Sex Machine: A Standalone Contemporary Romance

by Force,Marie

  My eyes are heavy from the night without sleep. I should get up and go home. Spending the night isn’t part of my program, but I decide a few more minutes won’t hurt anything.

  Chapter Seven

  The next thing I know, it’s morning. Sunshine is streaming through the blinds in Honey’s bedroom, and the smell of coffee and bacon makes my stomach growl. Fuck. I spent the night. I check my watch and see that it’s after ten o’clock. I can’t recall the last time I slept that late.

  Wait… Yes, I can. A poignant memory resurfaces so suddenly it takes my breath away. My mom waking me up at noon to tell me that Jordan was trying to call me to come get her to swim in our pool. Her car was in the shop, and I’d been driving her around all week. Groaning at being awakened, I dragged myself out of bed to go get her and brought her to my house to swim.

  All these years later, I can still remember the white bikini she wore and how it offset her dark tan. Jordan’s mother was Mexican and had passed down her dark hair and skin to her gorgeous daughter.

  My mom made us lunch and then left for a hair appointment. The second her car pulled out of the driveway, we ran for my room, where we spent the next two hours making love before I took her home to babysit her younger brothers. We were hit by an eighteen-wheeler four blocks from my house and six blocks from hers. I never saw it coming.

  The memory sears me, making me ache all over and reminding me why I don’t do sleepovers, why I don’t get involved, why I don’t do commitment or anything other than power through each day to lose myself to the blessed oblivion that only sleep usually provides, until the nightmares intrude to plunge me back into the darkness.

  Running from the past and the pain and the grief is exhausting, but I’ve yet to figure out a better coping mechanism. Staring up at Honey’s ceiling, I run my fingers through my hair, wishing there was a way to scrub certain memories from my brain. It’s ironic that I have no memory of the accident or the immediate aftermath, but I vividly remember every minute I spent with Jordan. I remember the sweet joy of first love and the horrific, excruciating agony of being told she was gone.

  I shudder at the memory of my parents standing by my hospital bed, both of them in tears as they broke the news to me.

  And why the fuck am I thinking about this shit now? Angry with myself, I get up and help myself to Honey’s shower. I get dressed with the intention of leaving as fast as I can without being rude.

  In the kitchen, Honey is wearing a T-shirt that just covers her bare ass. Her hair is up in a bun, and she’s singing a country song I don’t recognize in the pure sweet voice that takes me back to her years as a singer in a local band. Standing watch over a pan on the stove, she’s so damned cute and sexy at the same time. A strange feeling twists inside me, filling me with yearning. For what, I couldn’t say, but whatever it is involves her.

  “Hungry?” she asks when she spies me watching her.

  “I could eat.” Wait, where did that come from? I was going to leave. “It smells good.”

  She gestures to the barstools at the counter. “Have a seat.”

  I’ll leave after breakfast. She went to all this trouble. It’d be lame of me not to eat the food she cooked, and I am hungry. The eggs are light and fluffy, the bacon perfectly cooked and the toast already buttered for me. She slides a mug of coffee fixed just the way I like it—cream and two sugars—across the counter before she joins me on the next stool.

  She’s given me twice as much as she served herself. The metaphor isn’t lost on me. She came to me the other night wanting to be with a man who knew how to please a woman. But could she possibly know what her sweet affection has done for me?

  Suddenly, I don’t want this to be over, but how do I tell her that? I want more—of her, of the affection, of the amazing sex and the tenderness. Panic wells in my chest, and I’m breathless with longing. Blood pumps furiously through my reawakened heart like it’s a deadened limb coming back to life. I feel something for Honey, something I haven’t felt for anyone since Jordan died.

  But how do I change the rules that I set? I puzzle over this quandary while I enjoy a second cup of coffee. “I have to drive out to a job site this afternoon.” The words pour forth before I take the time to consider the potential consequences. “You feel like taking a ride?”

  She looks over at me, clearly surprised by my offer. “Sure.” To her credit, she doesn’t remind me that I told her, just last night, that whatever this is between us would be over today.

  I’m enormously relieved by her one-word answer—and to know there will be more time with her. How much? I can’t say, but right now, I’ll settle for more.

  He was quiet at breakfast, so his invitation takes me by surprise. I assumed he was trying to figure out a way to bow out gracefully. Instead, he was apparently thinking about asking me to go somewhere with him.

  Interesting. It takes some effort on my part not to show him he’s shocked me. I sense I need to tread lightly with him or scare him off. After spending the last two nights with him, I don’t want to scare him off. That’s the opposite of what I want, but I know how he rolls, so I’m trying not to overthink his simple invitation, even though I know there’s nothing “simple” about it.

  “Let me just grab a quick shower,” I say after I finish loading the dishwasher.

  Blake comes up behind me, wraps his arms around me and kisses the curve of my neck. That’s all it takes to make me wish he’d invited me back to bed rather than to his job site. “Thank you for breakfast. It was really good.”

  “Oh. You’re welcome.”

  His hands move from my hips under my T-shirt to my ribs and up to cup my breasts.

