He sauntered from the living room to where I was standing in the kitchen, and then stood right in front of me. Through thin eyes he glared at me until I felt small, and unimportant.
“You’re wondering if I’m sexually attracted to you?” he asked.
A verbal response would have started the waterworks, leaving a nod as my only means of acknowledgement. I nodded.
“Do you remember telling me you didn’t want this to be about sex?” His brows raised. “On the night this ‘relationship’ started?”
I didn’t remember saying that, specifically, but I vaguely recalled making a few references that may have been construed as such. I gave another series of nods in agreement.
“You said your former boyfriend saw you as ‘someone to screw and nothing more’.” He raised his index finger. “Then, you said, ‘when the anger faded, I realized no one put me in that relationship but me. I decided the next time I decided to commit to someone, it was going to be because I wanted to be in a relationship with them. Not because I wanted sex’.”
It sounded familiar, but it didn’t make complete sense. The way Porter worded it, it sounded like I wanted to be in a sex-less relationship. At best, one with minimal sex. That wasn’t at all what I wanted.
“If that’s what I said,” I murmured. “I don’t think it’s what I meant.”
His eyes thinned. “How am I supposed to know what you mean if you don’t tell me what you’re truly thinking?”
“You’re spinning this on me,” I said, nearly in tears. “All I wanted to know was if you were attracted to me. If you think I’m sexy. If you like having sex with me.”
He was standing six feet away. He quickly closed the distance between us. With his eyes locked on mine, he unbuckled his belt and wrestled with his jeans. Then, he leaned forward. The side of his face lightly brushed against mine. His mouth came to rest beside my ear.
“Grab my cock,” he breathed.
His warm breath encompassed my ear. My pussy tingled. A prickling sensation crawled up my neck. My face went flush. While I struggled to process his request, he bit my earlobe. My pussy began to throb with every beat of my heart. Lost in the heavenly feeling, I simply forgot what it was he had asked of me.
“Grab. My. Cock. Abby,” he whispered.
With my heart in my throat, I reached between his legs. Much to my satisfaction, he was rock-hard. I gripped the rigid shaft firmly in my hand.
He leaned away and cocked one eyebrow. “Does that feel like I’m attracted to you?”
I nodded. “Uh huh.”
With lightning-fast hands, he pushed against one shoulder and pulled on the other, spinning me around in the process. Then, in one fluid motion, he flipped my dress over my hips, yanked down my panties, and pressed my chest against the cold granite countertop.
I felt the tip of his cock press against my wet folds. His animalistic approach to sex had me soaking wet and brimming with desire. My hands blindly searched the cold countertop for something to grip ahold of. Without further warning, he shoved his entire length into me in one savage thrust.
The air shot from my lungs as my hips slammed against the island’s edge. His hands groped at my boobs. Waves of emotion surged through my body, reminding me of the magic we shared when he was inside of me. While he tweaked my sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefingers, two more violent thrusts followed, the second of which brought me to a quick climax.
He held himself deep inside of me during the orgasm. My body tensed and released repeatedly, erasing what little doubt I had developed regarding Porter’s sexual desires. I felt his cock swell. In response, my pussy tightened around his throbbing shaft.
Then, while I was in mid-climax, he withdrew himself completely. A carnal groan bellowed from his inner being. Warm droplets coated my lower back, butt, and thighs.
The entire process took less than a minute but scored a solid ten by my sexual ratings scale.
I lifted my chest from the countertop and turned to face him. While struggling to catch my breath, I held my dress at my waist with shaking hands.
Porter wetted a handful of paper towels and wiped the cum away. After tossing them in the trash, he looked at me admiringly.
Between his muscular thighs, his semi-hard cock hung heavily. A droplet of cum clung to the tip as a reminder of what had just happened. His worn denim jeans were just above his knees and his boots were laced tightly to his feet.
“What…what was that…about?” I asked between breaths.
“By my watch, that took fifty seconds,” he said. “Do you really need to ask yourself if I’m attracted to you?”
After that display of affection, I had no doubts. I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”
He gripped his half-hard cock in one hand and wiped the cum droplet away from the tip with the index finger of his other. With his finger extended, he reached toward my face, offering me the cum-covered digit.
I took the full length of his finger into my mouth and sucked the salty droplet from the tip. With my tongue encompassing his calloused flesh, I opened my mouth slightly. He withdrew his hand slowly, watching intently as each inch of his finger slid past my lips.
“I like fucking just as much as you do.” He leaned forward and gave me a soft kiss. “You need to decide if you’d rather spend quality time together, or fuck. You can’t have both.”
I disagreed wholeheartedly. “Fucking is quality time.”
“Guess we won’t be watching the rest of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, then. Will we?” he asked with a laugh.
We’d watched the first five episodes from the comfort of my bed. It was a great show, and I hated to think about missing the ending. “I don’t see why we can’t do both,” I offered. “You can screw me from behind while we’re facing the TV. Like the Canadians do during the Stanley Cup playoffs.”
