Walk of Shame

by ANDREA SMITH

  “What?” he asks, giving me a seductive smile, “Want to see if I measure up to the clown?”

  “I’m just enjoying the view,” I whisper. “Please don’t stop.”

  He gives a soft chuckle as he sits on the edge of my bed and peels off his boots and socks. Even his feet are magnificent, I note. He stands back up, slowly unzips his fly and my eyes widen when I realize that Weston goes commando. His large cock springs free and the glint of silver from his Prince Albert piercing gleams in the dim lighting of the room.

  “Now it’s your turn, baby,” he says huskily.

  Discarding a silk nighty or a lacy negligee, if choreographed sensually, can be downright sexy, I’m sure.

  Plaid flannel pajamas with feet in them? Not so much.

  I quickly peel them off, feeling no discomfort at all as I stand before Weston in nothing but my red silk thong. I need him to remove it, don’t ask me why, I just want him to do that for me.

  He steps closer and, once again, his lips meet mine with calm determination as one hand grips the waistband of my thong, lowering it over my hips and letting it pool at my feet. I step out of it and, in that moment, Weston pulls away to gaze at my nakedness in his own leisurely way. Taking inventory with his eyes, and the fact that his erection grows exponentially when his gaze drops to my pussy, I know he approves of what he sees.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful, Peyton,” he whispers, his eyes now on my face. “I want to love every inch of you tonight.”

  He moves closer, and our lips meet again in soft, silky kisses. He moans, and then his hand takes one of mine and lowers it to his hardness.

  I let my fingers circle his girth, and then I gently run my hand up and down his erection, and as I hear him take a sharp intake of breath, I know that I must be doing it right. My fingers ply the soft folds of his circumcised crown, and my thumb circles the head. I feel the clear bead of pre-cum that has formed there.

  “Baby,” he halfway groans, “we’re going to have to get Round 1 out of the way before I embarrass myself. Do you mind?”

  I giggle softly. “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

  He bends down, and pulls a condom from the pocket of his jeans. He quickly sheathes his cock, and then with one swoop of his strong arms, he picks me up into his arms.

  He settles himself on the bed, placing me onto his lap so that we’re facing one another. I’m confused. How will this possibly work?

  He senses my doubt and lets out a soft chuckle. “It’s all good, P, I promise,” he whispers softly against my cheek. “Just relax and let me make you feel good, okay?”

  I nod against him.

  His fingers travel to my apex. They gently and methodically ply apart the folds of my sex. He feels my wetness, and exhales a breath. “You’re so wet for me,” he says softly, his lips meeting mine as his fingers continue the gentle probing. I moan softly as his thumb comes into contact with my swollen bud, and he puts pressure on it, while his middle finger thrusts deeply inside. The slick sounds of my wetness and our heavy breathing are the only sounds in the room.

  “Fuck, I need to be inside of you,” he rasps, pulling his fingers from me. I feel his hands braced on either side of my hips as he raises me up, spreading my legs with his knee, and then gentle lowers me onto his rigid cock. I slowly feel him going deeper and deeper inside of me and, instinctually, I lean forward into him. The position allows me to feel every inch of him, including that glorious piercing of his in just the right spot.

  “You okay?” he asks, once he’s buried to the hilt.

  I nod. This is pure pleasure. I’m afraid I’m going to come so I don’t move. “Just give me a sec,” I whisper against him. He stops his movements, but I can feel the pulsing of both of our bodies against one another.

  I slowly start moving up and down on his shaft, pivoting my hips so that the head of Weston’s cock rubs my special spot that seems to swell up when I’m this aroused.

  He moans and starts grinding his hips against me. His hands braced on my hips as he moves me up and down until we strike a rhythm of our own. He increases the tempo and I buck up against him, each stroke is pure pleasure, and I don’t want it to end.

  His hand grasps one of my breasts, and his fingers knead and pull causing me to groan his name. His mouth replaces his fingers, and he suckles it roughly, which makes my sex pulsate in reaction.

