Silly man, he could have had me as many times as he wanted.
Finally as we lay, my back to his chest, my leg slung over his hip, his hand rubbing mind-blowing circles over my sensitive sex, he sped up and didn’t try to control himself.
“I can’t stop, honeybee. I’m going to come,” he said breathlessly in my ear. Those words sent electricity through me and spurred something deep within me that was waiting for him.
“Yes,” I panted. “Oh, Casey. Casey.” I repeated his name, over and over it tumbled from my kiss-swollen lips. “C
ome, Casey. I want to feel you come inside me.”
“Oh, fuck, Blake. Ah,” he panted.
His hold on me tightened and he pushed so deeply within me, I thought he might touch the other side. I was full of him and that thought alone sent me spinning out of control. I pushed back against his body and it was like our bodies were attached. And then I felt him quake and erupt as my sex clenched around him.
He hugged me tightly and told me how much he loved me. He peppered kisses across my shoulders and neck until we were wrung out. Then we lay there for a while catching our breath until I rolled over on top of him.
“I love you, Casey Moore,” I said, as I ran my fingers through the hollow space between his perfectly defined stomach muscles.
“I love you, too, Blake.”
How many times can a girl get off in one night? I wasn’t sure, but I was thinking for me it was at least six. It was like the very first time all over again, along with every other time we’d been together, all rolled into one.
His body reminded mine of the feelings I’d pushed down when I’d had to and of thoughts I’d talked myself out of for so long. Sensations I only thought the lucky people had. Being with him, I was one of those lucky people.
I wasn’t sure what time it was; it was still dark. I was terribly thirsty—probably because of how much I’d drunk the night before—and I peeked up over his body to see if there was a bottle of water on his side of the table. There had been one earlier, when we were re-hydrating—as he called it. Boy, did I need it.
When we were outside on the hammock, I thought he was going to stick to his just take our time bit, which he’d insisted on the first few days. And having that element of our relationship sort of shelved, had felt a little weird—but also it had felt so good. Just to be with him in a time and place that wasn’t hurried or rushed was eye-opening. I wasn’t desperate, thinking it was the last time, like before. It was peaceful and I could finally breathe after months of wanting and denying myself. Denying us.
It felt like a true vacation. Lazy and cozy. Warm and relaxing. Sex aside, in those few days, I’d been with him in more ways than I’d ever been with anyone.