Wicked Secret

by Sawyer Bennett

  That was okay… at that age, we could go three or four times a night.

  My lips curl up in a private smile as I realize… we managed to pull off three times in one night at The Wicked Horse last week. Guess some things don’t belong only to the youthful.

  Bending slightly, I grip onto the covers and start to tug them off her. Incrementally, her body is revealed to me and I have to say, the tiny panties she wears with the tank are sexy as fuck.

  Leighton’s chest rises and falls deeply, indicating she’s pretty far under the spell of sleep. She has one leg extended, the other cocked at an angle. Her head is turned, one arm thrown over her pillow, the other resting gently on her stomach.

  One night at The Wicked Horse, I’d noticed she has the faintest white lines running vertically across her belly, and it took me a moment to realize they were stretch marks. In all my years of fucking—with all variety of women—I’d never seen them before. Didn’t mean they weren’t there, but, in all honesty, I’ve never paid attention to the minute details of a woman’s body before. Not the way I do with Leighton.

  I’ll never admit it to Leighton, but fuck if seeing those lines didn’t turn me on. My cock was already hard as we’d been heavy into foreplay, but it seemed to swell to epic proportions and started aching when I understood what those lines were. To me, they were like her battle scars for making it through pregnancy and childbirth—alone and without me—and it was the most beautiful thing in the world to me.

  Again, it made me ten times hornier than I already was, so I fucked her brains out after that. She said something silly after we were done like, “I don’t know what got into you, but I like it.”

  What I should have said—if I were being honest—was, “You got into me, woman—into my fucking head—and it’s affecting me.”

  But I didn’t. I just kissed her to shut her up.

  I realize something now as I survey her.

  I’m hard. My cock pressed against the zipper of the jeans I’d slid on when I left the bed, intent on coming in here and having my way with Leighton.

  Just looking at her.

  Thinking about her.

  It’s all it takes.

  I drag the zipper down and push my jeans off, kicking them free with my feet. My cock juts out, wanting nothing more than to be deep inside Leighton’s body.

  But there’s something else I’m going to do first.

  Pressing my legs to the end of the mattress, I lean forward and slip my hands into the edge of her panties. This will hopefully wake her up.

  I tug at the material, which is stretchy and pliable. With a bit of persistence, I get them over her hips and ass. From there on, they silkily slide right down her legs until they come free of her feet. I drop them on the mattress beside her body. Leighton gives an annoyed groan, her head turning on her pillow and her left leg shifting so the opposite one is now extended and cocked.

  Which isn’t exactly making things easy for me.

  Gently, I take her ankles in my grip and slowly spread her legs apart. I push her feet up a little until her knees bend, which bares her pussy to me.

  I bring my fingertips to her mound, then brush them through the trimmed hair. Eventually moving just my fingertip through the slit, I skim over her sensitive flesh. Her clit is hidden inside, unaware and sleeping. Leighton doesn’t move a muscle, her breathing remaining deep.

  Perfect.

  I slowly crawl onto the bottom of the bed, press my torso into the mattress, and slide my arms under her legs, curling them over her hips until my hands hover over her pussy. My fingers press against her lips, and I open her up so everything is exposed. Gently—ever so softly—I bring my face closer to touch the tip of my tongue to her clit where it’s nestled in deep and soft.

  I press a bit harder, feel the resistance of it, and start to circle my tongue around it. Looking up Leighton’s body, I lightly lap at her. There’s a slight frown on her face, but she’s still sleeping.

  My goal was never to have her stay sleep, because I want her awake and enjoying this. But I am curious as to what will bring her to consciousness.

  Adjusting my arms, I press a finger deep into her while continuing to gently lave her clit. A peek up at Leighton shows her head has turned on the pillow again, her breathing a bit faster.

  Awesome.

  I push two fingers into her and start to pump them in and out, alternating my licks with gentle sucking.

