All I Want is You_A Second Chance Romance

by Carter Blake

“No shit, Sherlock.” She laughs, slapping me on my chest playfully.

  I really fucking love that sound.

  Leading her out the room, through the lobby, and down the path leading to the beach, I find myself amazed at how at peace I feel when I’m around her. The stress inspired by Tinseltown gossip haunting me on vacation is now fading into nothing.

  “Oh, look! How gorgeous!” she says, pointing toward a wedding ceremony on the beach. “How picture-perfect is that? It’s like the peak of golden hour, too. The colors of the sunset make it look so romantic.”

  She’s beaming from head to toe, trying to cover it up with some film-student nonsense but radiating happiness as she watches the couple say I do.

  “Beautiful beginning for a lifetime of shackles,” I quip back. “I should run over there and give them both a card for my divorce lawyer friend. He always needs more business.”

  Macy freezes, and her hand squeezes my arm. She looks at me, tightly smiling.

  In a flash, her demeanor changes, and the springtime warmth she once had turns wintry.

  I clear my throat, not sure what to do at this point. It was just a joke, after all.

  Fortunately, the restaurant isn’t too far away. And upon reaching it, we’re greeted by live entertainment—hula dancers and an emcee on stage. It looks fucking fun.

  Thank God. Hopefully, it’ll help ease her mind like she eased mine.

  Macy lets go of my arm and judges the space. “This isn’t what I had in mind.”

  I laugh, unsurprised. “Well, I did say it had something to do with a beach.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I suppose you did. I just didn’t expect all this to be a part of a beach.”

  “Never underestimate me.”

  A hostess greets and seats us at a table not too far from the stage. It’s a perfect view, allowing us to see everything.

  It all starts to feel like a dream again as music fills the air, and I do my best to order a bottle of champagne for the two of us over the loud music, and we try to place our orders from a frix prix menu over the thunderous sound of steel drums.

  The atmosphere’s perfect. And we have something to celebrate—an extraordinary faux honeymoon that’s just getting warmed up.

  Luckily, there’s a break in the music just as the waiter returns with our champagne. He uncorks the bottle—recklessly toward the sea—and fills our flutes.

  “Cheers, to a great day and an even better night.”

  She smiles and clinks her glass with mine. “Cheers!”

  “Now it’s time for our Hula-Hoop challenge!” the emcee shouts to the crowd, destroying our moment. “Who out there has the best hips and knows how to use them? The winner gets the pride in knowing that they do….and being the best of the best in shaking ’em! Anyone? Any volunteers?”

  There are plenty of enthusiastic volunteers from the crowd, waving their hands in the air, shouting, jumping up and down...

  Without consulting her, I put my hand up and look to Macy, giving her a heated glare and smug wink.

  This should be fun.

  “This woman right here knows what she’s doing!” I yell at the emcee, pointing at Macy.

  He looks at me and then waves her over.

  Macy laughs and shrugs her shoulders. I expected a tongue-lashing, but surprisingly, I’m met with a brazen woman and an agreed-upon challenge.

  She whispers in my ear as she makes her way to the stage. “Watch me.”

  That I’ll do.

  As she takes to the stage and to dancing like some sort of world-renowned hula fucking superstar, I can’t take my eyes off her.

  And those damn hips—damn!

  She circles them right on pace. Slowly, widely to start, and then she increases her speed, balancing the hoop as it slides up and down her body.

  She’s a fucking pro.

  It’s mesmerizing. I feel almost entranced by her hips, putting me under some crazy-ass spell.

  I feel like I’m in a dream. One of the best dreams I ever had.

  Her body fluidly moves, making her tits bounce ever so slightly when she jerks her hips from one side to the other.

  Now I’m thankful for her outfit.

  I scream out her name, cheering her on. She eyes me as I do, giving me a coy but teasing grin. Fuck!

  One by one, she beats her competitors. It’s not too long after she crushes them all.

  I applaud her for her triumph, and the losers for their effort.

