Unscrupulous

by Avery Aster

  “I’ve made my mind up.” She wanted him. Screw the champagne.

  “You have?” His leg rose a little higher, grinding warmth against her palm, encouraging her to fondle him more. Perhaps he enjoyed her finger lap dance.

  “What’ll it be?”

  “Obviously you have good taste—possibly better than mine.” She shut her mouth to see if he’d follow her words. Taddy studied his lips, and then glanced into his eyes. Gold flecks stared back at her. It caused goose bumps on her thighs.

  She confirmed he listened to her every word—hanging on to them, waiting for her to speak again. Good! Very good. She licked her lips.

  Nipples hard, she said, “I’d like to have whatever juice you’re serving.” Their eyes locked, and her nails dug a little into him as if saying, “Mine.”

  “Red, something tells me you enjoy extremes.” He grabbed the top of her hand.

  “Sorry.” She realized she’d gone too far. Typical.

  “Don’t apologize.” Interlocking his fingers with hers, Big Daddy shoved her hand to his hard-on.

  “I do love…intensity,” she confessed, outlining the large bulge.

  His bulge grew under his slacks as if a snake surfaced to the Earth’s soil to sun. Garner’s thick, bulbous head visibly swelled under his linen pants. He was epic from head to toe and back to his other head. She imagined his dick lifting the hood of her clit up. The urge to unzip his fly, pull out his cock and take it into her mouth consumed her more than last month’s Prada sample sale.

  Garner’s thick legs spread apart. This dude was a full-time free-baller. “I’ll order us an intense champagne bubble. It’ll pop in your mouth.” He lingered on his statement for a second. His silky words rang a challenge in her ear.

  Sensing a stir in her pussy larger than any Ohio tornado, she mumbled, “Uh-huh.”

  “Your champagne should have mysterious copper and amber tints.” He observed her hair.

  She couldn’t stop rubbing his erection. The pleased look on his face told her he loved it.

  “Those are two of my favorite colors.” She resisted the urge to flip her hair back with her hands. A habit she struggled to avoid. With a nod, she moved her neck, hoping her hair would get out of her face.

  It didn’t.

  Her new Big Daddy reached over and brushed her tresses over her shoulder, out of her view and complimented, “Such gorgeous features.” He grazed her chin with his thumb. “Amazing bone structure too.”

  “Thank you.” She’d heard his compliment a million times over, but his caress struck a pulsating chord in her. One she hadn’t felt—ever. His hands felt confident, as if familiar with getting whatever the hell he wanted. She re-crossed her legs as her instincts brought her torso closer to his.

  “Where were we?” Perhaps he got lost in her face and the tuberose aroma from her hair he’d unlocked. His nostrils twitched with an inhale, and his mouth exhaled with a smile.

  “Discussing my juice’s colors—the champagne.” She squeezed his thigh. Oh my.

  “Right, thank you. Perhaps when your taste buds savor the sap you’ll swallow—black cherry.”

  “I love cherries.”

  “So do I.” His eyes remained on her face.

  She understood why. He behaved as a gentleman. But she didn’t desire to be a lady. Not tonight. Her cunt was dipped in Swarovski.

  Excel-lent-a-licious, but if you wanna stare at my tits, you can. She leaned forward, running her fingers alongside her collarbone as if to signal to him to play.

  He swallowed hard. “Ummm…Red…?”

  “Yes?” Her gazed shifted. She examined his lips. He licked them with a thick tongue, with any luck to match his even thicker dick.

  “I bet you also want your champagne to taste like a candied fruit peel.”

  “Very much so.” Her vivid imagination transported her somewhere away from the club and onto a beach. She fantasized herself lying topless in the sun while he fed her orange glacé slices.

  A breathy unevenness hummed between them. His nostrils flared to recover. As his chest rose up and down, it revealed his pecs were as fabulous as her breasts.

  Too good to resist, she raised her hand for a torso-hot touch. I wanna lick you.

  In an instant, he grabbed her hand, drawing her closer, placing her palm on chest.

  Ah! Her thumb rested above his shirt’s thin fabric. “You are such a Big Daddy—a very delectable Big Daddy.” Fuck me pah-lease.