“That’s one of the things I like about you, Abby.” He kissed me again. “You’re a problem solver.”
“I’m a girl,” I said. “We create problems when there’s actually nothing to worry about. It’s part of what makes us interesting creatures.”
He pulled up his pants. “If creating problems is part of being a woman, I don’t see how that’s to anyone’s benefit.”
“Finding the solution is the fun part,” I said. “It usually ends with us getting something we want.”
He buckled his belt and gave me a look. “So, you’re manipulative?”
“Absolutely not,” I lied.
His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t just coerce me into having sex?”
I did, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of thinking I’d manipulated him. “No. You screwed me to prove a point. You manipulated me. You asked me to grab your cock, remember?”
“Oh.” He looked away. “Yeah, that’s right. I did, didn’t I?”
“So, in summary, you manipulated me into having sex this morning. That means that you need to give it to me without me asking for it tonight. You know, to make up for your manipulative actions this morning.”
He met my gaze. “Huh?”
I had him right where I wanted him. “Just nod your head.”
He shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”
I gave him a kiss on my way to the bathroom. Being in a relationship with Porter was going to be fun, at least until he figured out who was manipulating who.
16
Ghost
Although I’d been in California for thirteen years, I’d never spent much time at the beach. After meeting Abby, I’d sat and watched the sunset no less than a dozen times. The event had become somewhat of a ritual for us. One I truly enjoyed.
We were seated side by side on the upper deck of her home, facing the ocean. Three weeks had quickly passed since the day I first kissed her, which made our relationship the longest one I’d ever had. Pleased that everything was working in our favor, I stared at the indigo body of water and waited for the sun to melt into it.
“Do you think this is peaceful?” s
he asked.
I glanced in her direction. “Sitting here?”
Peering through the lenses of her Aviator sunglasses, she sipped her glass of tea. “Watching the sunset. Smelling the ocean. Sitting here.”
With the sound of the waves within earshot and the air so thick with salt water it could be tasted, I didn’t worry about my condition, cancer, or what the future might hold. Somehow, the ocean transported me to a place where either my problems didn’t matter, or they simply didn’t exist.
“It’s comforting,” I said.
She shifted her attention back to the horizon. “When I was sick, I used to sit out here and pray. Sometimes I’d fall asleep in this chair.”
I had no desire to say a prayer to a God I wasn’t sure existed. Falling asleep with the sound of the ocean in the distance sounded like a good idea, though.
“We should do that sometime,” I said.
“Do what?”
“Fall asleep out here. I bet I’d feel refreshed in the morning.”
“We can tonight, if you want.”
I closed my eyes and listened to the waves washing ashore. “Let’s do it.”
I found myself doing things with Abby I never would have dreamed of before we met. I wondered how much of the differences I saw in myself were a result of being with her, and how much was driven by knowing my future was uncertain. That my time on earth was very likely limited to a much shorter timespan than most men my age.
It seemed I was willing to be far more accepting of life since I met her. I’d never describe myself as an angry man, but my life had become a pool of serenity since meeting Abby. Pinpointing what caused the change in me was impossible, so I simply accepted the changes as simply being part of what one received from a relationship.
“You know what?” I opened my eyes and turned to face her. “I like this.”
“What?” She asked. “Sitting out here waiting for the sun to set?”
“No, being in a relationship.”
She looked at me and lifted her glasses, revealing her majestic blue eyes. “Me, too.”
After a lingering glance, she smiled. I liked it when she smiled. It let me know she was pleased with life or with me. I liked thinking it was a little of both. Eventually, she turned to face the horizon. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as she brushed her hair behind her ear and did the nose scratching thing.
“What do you like about it the most?” she asked.
“About what?”
“Our relationship, silly.”
“Just one thing?” I asked. “or do you want me to give you a list?”
“Let’s stick with one. The best one.”
“Waking up next to you,” I said. “Same question to you.”
With her eyes fixed straight ahead, she responded. “Being appreciated. And waking up in your arms.”
I glared at her. “You said one answer. That’s not fair.”
She glanced at me and lifted her glasses. “Women can’t give one answer to a question like that. It’s impossible.”
“Fine. I’ll give another, then.”
With her glasses held against her forehead, she fixed her eyes on mine. “Okay.”
I thought about it for a moment. Explaining what I felt in Abby’s presence was impossible. When I was with her an inner sense of balance enveloped me, leaving me feeling as if I was acting in harmony with her. It was as if we were one being.
Explaining that and not seeming like a complete idiot would be impossible. I opted to keep it simple. “I like how you make me feel.”
“How do I make you feel?” she asked. “Explain it to me.”
I should have seen it coming. Beating around the bush with Abby didn’t work well. After another moment’s thought, I sighed. “I can’t.”
“Well, that’s dumb.”
I didn’t like that I couldn’t explain to her how she made me feel. I shifted my eyes to the setting sun, and then back to her. “Stand up.”
“Huh?”
I stood. “Stand up.”