  But, fuck yeah! Macy’s the fucking winner.

  This is not just some sweet dream.

  Macy fucking won, and she’s my real life...

  I mean, my fake wife.

  Fucking Freudian slip.

  Sitting back down, out of breath, she smiles at me and drinks some of her champagne.

  “How in the hell did you get so fucking good at Hula-Hooping?” I’m not hiding my shock at all.

  “I’ve had some practice,” she says casually, with a trace of arrogance.

  “Practice my ass. Those are some expert-level skills. Are you secretly a professional Hula-Hooper on the side?”

  There’s something in the way she laughs that tells me she’s about to share an anecdote, and I lean forward to give her my un-fucking-divided attention.

  “Well, when I was a kid, I spent a lot of time Hula-Hooping. It was one of my favorite hobbies, if you can call Hula-Hooping a hobby. I loved being able to challenge my friends at recess, showing them up every chance I got.” She smirks, recalling the memory.

  I’m listen intently to her story, captivated by her.

  “I see, you are a professional Hula-Hooper then.”

  “I guess so…but it’s dancing I really love. I taught myself how to dance. I was relentless. I would practice all throughout the night. I would also read about the techniques and the various moves for all of the styles—jazz, tap, ballet, hip hop…you name it.”

  I hone in on the sparkle in her eyes that grows with each word about dancing.

  She’s so fucking charming. It almost hurts how charming she is. It’s the second time tonight that I’ve find myself enamored by her.

  Her body.

  Her mind.

  Her passion.

  Fuck, I shouldn’t be feeling this way.

  Not with a fling, and a vacation fling at that.

  I need to fucking calm myself down.

  “So why was the reporter so interested in Anna Bell? Is she that big of deal to your new project?”

  Fuck, that’s out of the fucking blue. So much so that I freeze up, unable to answer at all. “Who knows.” I shrug, hoping that’s the end of it.

  Hopefully forever.

  But it’s not, of course.

  Macy picks up a second later, like she’s got her own freelance job with Variety, and she chose this moment to suddenly start peppering her subject with questions at such a rapid fucking pace with such devoted fucking interest that it’s unnerving.

  Macy acting like a fucking paparazzo has my instinct for dealing with this shit switched on, which means I at least tune out while grunting near non-verbal responses to questions about my dating history, and if I ever dated her, and who she’s dating now, and what our history is outside of dating.

  My fears are confirmed.

  Jealousy has entered the picture, which means I need to leave it.

  To nip it in the bud.

  It’s just a fling, after all.

  But goddamn it. I can’t even get myself to stand up, and I can barely stop myself from answering all these questions as I hear the pleading tone in Macy’s voice.

  But I don’t answer, and eventually she gives up, just shutting down completely.

  Fuck. That’s really not what I wanted.

  I wanted this evening to continue like it was, before it was derailed.

  Listening to Macy talk about herself.

  Fortunately, getting most people to talk about themselves isn’t too much of a challenge.

  “Enough about me and work. What
else does a brilliant, amazing hula champion fucking dance vixen do for fun?”

  Her smile, though mild, gradually returns, and I see her body relax.

  Fuck, that was close.

  I could get pissed about this toxic fucking industry continuing to follow me wherever I go, but I think I’ll forget about all that shit and enjoy Macy’s company instead.

  Macy

  I still wonder about that actress and what she means to his project….and him.

  I know I shouldn’t care, and I probably shouldn’t ask.

  But I do.

  It’s a natural thing to be…curious. After spending so much time with a person, you’re bound to show a slight interest in who they are. At least I would assume, especially after fucking them.

  At dinner, I tried not to act too eager for information. I’m a film student, after all…and he does work in film. Again, it’s a natural inclination of mine to know the workings of the film industry—scandals and all.

  I should’ve known he’d shut me down. Like every other A-list celebrity caught in a scandal or lie, they answer in circles, avoiding the questions and answering through layers of bullshit.

  But I’m happy with his playful diversion.