  His quarter-sized nipples stiffened under her thumb as if on instinct, thanking her for the compliment. Suddenly, the material between them became somewhat undetectable. “Once the champagne’s tart bubbles glide down your throat and your sugar high kicks in,” He moved her hand from his nipple to the center of his chest. “You’ll feel your heart skip.” He pulsed, lub-dub, lub-dub.

  “I see.” A knot rose in her throat. Sweet Jesus nipplelicious. He’s got me. Fighting the urge to tear his white tailored button-down shirt off, she raked her nails over him.

  Nodding his head to confirm, he reached for her chin and pulled her face in close, giving her a soft kiss on the lips. Dry at first, lip to lip, no tongue, but a promise for what came next. “You want to sample…smoky aromas, a powdery cocoa on your palate after the first swallow.”

  “S-Smoky aromas sound interesting.” She felt itchy. A hot ache burned throughout her. The urge to unzip the damn Céline dress off her fevering body became excruciating.

  So flippin’ male. So effin’ mine. So fucking now.

  “Do you know what else sounds appealing?” He held on to her face with intent, as if he owned it. He could if he wanted to.

  She dreamt she’d be crushed in his hands like candied sugar.

  He strived for tenderness, she could tell, as gentle as his bull-designed body would let him. But she didn’t occupy a Lenox china shop. Her body had been crafted in steel. Bring it on, Big Daddy.

  Garner’s lips returned to where they left off. His tongue didn’t ask for permission entering. It didn’t tickle, lick or dance. With one deep—intense—plunge, his kiss spoke in silence and declared, “I have you.”

  Fucccck, toes curling, scalp tingling, pussy wetting.

  Pulling back, he acknowledged, “To reiterate your champagne order.”

  “Ooooh—” Intoxicated by his words, she’d disregarded the booze. She hadn’t consumed an alcoholic drop in days. Not with Birdie around.

  “You want a bold flavor.” He extended his hand above her breast. Lowering his voice, he asked, “May I?”

  Nodding and closing her eyes, she flirted, “You may.” Here we go. It’s my turn.

  Heat came from his palm and seared her breast through the gown’s fine material. He hadn’t even touched her skin to skin yet. As the hand came down, she opened her eyes to see him admiring her. “Red, keep your magnificent eyes open for me.”

  “This feels—”

  “Let your body relax.” Garner grazed her nipple with his palm.

  Raising her ass about a half an inch off her seat, she sat back down again, directly on her clit. I’m going to come. She crossed her legs.

  “You okay?” He stared at her as if she’d shoot off to the moon.

  She nodded for him to continue. “Fine. It’s warm in here, is all.”

  Garner unbuttoned his shirt a notch. “We agreed intense, deep-ruby shades in the champagne.” He held his hand over her other breast and waited again for permission. “May I?”

  The heat from his hand reemerged over her cleavage.

  “You may.”

  His hand drew over her hungry breasts as he went under the V-neck of her cleavage. He slipped his fingers skin to skin under the perky fold of her breasts and massaged her. His hands felt warm and dry against her moist, increasingly hot skin.

  Nipples firm and clit dripping, she fought the urge to release the pleasure she experienced with words. They didn’t exist in the English vocabulary to describe the party going on in her mind. She tripped high on his Big Da
ddy ecstasy. Being in his arms wasn’t a walk through her beloved Central Park. It was a psychedelic journey in Candy Land with a race to her pussy castle. Taddy fantasized she was Princess Lolly, skipping to her own tunes, in the honey clouds. Engrossed with enthusiasm at the pleasures before her, she followed her desires where they took her from one adventure to the next. Indeed this Big Daddy held the powers. He became her King Kandy. And together they danced through her Gingerbread Plum Trees. Snap the flip out of it, Taddy Brill.

  He nuzzled her earlobe with his lips and whispered, “The first thing your tongue should taste is a floral note with your champagne.”

  “Floral…” Echoing his words, she about came in her seat.

  “You desire a fruity taste.” Garner held on to the base of her breast then flicked her nipple.

  Air. I need to breathe. Everything felt as if it was happening in slow motion. She uncrossed her legs, putting a slight space between her knees.

  His free hand rested between her legs. “May I?” he asked as the perfect gentleman.