She did as I asked. I draped my arms over her shoulders, looked her in the eyes, and then kissed her.
The kiss was long, passionate, and included me gripping her little ass firmly in my hands. When our lips parted, her sunglasses fell from her forehead down onto the bridge of her nose.
“How did that feel?” I asked.
She lifted her glasses. “Awesome.”
“Okay,” I said. “You make me feel awesome.”
She lowered her glasses. “I’ll accept that. Awesome is as good as it gets. You make me feel awesome, too.”
“Thank you.”
She leaned onto the handrail and faced the ocean. “There it goes.”
I draped my arms over her shoulders. “We almost missed it.”
“There will always be another tomorrow,” she said.
There were no assurances that tomorrow would ever come, but I didn’t argue with her. I simply enjoyed the sunset while I held her in my arms. As a myriad of colors merged into the sea, I dreamed of a life filled with as many tomorrows as a man could imagine.
He simply picked them off a tomorrow tree, like apples. Each piece of fruit was one more tomorrow. Beyond each tree was another, just like it, as far as the eye could see. A land where my relationship with Abby lasted as long as there was fruit to pick from the trees.
And the trees went on forever.
17
Abby
Porter and I were days away from being together one month. I’d convinced myself if we could last that long, we could last forever.
Lying on my back with my head resting against the arm of the couch, I faced Porter, who was on the opposite end, positioned in the same fashion, facing me. My legs were draped over his thighs and my feet rested on his hips. A cluster of grapes was resting on my chest, and a cluster rested on his.
I plucked a grape from the stem, took aim, and paused.
“It doesn’t look like you’re ready,” I said. “Are you ready?”
“Uh Uh,” he muttered.
“Is that a yes?”
“Damn it. I can’t respond with my mouth stretched wide open. I was ready. Just toss the damned thing.”
I flipped the grape into the air. After reaching its apex, it began to fall toward Porter’s face. With wide eyes he studied it, and then snatched it from mid-air.
“Are you part frog?” I asked. “You snatched that thing with precision.”
He swallowed. “I told you.”
He picked a grape from his cluster and raised it. “Damn. What kind of grapes are these? They’re good.”
“Cotton Candy.”
His brows knitted together. “Cotton Candy grapes?”
“Yep.”
He looked at me in disbelief. “Really?”
“What do they taste like?” I asked, my tone sarcastic.
“Cotton Candy.”
“That’s because they’re Cotton Candy grapes.” I tilted my head back. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.”
He tossed the grape with expert precision. I watched intently as it rose, and then fell. With a wide-open mouth, I positioned myself beneath the falling piece of fruit, only to be hit in the chin by it.
“Damn it,” I said as it rolled into my arm pit.
I reached for the grape and hoisted it into the air.
“One to zero,” he said. “And, you can’t re-throw a grape. Get a new one.”
“Who says I can’t re-throw a grape? There aren’t rules.”
“I’m not eating a grape that smacked you in the chin. Get a clean one,” he insisted.
I laughed out loud.
“What?” he asked.
“You stick your tongue in a hole that I piss out of.” I chuckled so hard I had to catch my breath. “And you’re worried about a grape that hit me in the face?”
“Fine,” he said. “Throw the damned thing.”
I tossed the grape at him not to him. Nonetheless, he somehow managed to catch it in
his mouth. After chewing it, he gave me a cross look.
“What the hell, Abby? You threw that fucker.”
“I didn’t know we had rules about speed.”
He scowled at me.
“Okay, let me make a few mental notes. No dirty grapes. Nothing over five miles an hour. Alright, I think I’m good for the next one.”
He picked a grape from his bunch and raised it. “Ready?”
I nodded.
“Two to zero,” he said.
He lobbed the grape into the air.
I leaned left, and then right. Despite being certain I was well within the grape’s path, it fell against my upper lip and then ricocheted off the arm of the couch. As it rolled across the floor, Porter laughed.
“Your fat lips get in the way.”
“You like them when they’re wrapped around your dick, Dick.”
“No need to call names.” He checked his watch. “This is just a friendly game.”
“How much time do we have?” I asked.
“Three or four minutes.”
“Is it three or is it four?”
He glanced at his watch. “Three and twenty seconds.”
I pulled a grape from the bunch and flipped it into the air carelessly, and without warning. Using his eight-pack of stomach muscles, Porter did a sit up, catching the grape in mid-flight.
“Is there anything you’re not good at?” I asked.
“I’m sure there’s something,” he said. “It looks like this isn’t it, though.”
“You suck,” I said.
He inspected the grapes, chose a small one, and then raised it. “I picked a little one. Smaller should be easier, right?”
“Throw it, I’ll tell you in a minute.”
“Just open your mouth wide, and don’t move. I’ll throw it right in there.”
I opened my mouth wide enough to throw a cat into it. He tossed the grape with a flick of his wrist. It shot right into my mouth without so much as grazing a tooth, flew right past my tongue, and then got lodged in my windpipe.
GHOST (Devil's Disciples MC Book 3) Page 11