  Once we finish dinner, I take his arm and walk with him back to the room.

  “I had fun,” I say, squeezing his biceps.

  Releasing my hold, I caress his arm, stroking it, appreciating his warmth and the definition of his muscles.

  Chills run down my spine, and heat spreads through every part of me.

  God, he feels good.

  He stops walking in the middle of the path and faces me.

  He lifts my chin up with his hand.

  Oh…

  “I had a fucking amazing time, Macy.” He stares at me, and then down at my lips.

  Before I could close my eyes and reach for him, his lips crash into mine.

  I expected a sweet peck, like a kiss at the end of a date, usually in front of a front door. Sweet and innocent.

  But that’s not Aaron. He’s the farthest thing from innocent or sweet.

  The kiss quickly turns hot, wet, and passionate.

  My body’s set blaze as our tongues intertwine, playing with each other.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, balancing on the balls of my feet.

  His hands move down to my ass and squeezes it tightly, pulling me closer to him.

  I feel his hard cock against my stomach, and I whimper. My cunt’s aching at its proximity.

  He pulls away, leaving me reeling. I blink at him, trying to focus my eyes.

  What the fuck? Why did he stop?

  He smirks at me, his expression dark and heated.

  Ugh, that look alone makes me needy.

  I barely register the fact that we’re still in public, on a sidewalk almost everyone takes to the beach from the resort. Oops.

  I try to suppress a laugh, realizing that I almost just fucked this man in front of everyone. But I’m not even embarrassed.

  Admittedly, I wanted it. I knew what I was doing when I touched his arm. I’ve wanted it since we left for dinner.

  Aaron grabs my hand and hurriedly leads me to an enclosed, private cabana by a pool.

  There’s nothing much to it, other than a glass table and a couch. But I can see where his head is at.

  It’s closed off and has a few sturdy pieces of furniture.

  Perfect.

  Without a word, I jump on him, grasping onto his shoulders and wrapping my legs around his waist.

  He grabs my ass, and our lips and eyes meet.

  For the moment, at least, we’re on the same wavelength. And we both know what’s coming next.

  I feel his mouth smile beneath mine, and I mimic him.

  “What do you think?” he asks in a low, sensuous voice. I get wet from his voice alone.

  “Yes, it’s perfect.”

  I feel his cock grow even harder and larger against me, and I instinctively grind on him, tightening my legs around him.

  He groans—a deep, feral groan that makes my cunt tingle.

  His lips fall to my neck, tenderly kissing, sucking, and nipping at my heated skin.

  He finds a sensitive spot in the crux of my neck, and I squirm underneath him. Wild vibrations flood my senses.

  His hands glide up my back and underneath my dress, and he desperately grabs at my exposed skin.

  I drop my head back and moan, releasing some built-up pressure.

  Gradually, he moves us to the couch, gently lowering me down on it.

  It forces us apart for a brief moment, but he stays above me the whole time, eyeing me up and down like I’m his prey.

  Staring at my mouth, he forcefully and frantically kisses me.

  It feels like we’re setting each other on fucking fire.

  I keep up with his boundless passion, having to catch my breath every few seconds.

  We’re desperate for each other, and the friction between us is unyielding and powerful.

  I rip off his shirt, buttons flying across the cabana, and I don’t fucking care.

  His eyes are focused on me with unquenchable intensity as he begins unbuttoning his jeans.

  I take advantage of this position—him straddling me shirtless. I reach up and run my hands down his chest, something I’ve been wanting to do since I saw him naked in the bathroom.

  I kiss every crevice I can find, relishing in his exquisite body.

  I make my way down to his boxers, licking its edge, I stare at him as I do, enjoying every bit of the torture I’m inflicting.

  He looks at me, desire filling his eyes. He licks his lips.

  “I need you,” he says roughly.

  Yes, I like the sound of that. I lie down and slowly pull my lace thong down, forcing eye contact.

  My fingers continue to explore around my cunt, taunting him.

  “Fucking hell, Macy.”