  My nipples immediately tighten, and the ache begins anew in my pussy. I should be too sore after what we did last night to want more, but that doesn’t stop me from pushing my ass back against his hard cock.

  He gasps and pinches my nipples.

  “Are you in a huge rush to get to your job site?”

  “I’ve got all day, darlin’.”

  “Could we, I mean, if you want to, that is—” I let out an inelegant squeak when he lifts me right off my feet and walks us into my bedroom, putting me face down on my bed. “Blake—”

  “Like this,” he says gruffly as he unzips his fly. He tests my readiness by running the tip of his cock through the dampness between my legs. “God, you’re always so wet for me, Honeydew.”

  I raise my hips, hoping to encourage him to get on with it. He doesn’t need much encouragement.

  “How do you want it? Hard and fast or slow and sweet?”

  No man has ever asked me that before, and I’m struck by the realization that I’m slowly becoming addicted to the way this man makes love or fucks or whatever it is we’re doing here.

  “Honey?”

  “Hard and fast.”

  “Are you sore?”

  “A little.”

  “Then let’s start out slow and easy.”

  True to his word, he enters me from behind in slow but steady thrusts, giving my body time to stretch to accommodate him. He’s so big and so hard that the burn is inevitable, but it quickly gives way to pleasure. Grasping my hips, he pumps into me as my nipples rub against the quilt on my bed. I fist a handful of the quilt because I need to hold on to something when he picks up the pace.

  I cry out in surprise when an orgasm hits me while he’s deep inside me.

  “Ah fuck,” he groans, surging into me as he comes. “You make me lose all control when that tight pussy clamps down on me.”

  “You make me lose control with that huge cock of yours.”

  He grunts out a laugh. “Glad you like it.”

  “I’m quickly becoming addicted to it.” I no sooner say that than I wish I could take it back. He doesn’t want me addicted to any part of him.

  “I can live with that,” he whispers, biting down on my earlobe before withdrawing from me. He gives me a playful swat on the butt. “You got me all dirty again, so let’s hit the sh
ower and head out before I forget I’ve got stuff to do and drag you back to bed.”

  Am I allowed to say that I wouldn’t object to being dragged back to bed by him? Maybe I’ll save that for another time, if there is one.

  He joins me in the shower and seems to take great pleasure in thoroughly washing every inch of me with lemongrass soap.

  “I love the smell of that soap,” he says.

  “I get it from Marfa Brands in town.”

  “Good stuff.”

  “I’ll get you some.”

  I’m once again fully aroused as if I didn’t just have a huge orgasm ten minutes ago. How does he do that? I hook my arms around his neck and draw him into a kiss that quickly escalates. I’m never insatiable like this with men. Usually, I’m a one-and-done kind of gal, but Blake is showing me a side to myself I didn’t know existed. And when he lifts me off my feet and once again impales me on that huge cock, I realize he’s ruining me for all other men one crazy fuck at a time.

  And this is absolutely crazy! We just did it, and now we’re doing it again. I’m powerless to resist him as he controls my slow slide down his rigid shaft.

  “Blake.” I’m breathless with desire and full to the brim with his hard, throbbing flesh.

  A shudder travels through his entire body. “Hold on tight. This is gonna be really, really fast.”

  He’s completely unhinged as he presses me against the tile wall in the shower and goes at me like he hasn’t gotten laid in a year. All I can do is hold on tight and enjoy the ride. His fingers dig into my ass cheeks, which he holds open to better the angle.

  “Honey… God, Honey… So good.” His face tightens from the strain, and when his thumb finds my clit, I explode.

  He comes with a roar that drowns out the sound of the shower. And then he’s kissing me again, like a madman or maybe like a man who is finally feeling something other than grief for the first time in years.

  “Holy hell,” he mutters. “I’ve never had sex without condoms with anyone else.”

  “You like it?”

  “If I liked it any more, I’d be dead.”

  I might be giving myself too much credit, but he seems different after the time we’ve spent together, lighter maybe, and I begin to hope—

  No. Just no. Remember what Lauren told you. You’re not going to find your home with him. That may still be true, but whatever this is with him, it feels pretty damned good for right now.

  It’s after noon by the time we finally wear ourselves out and remember that we were going to drive out to one of his job sites. My brain is completely scrambled from orgasms. I wanted to know what the big deal was, and now I know. I get why sex makes people do crazy things like while away an entire Sunday morning in bed, in the shower and back in bed.

  My body is still humming from the workout as I sit in the passenger seat of Blake’s truck, singing along to “Free Bird” on the classic-rock station he has on the radio.

  “God, this song,” I say. “Takes me right back to high school and the band.”

  “You guys were good.”

  “Those were some fun times.”

  “You ever talk about getting back together?”

  “Once in a while there’ll be a group text, usually around the holidays when everyone is home, but we never seem to make it happen.”

  “I thought you’d do something with your singing.”

  “So did I.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  It’s hard for me to talk about that time in my life, when I traded my dream for the woman who gave me everything. “You may not remember, but I was a voice major at Juilliard in New York when Gran got sick.” I shrug, as if the memories of that time aren’t still as painful now as they were then. “I left school to come home to care for her, and I never went back.”