  His thrusts up into me become stronger and faster. “Does this feel good, baby?” he asks. “I want to watch you when you come.”

  I love it that he talks to me during sex. This is all so new and so damn pleasurable.

  “God, yes,” I rasp. “Please don’t stop, Weston?” I mewl, and I know I’m ready to come with a vengeance.

  He pulls me in tighter, my breasts are pressed against his chest so tightly that I can feel his heartbeat. I arch my back, pushing my pelvis into him and opening myself up even more, and am rewarded when I feel his cock jewelry rub against my sweet spot. Everything explodes in my mind, as my orgasm unravels, and Weston can feel it too.

  “Fuck,” he growls huskily. “God, this feels so damn good.”

  I feel his cock start to throb just as my orgasm hits, moaning and whimpering against him as the pleasure unfolds from deep inside of me, over and over until my sweet release meets with his. He groans, and my name passes over his lips several times, before he shudders one last time and empties inside of me.

  His hands close around my neck and his lips ravage mine as our post-orgasmic pleasure slowly replaces the shock and awe of moments before. His tongue invades my mouth and he moans as he kisses me. His thumbs gently massage my temples.

  Moments later, we relax and catch our breath. I can feel the wetness of my orgasm between us and, as if Weston can read my mind, he gently lifts me up and off of him.

  “Let’s wash up,” he suggests. “We’ve got a lot more night left.”

  He gives my butt a soft swat and follows me out into the hall and into the bathroom. I’m amazed at just how comfortable I am walking around in the nude, still dripping my orgasm in front of Weston, but then he seems just as comfortable in front of me.

  He discards his condom, and we take a quick shower together, soaping up each other’s bodies, and I know that we won’t be long out of this shower before Round 2 begins. I can hardly wait.

  Chapter 46

  Weston was awakened when the warm body that had been curled up against him all night long suddenly left the bed.

  He opened his eyes and scanned the room. Peyton was pulling on a robe.

  “Whoa, where do you think you are you going?’ he asked, as he perched himself up on an elbow and watched her. Damn if she didn’t have ‘just fucked hair’ like nothing he’d ever seen before.

  “I just need to pee,” she answered, rolling her eyes at him. “I’ll be back.”

  He glanced over at the clock on her nightstand. It was only a little after eight which gave them plenty of time to spend together before she had to pull her shift at Big Daddy’s this afternoon. She’d mentioned that last night between fucks. Something about worrying if she’d be able to walk today since she had to work.

  Weston chuckled to himself at some of the things she’d said. At one point, she had reminded him that she was a nerd chick, not a freaking contortionist. The truth was, Weston had fucked her in several positions for the sole purpose of trying to see exactly which one she mastered.

  She mastered them all, and he was totally blown away by her. So not what he had expected when he’d come over last night. Well, that wasn’t altogether true, because he had packed some condoms, but never had he expected her sexual appetite would mirror his.

  She came back into her room and closed the door.

  “Come here,” he ordered softly, extending his arm out from beneath the covers.

  “Why?” she asked coyly.

  “Because, I said so,” he replied cockily.

  “Wessstonn,” she whined. “Babe, I’m so darn sore. I don’t think I can go ano
ther round. Besides that, you used your last condom at our four a.m. session,” she giggled.

  “Let me heal you with my mouth then,” he offered, flicking his tongue out and over his bottom lip.

  She sighed, “Well…if you must,” she conceded, dipping her knee down onto the bed.

  In a flash, Weston had flipped her onto her back, and scooted his naked body down between her legs, propping her knees up. He bent down, and started placing soft, butterfly kisses on the inside of her thighs, and he knew with her first soft moan, she loved it.

  He moved slowly and sensually, letting his tongue blaze a trail upward, and using his hands to softly massage her thighs and then her hips as he moved north with his lips and his tongue.

  He gently placed his lips on her smooth mound, and delivered soft kisses to the reddened area. He could see that he’d pounded into her flesh good those times during the night when they awoke and one of them---okay usually him--initiated sex.