  She glanced over her shoulder. They sat alone. The waiter must’ve drawn the curtain. She didn’t notice. Not a soul in sight. “You may.” She exposed herself a little farther under the table, giving him enough room to slide his hands under the table’s edge and inside her.

  “To finish, you’d enjoy the champagne’s body which sparkles, sense initial firmness as it fills your mouth and experience a cream rush as you swallow.”

  Hiking her dress higher, she took his hands in hers and assisted him, pushing himself deeper into her. “The f-firmer and c-creamier the better.”

  “With a subtle sweet-and-sour note in the champagne, perhaps a pink grapefruit.” He massaged her breasts with one hand and fingered her valley with the other.

  Taddy covered her mouth and bit down on her pointer finger, finding it hard to control herself.

  “There, there, my Red.” He leaned in again, removed her hand from her mouth and kissed her more passionately than before. His fingers danced inside her, holding on to her as if he owned her.

  Take me. Grasping on to him, her legs apart, each square body inch danced in vibration to his deep voice. His hands moved inside her as if her body belonged to him from the very beginning.

  “Big Daddy.” Right there, go deeper, yeah…yes, hit it. Push harder. Go further. Uh-huh, love that. Oh Jesus.

  “Look at you coming, Red. You’re beautiful. Let your body go, baby. I have you,” he whispered in her ear, granting her permission to enjoy herself.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Yes. Oooh. She came hard. Her body collapsed into his.

  She was convinced he’d slipped her an Ecstasy hit and her parched mouth dried further. She hadn’t drunk, swallowed or licked anything except his tongue. Could he have marinated his lips in euphoria? Laced his hot mouth with drugs? Nah. She realized she’d done what she’d always fantasized about—letting go.

  Taddy had no clue who he was and vice versa. He could’ve introduced himself as Mista Ronald hamburger-flipping McDonald for all she cared. She didn’t seek a relationship. But this fella spoke worldliness. He knew champagne. And unless he caged an anaconda in his pants, he presented a new significance to the word “hung”.

  Garner whispered in her ear, “Let’s order a bottle of Dom Perignon Rosé.” He leaned in farther. “And some napkins.”

  She shook her head no-no. “We don’t need any napkins.”

  “No?” he questioned, confused but confident as if girls came to his kisses and champagne talk night after night.

  “You haven’t told me what juice you’d care to drink.” Yes, that’s right.

  “Let’s get the bottle—”

  “And go back to your place?” she interrupted, inviting herself back to his house.

  Eyes wide toward his hands, he brought them up from underneath the table’s edge. “Red, why are there rubies?” Palms out and facing her, a shimmer of crimson adorned his wet hands. “Is this from—your dress?”

  “No, Big Daddy.” Thank you, vajazzle. “I’ll show you when we get back to your place.”

  “Okay then.” Garner reached for her hands. He stood with a force that yanked her to her feet.

  She checked her cell.

  Vive had texted her, saying she’d left a while ago. Taddy seized a Dom Perignon Rosé bottle from the bar as they made their way out the door.

  Chapter Seven

  Vive Serves Up Bye-And-Bye Dick Pie

  Warner couldn’t have dreamt Red up if he tried. He’d never seen her in his entire life, so she was unmistakably not an island local. Assuming she’d come to St. Barth for business as a swimsuit model for Sports Illustrated, he remembered the photographers shot their magazine spreads nearby. She must be. But her skin was porcelain, not tan as it would be if she’d been on the beach all day.

  Indeed attractive, late twenties, she looked classy. Wrapped in a stunning dress, sexy shoes and her vintage jewelry, she led him to assume if not magazine modeling a bikini, perhaps she’d jetted in from London. Red could’ve come to “winter” at a villa down the shore, escaping England’s cold season. But her voice spoke with a sharp tone, maybe from Chicago, certainly not British.

  Her tuberose scent remained potent, in a good way, heady, fleshy and yet sweet. The perfume confused him all the more.

  Red didn’t know Warner owned the club. She kept calling him Garner and he didn’t correct her. The music had deafened their introductions at first. When they sat down, the magic started. Warner caught her vulnerability and glimpsed Red’s taste for great adventure. He looked forward to discovering more about her.

