by Xavier Neal
“For the record, that chick was a bitch. Who the hell abandons her boyfriend when he needs her the most?” Brynley's fingers fold with mine. “I will say this. You shouldn't block yourself off from the entire female species because of one troll. Some of us are quite amazing.”
“You.” My correction is met with a slow smirk. “You are quite amazing. Tell me how it's possible I'm the one lucky enough to be having dinner with you.”
“You asked first.” She playfully winks. “Otherwise it would've been another night in front of the T.V. making fun of J.T. for his weird crush on the chick from Star Trek: Voyager.”
I try to bury the jealousy over their constant bonding. “How did I not know my best friend was a closet Treky?”
“That sentence could totally be misconstrued if it was misheard.”
The two of us exchange another laugh before I ask again, “So what happened to the last guy you dated?”
“Went on a date with or called my boyfriend because those are two very different things.”
I finally pick my fork up and begin to eat. “Both.”
“I went on a few dates about a month ago but he grew impatient when I wouldn't put out on the third one.” She shovels a couple more bites and then adds, “Not because there's anything wrong with that. He just...He wasn't doing it for me. And as for the last guy to be called my boyfriend? Turns out hooking up with your TA is a terrible idea.”
Not surprised but curious, I continue to prod on the subject as cautiously as possible. Over the remainder of the main course, she explains the ups and downs of studying Marine Biology in college while I describe a little bit of what I do for a living, including the various roles J.T. plays. To my surprise, the conversation effortlessly flows long past our completed meal.
“Marine Biologist masking around as a cigar girl. Gotta say that's not what I was expecting.”
She snickers. “Sorry to disappoint, I don't give lower cuddles for cash.”
“Trust me. Not a disappointment here.”
“You loathe that idea, don't you?”
I do. I loathe the idea of any man touching any part of her for cash or for free. The only hands I want on her are hands that have no right to be, even if she doesn't hold me accountable for the loss of her father.
Instead of replying to the remark, I state, “Fire and Ash is where we are hosting our first event next weekend. I'm sure J.T. will be grateful to see a familiar face.”
Brynley's mouth twitches like she wants to ask me something she already knows the answer to. While we've discussed J.T. representing me to avoid the ridicule along with the multitude of questions in regards to my parents’ death and my physical hiatus, she less than respectfully disagrees with the choice I made. All but flat out called me a coward over it. It's wild, but the more time I spend with her, the more I see the best parts of Lauren, which makes her sickness sting even harder.
“You didn't mention if you prefer studying fresh water or salt water life?”
Excitement fills her eyes once more. “Both. Fun fact? I have a soft spot for sharks, which can actually be found in both bodies of water.”
“Sharks? Of all the creatures in the ocean, you have a sweet spot for the one who has an entire horror franchise built around it?”
“Yeah! I've even got a tattoo of a hammerhead.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere I'll let you see if you're really good....” She doesn't leave room for a rebuttal. “Or really really bad...”
A heavy groan is grabbed over the comment.
Pleased with having me sexually twisted again, she continues, “And they're really not all that bad. They've got a little bit of a shitty rep for being too dangerous and too difficult to predict. I guess you could say we have some shit in common.”
Her comparison further stretches my smile.
“And how did I not know you had an aquarium on the property? How the hell did I manage to miss that?”
“Beats me. You've basically Sherlock Holmes-ed the rest of the manor even though you were instructed several times not to.”
“I wasn't snooping. I was giving myself a tour since my host opted out.” She gives me a playful wink to express no actual hard feelings. “Seriously though, you're gonna have to show me the tank.”
I smile wide. “Tonight?”
“We can go after dessert.” Brynley's hand falls to my thigh where it gently strokes. Her bottom lip briefly slips between her teeth before she asks, “What exactly is for dessert, Wes?”
Fuck. Me. I wish it was her. “Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?”
“Yeah there's an assortment of ice cream, gelato, frozen yogurt.” The words continue to tumble while I watch her face lean towards mine. “Cakes...cookies...pies...”
“Am I allowed to order off menu?”
Her touch slightly slides up and I find the urge to moan harder to stifle. Taking her the way she's implying would be wrong. So what if she can look me in my mismatched eyes and not shudder? So what if we can do more than hold a conversation together? So what if every time I'm near her the rest of the world ceases to fucking exist? It doesn't change the fact I'm still physically hideous or that she deserves someone who can look at himself in a mirror without being haunted by the ghosts of his past.
“Wes...” The whisper of my name attempts to sway my better judgment.
I drop my attention to the empty place setting in front of me. “You should head to bed, Bryn. We can check out the aquarium tomorrow.”