  “Does it hurt here?” he asked softly, tracing the tip of his tongue along her slit.

  “Uh huh,” she sighed, moving her pelvis up closer to his mouth.

  He gently kissed her folds. “How about here, baby?” he cooed, watching the pleasure seep over her facial features.

  “Yep,” she answered softly.

  He ran his tongue the length of her slit, and then gently dipped it inside.

  “Yes, right there, Weston. It’s really sore there.”

  His fingers traveled to her pussy, and he spread the lips so that he could sink his warm, wet mouth over the sensitive area and lap her into a frenzy when, suddenly, someone burst through the door of her room.

  “Oh, my God!” Eva screamed, frozen where she stood as Weston looked up and over at her. Her hand flew to cover her mouth, and her eyes widened as she took in the sight before her. “Sorry. I’m so so sorry,” she apologized, backing out of the room and closing the door firmly behind her. “Sorry, sorry,” she continued from the hallway, the sound of her voice getting more and more distant.

  Peyton quickly wriggled away from Weston, and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Oh, my God,” she whispered hoarsely. “I can never face her again!”

  “What? Why?” Weston asked, confused as to why they both were making such a big deal out of it. Hell, there had been too many times to count when he’d walked in on Alex or Marcus---never with Eva, but before then, when they were unattached and simply sport fucking a bunny. And they had walked in on him a few times as well.

  Chicks were weird about shit.

  “I’m just mortified,” she said. “Fucking mortified!”

  Weston finally chuckled and shook his head. “She’s your best friend for Chrissake, Peyton. That’s one person in the whole world who isn’t supposed to be judgmental, right?”

  “Well, in principle, yes. But she’s been known to get in my face about certain things. I mean, what will she think of me after seeing you…”

  “Eating your pussy?” he asked, with a smirk. “She’ll think you’ve finally gotten laid by someone who knows what the hell he’s doing.”

  “Seriously, Weston? That sounds like gloating to me.”

  “Well, babe, you tell me then. Any complaints?”

  Weston watched a soft blush form on her cheeks. She smiled and shook her head. “No complaints here, Mr. Matthews.”

  “Aww, don’t call me that,” he said with a growl.

  “And why not?”

  “Because, it sounds like Penny when she used to chew my ass out like a school kid,” he replied. “And right now, we’re not playing teacher/student.”

  “Clown sex then?” she asked, quirking a brow.

  “Maybe later. Now where were we?” he asked, pulling the covers from her and taking his place between her legs once again.

  Chapter 47

  It’s Christmas Eve afternoon and despite the fact that the schools in the area are on break, Big Daddy’s is still slammed. Not just the locals, but those students who have decided, for whatever reason, not to go home to their spacious mansions and be with family over the holidays.

  Max has all of the servers---and of course you know we are all female, right? Well, he has us wearing our Christmas garb, which consists of a tight red mini dress trimmed in white fur, and a Santa cap perched saucily on our respective heads.

  Weston is leaving this afternoon on a flight to D.C. to celebrate Christmas with his family.

  Eva and Marcus have already left for Pittsburgh. Yep, she’s taking Marcus home to meet her family and I could tell before they left he wasn’t looking forward to it.

  “They are nice people,” I kept telling him. “I swear, they will love you to death.”

  “I just have this fear of fathers. It’s like somehow their radar goes off and they just know you’ve been screwing their innocent little girls. And then they get this attitude and this look on their faces like, I don’t know, like they want to fucking pummel any dude that’s slipped their daughter the big one, you know?”

  “Seriously Marcus,” Eva had said catching the tail end of the conversation. “My parents know I haven’t been innocent for a long, long time,” she laughed.

  Marcus shook his head as he watched her. “And that,” he asked, “was supposed to make me feel better?”

  They really are cute the way they interact. Perfect for one another.

