The Restaurateur

by Aubrey Parker

  I sigh, about to speak. But she beats me to it.

  “You’re not such a terrible guy. You wear boots like a wimp, and you dress too nice for hackathons, and you’re a horrible driver, but maybe you’re an okay steward for this place after all. I understand your race. I do. It’s the same purpose as I wanted for the mountain, just in disguise. I wanted a place to develop minds. A retreat for the smartest folks, and a school to develop them. I wanted to call it The Pike. But you’ll develop minds in your way. Her legacy?” Elizabeth nods toward the grave. “You’ll fulfill it, same as me.”

  I raise a hand, but Elizabeth cuts me off.

  “My plans for The Pike had other problems anyway. What hurts more than losing the mountain is accepting the fact that even if I’d kept it, nothing probably ever would have happened. It’s not about making do. It’s about letting go.”

  “What problems?”

  “Funding. Finding the people. Attracting them.”

  “It wouldn’t be hard to attract people,” I say.

  “Sure it would. You’re a businessman. I want an elite academy. It needs to be known as the best before it launches, and you know how hard that would be. But …” She shakes her head. “Can you imagine the ideas that would have come out of a place like that, if it could be done?”

  Done properly, the right brain trust would be an incredibly valuable asset. Whoever owned it would be very rich — not necessarily with cash, but with information. The right innovation funnel could take the brainpower spilling off of something like Elizabeth’s academy and develop the ideas by connecting industry to inventors to consumers to distribution. The problem is that the profit model in terms of actual cash would suck. She’d never be able to charge enough in tuition to pay for the place, and without the systems to run with emerging ideas she’d fall flat on her face.

  I’m intrigued by her idea. It’s fascinating enough to make me wish I had a few extra billion to spend, and a lot more time on my hands. But it would have to be done right, and that would require a lot more money than I have, and a hell of a lot more resources and connections.

  But maybe she could do a smaller version. Not here. Anywhere would do, if she took her eyes off the highest point in the sky. She needs a working business model. My race can fail; I don’t need to make money right now. But Elizabeth does.

  I’m warring with myself, considering reaching out for her.

  But Elizabeth takes the decision out of my hands. She lays back. Her knees stay bent upward. Her hands go to her belly. I can see right through her. If I blew in the wrong direction, I swear this strong woman would snap like a twig.

  She closes her eyes. Those suddenly soft, pretty green eyes of hers. Her mouth settles to neutral. Her downturned lips no longer strike me as a perpetual frown. They’re life-weary. Beautiful in a way that has more to do with spirit than skin-deep attraction.

  I want more than anything to lean over and kiss those lips. To try and take away the pain.

  Instead, I lay on my back beside her, my pose mimicking hers.

  We’ll just be a moment. We can head down soon.

  But one minute passes, then two.

  Before I know it, I hear the soft, slow rhythm of breath that tells me Elizabeth has fallen asleep.

  That’s weird.

  But then awareness turns fuzzy, and I’m sleeping, too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  MATEO

  I BLINK. THE SUN IS lower in the sky. What time is it? I left my phone behind. It was uncomfortable in my jeans, and I can’t get a damn signal up here anyway.

  I remember the climb, the mountain path, the grave.

  And Elizabeth beside me.

  I sit up and consider waking her, but I can’t bring myself to. The moment is too serene. I see a hawk or eagle or falcon — something broad-winged and majestic — soar by in the distance. A sighing wind through the trees is the only sound beside its call. I’m the only person awake up here, and the isolation is a weight. A presence that should suffocate me, but liberates me instead.

  I look down at Elizabeth. I’m positive she never meant to sleep. But we both did, and judging by the change in shadows, it’s been an hour at least.

  She seems so soft with her eyes closed. So vulnerable. The icy bitch I’ve spent all that time hating is gone and replaced by this intoxicating girl.

  She’s shifted in her sleep. Rolled partially to her side, her head still vaguely upward. Her chest rises and falls. She’s turned more or less toward me, and even from here I can feel her breath, see it stirring the hairs on my arm.