There's a short pause before she flatly questions, “Is that what you really want?”
No. Absolutely fucking not. “It's what's best.”
She gives my leg one last touch, rises to her feet, and prepares to exit. Before she does, her warm lips gently linger beside my ear. “If you want me, you're going to have to grow a pair and come get me.”
The comment shifts my face just enough to gently brush the corner of her mouth. Instantly, a rapacious hunger rips through me and I forcefully press my lips to hers. My hand wraps around the back of her neck as our tongues tightly tangle. Years of compressed composure combusts with celerity, leaving a brazen beast in its wake. Brynley's body attempts to pull away as if testing to see if the timid man who hid behind a hood has actually vanished. My hands fall to her hips where they harshly yank until she's straddling my lap. Our desperation to devour one another deepens. The heedlessness of our tongues seems to constantly increase. Within minutes we're drowning, cares about anything else nonexistent. Her body grinds against mine and groan after groan reverberates around the room. Without deliberation, I slide my hands up her thick thighs, loving the way my touch tenses her in an erotic nature.
The moment my hands cup her ass her lips fall from mine to release a rhapsodic moan.
I don't bother offering to stop. That's not what she wants. Fuck want. That's not what she needs. My hands begin an unhurried exploration along her hips, toying with the thin string material along the way. The moment my fingertips graze the outside of the soaking wet material nestled between her thighs, she arches towards me silently begging for more. For me. I slip my fingers past the boundary and bury them deep inside her tight pussy. Her muscles flex with frisson around the invasion as her breath hitches. The vision alone has my balls constricting, already anxious for a release. Brynley reconnects our mouths while I use my free hand to anchor her body to mine. Pressure pendulates between my tongue and pumping fingers. She rocks on top, mimicking what it would be like to balls deep. To be submerged in unwavering pleasure. The action pushes me to the point I can barely stop myself from making the fantasy a reality.
Her lips falter again and my name feels like a paean, “Wes....”
All of a sudden, Brynley's muscles pulsate around me while I attempt to capture her cries with my mouth. She thrashes and withers voraciously causing my cock to beg harder for freedom.
When her heaving body finally begins to settle, I remove my fingers and soften my kiss until
she collapses against me in a fit of exhaustion. Satisfaction swarms with disbelief. Shit....Did that really just happen? Should that have just happened?
Brynley's fingertips stroke my sides as she purrs, “So, my bed or yours for the next round?”
The invitation demolishes any doubt building only seconds ago. My arms flex around and confidently reply, “Yours.”
“Holy shit! This is amazing!” I squeak looking around the entire room. Shock and awe flood every vein in my body. “You're fucking kidding me! How did I not find this place sooner?”
Wes slightly chuckles.
“Seriously? Let's just move my shit into here. I can sleep on that couch.” I point to one of the tan couches in the middle of the room where a seating arrangement has been designed. “Or that one. Or hell that one.”
He laughs again. “Personally? I prefer you in the main part of the manor. Closer to me.”
Turning over my shoulder, I give him a sultry look and badinage, “You just want easy access to blowjobs.” His face is immediately invaded by a deep crimson color, which makes me giggle. “I love making you look like that.”
Wes does his best to momentarily hide the blush.
I honestly don't give a shit about the scars on his body. In fact, the detailed way they're sporadically woven into his flesh feels more like tattoos than marks left behind from burns, glass, and metal fragments. While he instinctively flinches away in fear of how grotesque he assumes I find him, I've done everything I can over the past four days to challenge the behavior including convincing him to skinny dip with me in the middle of the afternoon. That one wasn't easy. It was even harder to have him get over it after we were almost caught by Penny during our naked trek back to his room for a shared shower.
As I make my way through the enormous room, I make note of the caramel colored marble floors and beige colored couches that seem to create a warm contrast. In the dead center of the room is a perfect circle of seating opportunities centered around an odd shaped glass coffee table. Around the rest of the room are sets of nook tables or paired lounges intimately pushed together.
“Do you want a tour or would you like to just continue gawking all on your own?”
The comment shifts my attention towards him. “Pretty sure I could tell you more about the shit in this room than you could me.”
He folds his arms firmly across his black t-shirt covered chest. “Oh yeah? Go ahead. Impress me.”
Liking where this is headed, I let my grin grow wild. “I will. And every time I do, you drop a piece of a clothing.”
The look of apprehension is instant. “You want me to get naked?”
My hands wrap around the back of the couch. “I really like you naked.”