  He takes my hands and pins them above my head, leaving my naked and exposed body aching and needy.

  “This isn’t going to be sweet. I’m going to fuck you hard. I know I won’t be able to control myself,” he grunts in my ear.

  I close my eyes, moaning, excited for his promise. “Fuck me, Aaron.”

  I’ll fucking beg. I don’t care. I need some damn release.

  With one hand holding my arms, the other explores my body: teasing my nipples, grazing my stomach, and landing near my cunt. He massages around the apex of my thighs, and I feel the buildup of unstoppable pleasure.

  I’m already so sensitive and dripping wet, and his maniacal and torturous touch is driving me wild.

  I moan out of pleasure and frustration. “Aaron, please!”

  His fingers find my clit and follow the same rhythm of that maddening massage. “Is this what you want?”

  “Yes, no. I want you. In me.”

  “As you wish.” He winks.

  I smile, but I’m too horny to care that he just quoted Princess fucking Bride.

  Cupping my ass, he positions my cunt where he needs it.

  “Ready, baby?”

  “Yes,” I say, still shaking from him touching my clit.

  He fills me, grinding into me slowly at first, stretching me around his thick cock.

  “Ah, fuck.” I’m dripping wet, but still a little sore.

  “Sore?”

  “Very. But I don’t care. Fuck me, Aaron.”

  He smirks and pulls out of me achingly slow. But then he pounds into me, rough and hard. Just like he promised.

  “Fuck, yes.”

  He goes deeper, so much deeper than before, hitting my spot each time.

  I wrap my legs around him and grind up against him, meeting him at every thrust.

  Sweat glistens his chest, forehead, and arms, lubing the friction between our bodies.

  “You feel fucking amazing, baby,” he grunts.

  “Harder,” I say.

  He stops, flips me over onto my stomach, and thrusts into me, hard.

  “Ho
ld on to the cushion.”

  Fuck! This feels…different.

  Better.

  Fucking amazing.

  He grabs on to my waist, kneading my ass, and drives into me. I push back, needing the release.

  The ache in my core grows with every thrust.

  Every. Damn. One.

  He reaches around and rubs my clit, winding up the bundle of nerves so close to bursting.

  I start to shake.

  He quickens the pace of both his hand and his grinding, and I moan loudly. I don’t give a fuck who fucking hears me.

  “Fuck…ahhh.”

  I can’t keep quiet or temper my volume at all—the ache’s so strong it almost hurts.

  Every time he fills me, he hits the spot, harder and harder. I feel nothing but nerves.

  “Ahhhh, fuck. Come for me, baby.”

  And I do. My muscles tense, my hips buck, and my body shakes erratically.

  I burst in euphoric ecstasy. It’s some flowers, fireworks, rocket ship launching type of pleasure that rushes through me.

  I grasp on to the cushions in front of me, biting down on them to stifle my screams.

  He releases with me, grunting and cursing as he busts into me.

  Falling on top of me, he breathes heavily and rubs my lower back and ass.

  Damn, I’ll never get bored of that.

  In pure bliss, and my body numb, I turn around to see him. I try to calm my breathing as I do.

  He looks at me. “Job well done…again.”

  I smile, and he crawls up to meet me face-to-face.

  “That’s a great position.”

  “Doggy style?” He laughs.

  “Well, they are the best animals.” I laugh with him.

  I lift my hand and trace his jaw. Another thing I’ve wanted to do, and then outline his lips.

  He looks back at me, and for a moment, I get distracted.

  This look. It makes me feel adored…special, almost. Like I’m the only person he has eyes for.

  Yeah, I start to melt. It’s a moment for that to happen.

  I might still be reeling from that orgasm, but his stare gives me a whole new set of sensations—ones possibly more dangerous.

  He opens his mouth to say something, but he refrains. Instead, he abruptly gets up, breaking our contact, and finds his shirt, hastily putting it on.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” he snaps.

  What the fuck just happened? Did I do something wrong?