  Our earlier conversation returns and her pain hits me anew. I feel something else as well, but I could only describe it as a hollowness within me. Maybe it’s empathy for her story. But it feels like she bared herself, and now that vulnerability is my burden. It’s strange. A week ago, we fucked. Now we’ve slept together. In every way, today was more intimate.

  My hand moves toward her cheek. I need to wake her. She’ll only feel worse if I wait. It’s bad enough to rehash such old wounds for anyone, but so much worse to do it for someone you don’t even like. I broke her dream. She’s right; it would never have worked. But that changes nothing.

  Her mother is gone, and Elizabeth’s recent years have all been spent in pursuit of her legacy.

  Now it’s over. The illusion has been shattered. By me, the villain.

  I pause, uneasy. What will she feel when I wake her? Will she regret baring her soul? Will this be its own horrible morning-after? Will it be better now or better later? Should I consider leaving — letting her wake on her own, then pretend to have been out exploring, returning only after she’s had a few minutes to think? That might be the kindest option.

  Coming here was a terrible idea.

  I move closer.

  Her quiet eyes, closed.

  Her curiously intelligent voice, silenced.

  I’m drawn to her lips.

  I lean in. Before I have time to consider what I’m doing my eyes are inches away. Our noses are almost touching. Her exhale kisses my skin. I’m playing with fire. My heart pounds like an animal caged in my chest.

  If Elizabeth opens her eyes right now, I’ll probably scare the hell out of her.

  I lean the rest of the way and press my lips to hers.

  She doesn’t startle. Her lips are velvet. At first, they’re impassive, like tiny pillows. But then they move, just a little. Now pressing back, pressing against me — not with vigor, almost with hesitation. They part, more for a breathless exhale than as an invitation. Any illusion that she’s still sleeping is gone.

  I pull back. Her eyes flutter open. They’re green like gemstones, or the deepest parts of a tropical pool. It’s strange, staring into them. They’re the same as they were when we met. The same eyes that loathed me at the hackathon, after I’d stolen her prize. I recognize the potential for hardness, but at this moment, they aren’t harsh at all. Tentative. Softened. Welcoming yet afraid.

  “You woke me.”

  She blinks, but neither of us retreat. I’ve wrapped my hand around her upper arm in a semi-embrace.

  “I couldn’t let you sleep.”

  So close. Fractional inches apart. We haven’t corrected the tilt of our heads. We’re still noses-misaligned, framed from the kiss. It could happen again. In any instant.

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  I move in again. I kiss her. It’s soft. And sweet.

  “Because,” I repeat.

  “You don’t kiss me. We don’t kiss.”

  “We’ve kissed before.”

  “That was different. That was …”

  The thought lingers above us like falling snow.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No.”

  My hand brushes through her hair. Her eyelids sag as if heavy. A miniature sigh escapes her. When my hand settles to cup her cheek, the thrum of her pulse is a tympani’s rhythm rumbling up from her throat. It’s as f
ast as mine. In time with mine.

  “I was wrong about you. You’re beautiful, Elizabeth, and not who I thought.”

  “You’re too close to see me.”

  “This is where the beauty is,” I say.

  Her emerald eyes move to the side. She isn’t used to that kind of flattery. Her eyes water and she keeps looking away, trying to avoid the truth.

  But she can’t escape me. Or turn away. “Elizabeth.” She returns to center. I feel a lightness inside as something deep within us connects. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

  I move in again. She stalls, then rises to meet me.

  There’s another moment of hesitation as if her logical mind is mounting a protest: this is wrong; this won’t work; one mistake in a dark parking lot is forgivable — but not this.

  Whatever part of Elizabeth is fighting, it quickly loses. Her resolve vanishes as my hand glides through her hair, cupping the back of her head to usher her toward me. She inhales as our lips part.

  We kiss. Firmer than before, warmer to the touch. I take her arm and sit her up. We stop, to consider each other anew. Our hands play, light and creeping like mischievous children.