  “How come?”

  I choose my words carefully. “Losing her was a very tough thing for me. It messed me up for a long time.”

  “She was all you had.”

  “Yeah.” She’s been gone ten long years, and I’ve yet to feel as at home with anyone as I did with her. Thank God for Lauren, Julie and Scarlett and the rest of my friends who do their best to fill the void, but nothing and no one can ever replace the person who loved me best of all.

  We drive past El Cosmico, a Marfa institution. The vast eclectic campground offers guests everything from “luxurious” Airstream campers to Sioux-style teepees to Mongolian yurts.

  “The campground is busy this weekend,” Blake comments.

  “There’s a festival at the Chinati,” I say, referring to one of the two foundations in town started to maintain the legacy of the late Marfa artist Donald Judd. He brought the arts culture to the town in the 1970s with his installations and non-museums where art was permanently displayed rather than cycled in and out.

  Judd’s patronage of the arts in our town is a big reason my Desert Babies business has done so well. People come from all over to our isolated little town in West Texas to experience the art culture. In addition to my booming Desert Babies business, I sell a lot of desert landscapes, and my photographs of the Marfa Mystery Lights are some of my bestsellers.

  “How’d you go from majoring in vocal performance to running a photography studio?” Blake asks.

  “That evolved from what had been a hobby in school. When Gran was sick, I’d take advantage of every chance I got to get out when her friends would come stay with her. I’d drive out to the desert and take pictures for hours. It was the only way I could relax. By the time she died, I had a lot of work ready to go. I used some of the money she left me to lease the studio, and then almost ten years went by without me realizing it.”

  “Life happens.”

  “Something like that.”

  “I did sort of the same thing when I finally made it to college.”

  He didn’t have to tell me about the football scholarship to Texas A&M he ended up turning down because of the injuries he suffered in the accident that killed Jordan. The whole town knew about that.

  “The minute they sprang me from the rehab hospital, I did a semester at UT in Austin, found out college wasn’t for me and went to work for my uncle. I bought him out when he was ready to retire. Like you said, ten years went by, and here I am.”

  “Are you where you want to be?”

  “I guess. I can’t imagine doing any other kind of work or being stuck in an office all day.” He shudders. “That would kill me. Garrett already wants to kill me half the time because I suck at keeping track of receipts and expenses and other crap that gets his panties in a wad.”

  “Lauren wants to date him.” The words are out of my mouth before I take even one second to contemplate the magnitude of what I’m doing.

  Blake glances over at me. “Is that so?”

  I’m struck by how gorgeous he is, with a sprinkling of golden whiskers on his jaw, lips swollen from kissing me and eyes as blue as the endless Texas sky. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Speaking of someone wanting to kill me.”

  “Might be info he’d like to have.”

  “As long as my name isn’t attached to that info.”

  “Your secret is safe with me, darlin’.”

  I shouldn’t want to swoon at him calling me that. Texas men call all the females in their lives darlin’. But coming from him to me… Well, it’s a good thing I’m sitting down. “Where’re we going anyway?” We’re on 67 South, heading toward Presidio.

  “Just a little further.” That’s all he says, so I settle in to watch the world go by in our remote corner of the state. We’re hours from El Paso to the northwest, Austin to the east and San Antonio to the southeast. There’re not a lot of places we can go in this direction without ending up at the Mexican border.

  Most of the time, I love the isolation of Marfa. I love my small town with the artsy flair and the tourists who come for music festivals and art events that happen throughout the year. There’s always something going on in town, which keeps it from getting
boring.

  The song “Sex Machine” by James Brown comes on the radio, and I lose it laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Blake asks, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “This song.” I fan my face and dab at the laughter tears in my eyes.

  “What about it?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Don’t worry. I already know that’s what they say about me.”

  I’m horrified. “How do you know that?”

  He shrugs. “I’ve always known. It’s no big deal. Hell, it’s true.”

  I’m oddly, strangely hurt for him. “It’s not true,” I say quietly.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “There’s so much more to you than that.”

  “Not that much more. Not anymore.”

  Not since he lost Jordan. That’s the part he leaves unspoken. Nothing has been the same since he lost her, but he isn’t the unfeeling robot he’s made himself out to be. I saw cracks in his armor during the two nights I spent with him. I saw it in his expression when he appeared at my door last night, not seeming to understand why he was there or what he wanted from me.

  I witnessed his need to connect to another human being. I understand that need better than most ever could. For reasons I can’t explain even to myself, I reach across the bench seat for his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he curls his fingers around mine, and we ride that way for another five miles before he takes a right-hand turn onto a dirt road that ends at a construction site. Or rather, a renovation site. Something about the place is familiar to me.

  “Where are we?”

  “Jordan’s grandparents’ farm.”

  “Oh, I remember! There’s a swimming hole on the property.”

  “Yes.”

  “What’re you doing out here?”

  “I bought it about a year ago, and I work on it whenever I can.”

  For some reason, this strikes me as unreasonably sad. I clear the emotion from my throat. “What do you plan to do with it when it’s finished?”