  That combination proves to be too much for deep sleep. Leighton’s hips start to circle. She moans deep in her chest before murmuring, “August?”

  A question.

  Is that me making her feel so good in her dreams?

  I deepen the pressure from both my fingers and tongue, driving knuckle-deep into her. My goal is focused, and I want to wake her up in the middle of an orgasm.

  Instead, Leighton calls, “Oh, God… August… please make me come.”

  And it’s loud.

  Really damn loud.

  Without thinking, I surge up her body, bringing my weight down on top of her and clamp my hand over her mouth. I can see in the moonlight her eyes are wide open and fevered, her hips writhing against me since I just left her hanging on the edge of release.

  “Shh,” I murmur gently. “Sam’s sleeping just next door. We don’t want to wake him, do we?”

  She shakes her head, those god damn hips still circling against my cock, which is pressed between her legs. I can feel the heat and wetness against my length, and I hiss from the pleasure of it.

  I remove my hand from her mouth, reach down between us, and take my cock under control with it. Guiding it by instinct and feeling, I feel Leighton’s legs spreading wider to accommodate me. When I find the softest, wettest, hottest part—knowing I’m exactly in the right spot—I plunge deep into her.

  My eyes practically roll into the back of my head because it feels so good. To my dismay, Leighton cries out and bucks against me.

  Laughing, I nab the pair of panties I’d discarded beside her body and shove them into her mouth. She grunts with surprise but then groans against the silky material as I start to move inside her. Luckily, the bed is solid and bolted firmly, the mattress high quality. It lets me thrust into her deeply without creating a creak or a groan from the frame.

  The panties were a clever idea as Leighton continues to make noises against them. Although I’m sure I could have persuaded her to be quiet, I find it sexy as fuck she’s essentially gagged so I can do my worst.

  Might as well get her worked up, so I start to talk dirty to her while I fuck her. Her legs spread wider, wrap around my hips, and her heels dig into my ass.

  I bend my head, hovering my face right over hers. Not so I can kiss her, because her mouth is full, but so I can just stare at her. So I can try to read all the variance of emotions within those stunning orbs.

  How much she loves the way I make her feel? How frustrated she is I haven’t let her come yet? I even try to discern how much of that emotion warring within her expression is tenderness for me.

  After all, she’s never moved past me.

  As I thrust within the perfectness of her body, taking into consideration how right all of this feels, I have to wonder how far I’ve actually moved past her.

  Bending to touch my forehead to hers, I ask, “Ready to come?”

  She nods, moaning against the panties.

  “Not quite yet,” I murmur, slowing my thrusts down.

  I get the cutest little kitteny growl from her. When I pull my head away, her eyes are flashing with the promise of retribution.

  Oh, bring it on, sweet girl.

  There’s nothing I’d love more for her to do than to sexually torture me by teasing out an orgasm.

  Maybe we’ll save that for tomorrow night.

  CHAPTER 22

  Leighton

  I inhale deeply, enjoying the fresh air coming in through the living room windows as I vacuum the rug. After this, all I have left to do is finish up some laundry and mop th
e kitchen floor, then all will be ready for August’s parents flying in tomorrow.

  At Sam’s urging not to wait any longer, we decided to call them this morning and fill them in on everything. August did that while Sam sat beside him on the couch. I puttered around the kitchen while my dad stood at the counter sipping on a cup of coffee. We watched as Sam got on the phone and spoke to his grandparents—Brian and Lori—for the first time. I couldn’t help but cry, earning me a side hug from my dad and an inscrutable look from August as if he couldn’t understand why I’d be crying.

  To say Brian and Lori were ecstatic would be an understatement. It was a bit humbling to listen to August tell them how the events unfolded. This necessitated him explaining how he never knew about Sam’s existence. My face flushed hot with embarrassment, even though August told them without any recrimination or blame toward me.