  “I don’t bring pretty ladies home—often.” If ever. He forced himself to settle down as they came up the winding driveway’s final stretch. His mind and body came together.

  “You have a preference for taking fuglies back to your shack then?” Red laughed, pulling the champagne bottle to her side. It was remarkable to witness a woman with such beauty be so at ease.

  “This is it, my winter home.” The landscape lighting danced shadows against his manicured foliage. His guardsmen had gone for the day. It being a holiday weekend, he didn’t have the heart to make the locals work around the clock. Warner had no plans to host any parties where he’d typically be full force with security.

  “Exquisite. Your yard is something else.” She turned, taking in his acres.

  “Maybe in the morning I can show you the gardens out by the beach.” He hoped she’d stay for breakfast. Warner cooked a tasty eggs Benedict. At least Sheldon always gave him compliments on it.

  “I don’t have much outdoor space where I live.” Her malachite green eyes blinked with sophistication. He’d not caught their brilliance until now.

  Warner drew her close. “And where would your home be?” Kissing her left cheek, his lips admired hers. He noted she didn’t answer, so he asked again. “Where do you live?”

  She shook her head. Red wouldn’t tell him.

  “Will you share your name?” Drawing his tongue over Red’s neck, Warner teased her nape in hopes he’d secure the answer. “Is it Red? Tell me.” His kisses traveled to her face’s right side keeping his lips in constant contact on her skin in hopes she’d reveal where she’d come from—anything.

  “Not tonight.” Mystery spoke in her sultry voice, on her juicy lips and shone in her alluring eyes. “How’s that for an answer?” She squeezed his hand harder perhaps with promise that she’d share more—later.

  “Fair enough.” After turning the estate’s corner, exhilaration charged every nerve. He reached with his free hand inside his left pocket for the keys.

  Red massaged his arm’s inner part. The stimulation ran a tingly feeling over him.

  He hadn’t felt this in years.

  “Gimme some sugar,” a twanged voice barked from the driveway’s opposing side.

  Her voice…her presence…it irked Warner to no end and reminded him of something he’d seen on the news recently. In Dallas, ranchers called the Texas Range
rs in a frantic pace, reporting the four-legged animal sightings of something similar to a boar-meets-dog creature with a reptilian appearance. It didn’t bite for blood, rather sucked its prey bone dry. Farmers called the beast a chupacabra.

  Warner suspected it was too coincidental that the second his ex-fiancée fled their Manhattan penthouse for her native Lone Star State people noticed an upswing in this monster roaming their prairies. He knew for certain the chupacabra existed and called herself Rielle Bruni. And a moment ago, on his lawn, as he held Red’s hand, Rielle’s sulfuric stench arrived in St. Barth’s.

  “I waited for ya,” she yapped from across the estate lawn.

  No, no, no. Not Rielle. His ears could’ve bled. Each eardrum felt shot out.

  Red’s perky stride slowed. She squeezed his hand tighter. “Garner, who’s coming toward us?”

  “My worst nightmare.” Shit, I knew this felt too good to be true.

  Rielle approached from the long, narrow driveway’s other side as if seizing her next victim. “Honey, I’m his fiancée, Rielle,” she drawled between cigarette puffs and flicked the fiery bud in his direction. “I’ve come to ring in the New Year with my man.” Her infamous snort got caught in her exhale, twisting her voice into a hackled cough.

  Red’s warm fingers unlocked.

  Don’t let go…

  Every delicious inch of Red’s body went cold. She turned and stared at him, her face didn’t seem fazed. Red wasn’t anyone’s victim. A woman who didn’t have time to bullshit, Red was too good for this.

  “Rielle is not my fiancée. Not anymore. I’ll call authorities to remove—” He grabbed for her arm.

  She sidestepped and spun, her clutch dropped to the earth and opened. Papers, money, a hairbrush, spread at their feet. The champagne bottle followed. It landed, shattering glass shards throughout.

  “I’m sorry, Red, I am.” Warner indicated with a wave he’d pick her things up. “I don’t want you to cut yourself.”

  Rielle snarled and laughed at him, walking in their direction. “I’m still wearing the ring he gave me. Ain’t I?” She held the diamond to Red’s face. Warner was surprised she hadn’t pawned it yet.