  There are no words. Her breath is full, trembling with every exhale.

  The mountain splendor yawns across the tree-lined valley below. The sun has passed its peak and is casting shadows. The air has an amber quality, igniting the highlights in her hair.

  I reach for her. Stroke her face. Her neck. I shake my head. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before. It’s a perfect storm. Uncharted territory.

  My hand falls down her neck, trails along her dress, then down across its front. Her nipples stiffen beneath the fabric.

  She reaches across her body with her left hand, eyes never leaving mine. The fingers of that hand find her shoulder. The thick fabric strap. They push it down, so it lays to the side.

  I reach for the other strap. For both at once. But she pushes me away.

  My cock hardens, roused by the tease. We were too fast the first time, not even bothering to undress. I need to see her. To touch her bare skin.

  Her other hand moves up. Brings the strap down.

  She moves and slowly writhes, pulling the top down.

  She’s wearing nothing underneath. Her breasts are full. When she lets me touch her, I find them soft to the touch. I trail my fingers along them, around the curves, across the nipple, back up to her shoulders and neck.

  Elizabeth’s head tips back. Her eyes close and she breathes a sigh.

  I lean forward to kiss her neck. To kiss down her chest. I take one nipple into my mouth, flicking it with the tip of my tongue.

  A hand creeps up to my leg as her hot breath caresses me. It moves slowly, inching up the denim of my jeans. I’m hard as hell, wishing she’d hurry. It’s not that I want her touch. It’s already a need.

  My hands explore as I kiss my way across her. Up one leg, under the dress. She shifts to accommodate me, parting her legs just enough. My hand slides higher, higher, as her breath quickens.

  I find soft cotton at the top, wet and warm. They’ve come askew; I can feel the swell of one lip at the edge of her panties. I stroke it, slowly.

  Her wetness spreads away from the fabric, now between my finger and her body. Her warmth invites me, drags me to her center.

  I slip a lubricated finger beneath, finding the heat between her legs, rolling my fingertip across her swollen clit. She shudders. Hard. And when she recovers, Elizabeth is breathing against my neck, her hand pawing my cock through my jeans.

  “Keep doing that,” Elizabeth tells me. “I’m going to come.”

  I do. And as I do, she unbuttons my pants and slides them away. Her hand works my cock now flesh to flesh. It swells in her hand, my balls tight, my orgasm far too close.

  I reach beneath her, both hands under her dress, and pull her panties away. I push the dress up and spread her legs enough to see inside.

  It’s enough to make my cock erupt. I tighten, holding it in. It’s been a while. Since Elizabeth, the last time. I didn’t realize how aroused I was, or how much her leading our hike to this spot had turned me on.

  Seeing her like that.

  Learning who she truly is, when her mask is on the ground.

  Her strength. Her long, lean body.

  Her pussy is small, tight-lipped, and topped by a small patch of light brown hair. I want inside so bad I can barely stand it.

  I touch it. Run my fingers along her slit. She flinches when I roll past her clit, then move my finger past, leaving a trail of moisture.

  Looking at her pussy tightens the skin around my cock. It yearns to break free. I imagine its heat, then slip a finger inside to feel it. Her tunnel grips my finger, wanting more.

  I’m so absorbed that I don’t see what she’s doing until I feel a similar heat on my cock, above where she’s holding it. And it’s wet. She has it in her mouth. Pumping. And oh God; I’ve usually got acres of staying power, but right now I can’t last.

  I try to breathe slowly. I clench, to hold it in. When that fails, I think about climbing. I finger Elizabeth’s pussy, trying for calm. Nothing works. Her mouth is so warm and wet, sliding up and down my shaft with her fist behind it.

  I feel a peak. But her pussy awaits.

  “Elizabeth.”

  I rub her clit with light strokes. She gasps with my cock in her mouth, then goes faster, making me squirm.

  “Elizabeth,” I say, trying to pull her away. She finally does. She looks up at me, lips wet, eyes wide, lust in her stare. My hand hasn’t stopped moving. I can tell she’s close. I can feel her orgasm coming.