  Bottom line, Brian and Lori are going to hop a plane tomorrow morning and head to Vegas. Sam’s family has just grown, and my kid is over the moon about it. That’s why I cried this morning—because even though my kid is battling cancer, I don’t think he has ever been happier in his life than now.

  He’s so excited about them coming to visit he’s been bouncing around and generally making a nuisance of himself.

  As such, I put August in charge of entertaining Sam for the day. He’s taken this entire week off work so he can be around to help with Sam, but I know part of it is because he’s worried about being away from the safety net of the hospital and medical professionals. August told me as much, testament to the fact that after we have sex, we often talk about deeper things.

  My father is off somewhere—my guess is at the casino to see his mysterious lady friend—but he’s going to swing by the grocery store before coming home to get us all stocked up on food.

  As I push the vacuum cleaner across the thick pile, my mind starts to drift. And when that happens, one of the things that usually comes to the forefront is August.

  In particular, I think about him coming into my bedroom last night. I had awoken on the verge of an orgasm to what I thought was a dream only to find his face pressed between my legs. To say I was stunned was an understatement. I was also elated. I have no clue what is going to happen in our future or whether we could ever be something real again. We spent the last two weeks stealing moments at The Wicked Horse and getting our rocks off, but circumstances have changed with Sam home.

  I guess August figured the best way around us not being able to head out to the club was to just take matters into his own hands.

  I was okay with that. Last night was a revelation. The sex was obviously different. It was quieter. It seemed far more intense and intimate. When we’re at The Wicked Horse and on display, our sex is about everyone. Last night the experience made me feel closer to August than ever since it was just between the two of us.

  When we finished, we laid in bed for a while with me half on his chest and his arm draped around my lower back working lazy patterns over my skin with his thumb. We talked about Sam, and I found myself wondering if we would just slip into sleep so he would stay the full night. It was a question that was answered with no equivocation when he rolled out of bed, saying, “I better get back to my room before Sam wakes up. It would be confusing for him to see us like this.”

  It’s confusing for me, too, August.

  Oddly, it probably wouldn’t be complicated to Sam. I know my kid. He would be over the moon if his parents got together. August doesn’t know him well enough to understand that. Honestly, I think this is the most confusing for August, but all I can do is let him plod along at his own pace.

  Any thoughts I may have had that August and I sharing an intimate moment in my room might have meant more was dispelled when he mentioned perhaps scheduling a time for us to go to The Wicked Horse before leaving. Clearly, it’s just about the sex to August. He’s certainly not giving me any indication he wants more.

  After I finish vacuuming the living room, I turn the machine off. The sudden loss of noise lasts only a moment before I hear Sam and August’s voice filtering in through the open window. They’re out on the front porch where they’ve been trying to put together a puzzle while taking advantage of a beautiful day.

  I start wrapping the cord around the hooks on the vacuum, but freeze when I hear Sam say, “All I’m saying is it would be nice if you took her out.”

  August gives a dry laugh. “Kid… It’s not like that with your mom and me.”

  Holy crap. They’re talking about me. I move a little bit closer to the window so I can hear better.

  “I’m pretty smart for a nine-year-old,” Sam says.

  “You’re ten,” August points out.

  “And that makes me even smarter,” Sam replies without missing a beat. I have to put my hand over my mouth so as not to laugh out loud. “And you and my mom are very much together.”

  “How do you figure?” There’s genuine curiosity in August’s voice.

  “You’re united in parenthood. You have a history. You don’t seem to be mad at her for keeping me away from you anymore. And I know you respect her because you’ve told me so. You think she’s been an amazing mom to me, so I don’t understand why you can’t simply take her out for a good time. She deserves it.”

  God, I love my kid. He’s out there advocating for me in all the ways I don’t have the guts to do for myself. I’d rather sit in my own safe little bubble—let August come to his own determination as to what he wants because that’s far safer than putting myself out there only to have him tell me he’s not interested in a relationship.