  Eva and I agreed to exchange our Christmas presents when we get back. Now I’m in a dilemma as to how I should handle Christmas with Weston. I mean officially, we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend---in fact, I’m not quite sure what we are. I just know that I’m enjoying the hell out of our sex life and it’s too early to question anything else.

  He’s stopping by Big Daddy’s before he leaves for the airport and I suspect he’s bringing a gift. So, just to cover my barely clad ass, I do have something for him. I had his final grade from Lindquist matted and framed, and I made some of my homemade Christmas cookies, that are renowned for being the bomb, in special shapes. Yep, I bought some X-Rated cookie cutters especially for his batch. I don’t want him forgetting me, or what we do so well together, while he’s away. I put them in a tin with a card on top instructing him not to open until he’s in the privacy of his room.

  I also bought something for Carson. It’s a book of poetry by Chaucer. I think she will totally get it, at least I hope so, because I think Carson is every bit the old soul that I am purported to be.

  I’m working the bar, and rum and eggnog seem to be the selection of the day---go figure. I’ve just filled up a tray of Nog-Nuggets, which are shots of rum laced with eggnog when a familiar voice invades my thoughts.

  “So, you look sexily festive this afternoon.”

  Oh. My. God.

  It’s Stuart. And, by the looks of him, he’s been inside getting sloshed before even approaching the bar.

  “Stuart…” I stammer, taking in his disheveled appearance. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, I’ve been here since eleven when the place opened. I hoped you’d be working today. I know you worked last Christmas Eve, which put a damper on our plans. You are predictable if nothing else,” he slurred.

  It is only a little after two. He’s not a drinker, like at all, so I’m not sure I can gauge his degree of intoxication. And before I can reply, there’s another jolt.

  “Hey babe,” Weston says coming up to the vacant space at the bar. He leans over and gives me a kiss on the lips. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Oh---well well well! What is this?” Stuart damn near shouts. “Am I to believe my eyes here?”

  Weston turns quickly and he recognizes Stuart immediately. I can see the moment of confusion as he attempts to deal with the fact that my ex-boyfriend, who is undeniably inebriated, is sitting at the bar where I’m working.

  “Oh, Stewie,” Weston greets frostily, “I didn’t see you there.”

  Weston’s eyes immediately flicker to mine, and they’re ice cold.

  “Yes,” I say, “I only now saw that he w
as in here. Apparently Stuart has been here since Big Daddy’s opened.”

  “Damn straight I have!” Stuart bellowed. “I’ve come to bring Peyton to her senses.”

  Someone at the end of the bar is snapping his fingers for another drink. “Excuse me,” I say, heading down to the end of the bar to wait on him.

  When I return, Weston has taken the bar seat next to Stuart. I can tell it’s heated between the both of them.

  “Weston,” I say softly, hoping Stuart is too drunk to hear me, “I have something for you for Christmas. And something I want you to take for Carson.”

  “Isn’t that too cute!” Stuart says loudly and with obvious disdain. “I can see that you two have crossed the tutor/student line here. How totally…unprofessional.”

  “Listen you,” Weston starts, but he sees me shaking my head back and forth.

  “Weston, may I speak with you please?”

  “Have you fucked her yet, Weston? I take it you have not, otherwise I can’t imagine why you’re still sniffing around her.” He explodes into laughter and I can see Weston tense up.

  “Weston,” I repeat. “Please?”

  He follows me to the end of the bar where Max is now clued in to the drama unfolding.

  “What’s going on, Peyton?” he asks.

  “Max, my ex-boyfriend is here, and I think he’s had too much to drink. Maybe you could call him a cab?”

  “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, Peyton,” Max snarls. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take care of it.” He leaves to do so.

  I come around the bar to where Weston is standing, looking like he wants nothing more than to clean the floor with Stuart. “Hey,” I say quietly, “I’m just as surprised as you are that he’s here. Max will take care of it.”

  “It’s not that,” he snaps, and then immediately softens. “It’s just that…well, I don’t fucking appreciate what he said about you---about us.”