  But although her mouth has stopped, her hand hasn’t.

  I’m a rocket, ready to launch. “Stop. If you keep doing that, I’m going to come.”

  “I’m coming too, Mateo. Keep rubbing my clit.”

  But her fist. It keeps going.

  “Elizabeth …”

  Her body tenses. Her eyes close and her mouth opens in a long, slow O. An almost. The next round, she’ll tip over into oblivion.

  “Elizabeth, stop. If you keep it up—”

  “Oh, God. Oh shit. Oh shit, Mateo, I’m going to come.”

  She bends down, licks the tip of my dick. It glistens with her spit.

  “I want to come with your cock in my mouth.”

  Her head goes all the way down. Her words and the warmth are too much. The fist working the shaft is too much. When she adds the other hand to cup my balls, it’s too much — and when she lets go and comes, moaning into my cock, it’s too much by far.

  I try for one final lockdown, but at the same time, so does she.

  Elizabeth grips me, bearing down with her lips and sucking hard as the waves claim her.

  The sights. The sounds. The overwhelming sensations.

  There’s no way out. I surrender. The orgasm comes from everywhere, like nothing before. I erupt inside her mouth as she comes, and then we ride the wave down together.

  But … strange. The tickle is still there. Even as Elizabeth pulls her mouth away, my cock begs for her to resume stroking and sucking.

  Nothing has abated. I need her.

  I strip her dress and panties all the way, leaving Elizabeth bare. I do the same for myself in seconds. Elizabeth can only watch me, limp and spent.

  I lay down beside her, my hand back between her legs. Her pussy licks at my fingers, begging for more. She reaches for her dress to wipe her lips, but fuck that; a gentleman offers another way. I give her my shirt. Then she’s on her side, kissing me again.

  “Was it good?” she asks.

  “It’s not over.”

  She blinks at me. Her eyes follow my hand, down between her legs.

  I climb between them. My cock is full and hard, straining through what feels like my entire body. I part her legs, then take just a moment to see my cock’s head tease her pussy lips before sliding my length inside.

  She seems surprised, but this quickly dissolves into pleasu
re. Her words are lost to moans, and heaves of ecstasy.

  I lay my body against hers, legs apart and up, her ankles at my sides as I fuck her. Her tits press warm and soft against my bare chest as I kiss her lips. Our mouths devour each other, breath together like a single thing.

  I thrust and thrust. She writhes beneath me, squirming with delight.

  When I slow, Elizabeth sits halfway up, my cock inside her. Then she rolls us over and says, “My turn.”

  I flop out of her as we maneuver, so Elizabeth sits high above me when I’m finally on my back, one knee down and the other leg up on its foot.

  She reaches between my legs and caresses my balls, then the hot length of my shaft. It slides inside with pressure but no effort. Then we’re together, Elizabeth above me, giving me the view I’ve been longing to see.

  “You’re amazing.”

  “I came twice,” she says. “Now it’s your turn.”

  She rises up, settles down. For the first few strokes, I can’t move my eyes from our congress, watching my lube-slicked length emerge from between her legs. But then she comes forward, not riding erect, and her breasts dangle low to brush my chest with each stroke.

  As the feeling builds, I wrap my arms around Elizabeth’s back and hug her to me. My upward thrusts match her downward ones. We moan together. She cries out seconds before I come, then it all overtakes me and I push hard against her, my legs arching up to press against Elizabeth’s bare ass.

  We finally roll apart, and I’m more than satisfied. I’m already going limp by the time I realize something else, something crazy and miraculous:

  Unlike that time in the parking lot and even after our discussion from earlier, there’s no awkwardness in the air.

  “Two for me,” I say as my breath returns, “and two for you.”

  “Well …” she says, shrugging in an adorable little way.

  I don’t understand until I see the three fingers on her raised hand.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ELIZABETH

  THE NEXT TWO WEEKS ARE odd, but only because Mateo and I both seem to think that things should be weird and they aren’t.