  Swiftly moving away from the window, I pull the vacuum cleaner along behind me. I don’t need to listen anymore. Partly because I don’t want to invade my son’s privacy, and I have a feeling he would not want me to know he was advocating on my behalf. But also because I don’t want to hear what August has to say about it. It has the potential to shred me.

  I put the vacuum cleaner in the mudroom, then head over to the dryer to pull out the sheets I washed earlier. I’m going to make up my room for his parents to stay in. August had said they would gladly stay in a hotel, but I think it’s ridiculous when I can easily share a room with Sam.

  ♦

  My arm starts to go numb, a byproduct of Sam having fallen asleep on me over half an hour ago. Shifting in the bed, I ease my arm out from underneath him. I gently roll him until he faces the other direction, then pull the covers up to his shoulders. He’s out like a light, which is definitely a consequence of his illness. Since undergoing the chemo and the stem cell transplant, he’s slept more deeply than he has in his entire life. I even asked his doctors about it on a recent checkup, but they just said his body needs the sleep to help recuperate. So when Sam says he wants to go to sleep at seven PM, I don’t question it. If he wants to sleep in late, I let him.

  I reach over and nab my phone from the bedside table, flipping to my Kindle app to pull up a book to read. It’s far too early for me to go to sleep.

  Settling in, I quickly immerse myself in a world of alpha vampires and sassy heroines. Reading romance has been a sustainable pleasure of mine over the years, a stopgap measure to replace what I’ve been desperately missing in my life.

  My quiet interlude is interrupted by the doorknob turning. When I glance over, August pokes his head into the room. I can’t quite see his face because the only illumination is from my phone, but his voice floats across the darkness.

  “Why are you sleeping in here?” he asks softly.

  “I put fresh sheets on my bed for your parents today, so…”

  My words trail off as I recall all the ways we’d dirtied those sheets up last night.

  He’s silent a moment, but then he asks, “You got a minute to talk?”

  “Sure,” I whisper, swinging my legs out of the bed. I realize I’m wearing a tank top and sleep shorts. There’s no way I can walk out of the room dressed like this since my dad could be out there.

  “Your dad’s down in the
basement. You’re fine.”

  What the hell? Is he a mind reader?

  As I pad to the door, he steps out into the hallway. I still make sure to peer to the left through to the living room and the basement door to make sure it’s closed. It appears safe enough.

  I pull the door shut behind me, then cross my arms. “What’s up?”

  He doesn’t respond, merely grabs my arm and directs me down the hallway toward his room. I don’t think to pull against him, fearing he must need some type of privacy. He walks me right into his room, then closes the door behind us.

  Then his mouth is on mine, and he’s spinning me. Somehow, I get pinned between his big body and the door.

  Now it’s clear why he wanted me.

  Sex.

  It’s a good thing I’m always willing to give it to him. My hands wrap around his neck. Just before I let myself sink under his full spell, I tell myself, This is all it will ever be, Leighton. Accept it.

  August slants his mouth across mine, his kiss raw and needy. He pulls me away from the door, spins me again, and then continues to kiss me as he urges me backward toward the bed.

  When my legs hit the edge of it, he pulls his lips away and yanks my tank top over my head.

  Appreciatively, he eyes my breasts. His hands cover them, and there’s no stopping the pebbling of my nipples against his palms.

  “Sam and I talked today, and he got me thinking,” August says as an aside, continuing to squeeze my breast, which feels insanely good.

  I blink repetitively, trying to surface from the sexual haze he so easily has put me in. “Oh yeah?” I manage to gasp.

  August doesn’t answer me. Apparently that line of conversation wasn’t all that important. Instead, he kisses me again. I immediately become hypnotized by the man. I work at the buttons of his shirt, dragging it over his shoulders until it drops to the ground.

  August grabs a handful of my hair, pulling my head back so his lips can drag down my neck. “Just a reminder… you need to be quiet. And if you can’t be, just remember I have no problem filling your mouth with something.”