Slowly, Wes shakes his head, clearly conflicted with the idea of being completely exposed. Unlike when we went skinny dipping or fool around in my bed, there's nothing to hide under. Nothing to block me from observing every pierced penance he wears like some sort of goddamn martyr. It's not like I don't understand the reluctance of wanting to share it with anyone, but if you're comfortable enough putting your cock in my mouth, I feel being naked in front of me is a walk in the park.
“Bryn...”
“It's just the two of us in here and a shit ton of fresh water creatures, right?”
He hesitates yet still nods.
“Then lock the door, disable the cameras, and have some fun.”
For a few moments, no one moves. Our standoff is one I'm finding to be rather common between us. I'm not very big on the idea of compromising any more than I am following rules I didn't agree to. Wes is even worse at letting someone else have control over his decision making, not due to some sick desire to dominate the world, but fear of letting someone else's choices hurt the ones he cares about again. After talking to him just a little more about the chick he was trying to fly home for, I learned she laid it on pretty thick and heavy using low blows until he felt like he was the biggest asshole in the world for not being at her side. Guilt is a strong manipulation tactic. Another one I've learned to counter with, knowing the difference between when it's a good time to put me first and a better time for someone else.
Wes takes a couple steps backward and locks the door. “How'd you know all the tanks were fresh water?”
“Several of the fish I spotted at first glance.” I grin. “Won't make you strip for that one though. We'll call it a freebie.” As soon as he starts to smile, I wave my hand at him. “Now turn off the cameras so we can play.”
It only takes a minute for him to pull out his phone, push a few buttons, and declare, “Done. Alerted Luther in security that I personally turned off the camera and that there's no need to be alarmed.”
“Good,” I coo and stroll towards the tank closest to him. “So who was the fish enthusiast, your mom or dad?”
“Neither,” he corrects, joining by my side. “Mom had a fondness for rare and exotic things. Jewelry. Food. Animals. Fish sort of just slipped right on in with the others.”
“Animals?”
“Yeah. Most of them are gone now. They were either given to nature habitats alongside a generous donation to make sure they were kept comfortable or were too old and passed away of natural causes.”
“Not a fan of keeping the wilderness alive?”
Wes gives me a short shrug. “Wasn't my thing. Neither are the fish but I can at least understand their soothing nature. Besides Clark has a fondness for them. Recently, Penny has begun to spend more time down here as well. She actually had me order a couple of new additions.”
“And you do that?” I question with a warm smile. “Just pay out the ass on a whim for new fish if it makes your staff happy?”
His expression hardens. “They're more than just staff to me, Bryn. They're all the family I have left.” A small sigh escapes and he adds, “So yeah. I guess you could say I'll spend out the ass to bring a little joy to their lives.”
After his declaration, awkward silence tries to suffocate the room, but I battle it with, “You ready to lose your shirt?”
“Try me.”
“See your pretty Electric Blue Lobster?”
“Yeah.”
“Not actually a lobster, but a crayfish. Lobsters aren't freshwater creatures. Crayfish are. The Electric Blue crayfish are also the only crayfish species endemic to the state of Florida.”
His mouth cracks open.
“That's right. I may have skipped study group to piss off a sorority girl or two by proving I was better at chugging beer than they were at cock, but make no mistake, I know my shit.” Taking a step towards him, I wink. “Toss the shirt.”
Lost in bafflement, Wes simply shakes his head, tries to stifle his chuckle, and ditches the article of clothing.
I take a moment to drink in the diamond cut muscles that I love to curl my fingers around. To the tiny bit of the world Wes exposes himself to, he's such a restrained and even tempered person that it only makes my determination to break those chains free stronger. The minute the door is shut to my bedroom all it takes is one overheated touch to unleash the starved savage he keeps shackled deep inside. That Wes is truly powerful. Fearless. Intoxicating. Someday I hope that's the man he allows himself to be where the world can watch.
His arms attempt to shelter himself from my vision as he quietly grumps, “You know I hate it when you stare.”
“Go to the gym less,” I playfully snip.
It's clear he's forcing himself not to smirk.
With another wink, I move along towards a different part of the tank admiring the beautiful array of colorful fish, particularly the ones trying to travel alongside me. When the wall ends, so does that tank and my attention is redirected to the one home to one of the fish I find oddly adorable.
“You've got a Tiger Oscar!” My hands fly to the glass before I realize I probably shouldn't make more work for others.
Merely seconds after I remove my touch, Wes' hand curls around my side, and he encourages, “It's alright to touch the
glass. J.T. does it all the time.”
With a smile, I toss my head the direction of the fish I pointed out. “Oscars can be rather aggressive fish.”
“That I knew.”