Mindgasm - A Bad Boy Romance With A Twist (Mind Games Book 3)

by Gabi Moore

  It took me a full two hours to hike through the bulk of the road that lead into the heart of the forest. With the tar road behind me, and the sun blazing ahead, I was soon breathing hard, the backpack straps leaving wet sweat marks on my shirt. It had been a long time since I had done this much physical activity.

  The plants were the same. The trees had changed a little, and some foot paths seemed to have grown fainter and disappeared under weeds and grass, but the character of the forest was still intact. And still in the trees, as it always was: her face.

  I climbed the familiar rise and looked down. There was the old cabin.

  It seemed much as I had left it. Too much like it, in fact. From that far away, I couldn’t make out too much detail, but I had expected more wear and tear. I carried on walking. By the time I had rounded the bend and stepped into the clearing, it was immediately clear – someone was living here.

  I slowly walked through miraculously well-kept gardens and fields. Gardens that rivalled my own, when I had lived here. The plants were lush and heavy, almost obscenely healthy. There were vegetables, herbs, corn, and a few of the old strains I had first cultivated here, although different somehow. The old shed had been torn down and there were no weeds. Instead, to my surprise, I discovered small baskets of pansies. Pansies.

  Little bowls of African violets were scattered here and there, and I found a clutch of chickens cooing and cackling in the shade of the pumpkin leaves, out of the heat. Those were new.

  I followed the path to the cabin and saw further evidence of care. Repairs. Some sections had been painted. A coir mat at the front door. I stood for a long time, trying to understand everything I was looking at.

  “Who are you?”

  I spun around to find the source of the strange voice. Behind me stood a small boy, barely as tall as my hip, wearing a dusty pair of superman trousers, a full complement of freckles and no shoes. He had a stick in his hands, and skin that looked velvety soft and downy, even under the dust. With eyes that resembled the transparent blue-green of beach glass, he looked me up and down and asked the question again.

  “I’m Vik,” I said. My mouth was dry and my throat hurt to say it. I swallowed hard and looked at him, and he looked at me.

  “I used to live here,” I said eventually.

  He peered at me through suspicious eyes but then smiled, big and broad, and scratched his stick in the dirt.

  “No, this is my house!” he said playfully, and began to kick the ground a little.

  “Of course it is,” I said. “Where’s your mommy?”

  He peered at me again and pointed behind me, at the house. I smiled at his eagerness and turned towards the house. Instantly, I saw her.

  She was a vision.

  Her face was the same, I think, but just barely. She was swathed in stiff red and yellow fabric, and her head was wrapped, a knot to the side. She was bigger. Her breasts were full and between them hung several beaded necklaces. She looked down at me with heavy, calm eyes, eyes that seemed only mildly surprised to see me standing there. With one hand resting on the door, she used the other to beckon the boy, who ran up to her and hid himself behind her skirts, peering out at me with a smile.

  She didn’t need to ask who I was. And I knew who she was. I had seen her face every day in my dreams for years. A single blonde tendril poked out from her head wrap and slowly, she smiled a little at me.

  “Look Kojo, we have a visitor,” she said. Her voice was the same, although barely. Thicker somehow, and softer, and deeper. “Kupeza mphika mwana wanga,” she said, and the boy smiled and ran to the back of the house.

  She took a step down and then another, never breaking her gaze with mine. God, she was beautiful. I swallowed again, feeling myself about to laugh, or maybe to cry. Instead, I said,

  “You’ve taught him well. He’s a good boy.”

  She stepped down off the last step and sidled up to me. I could hear the little one clamoring with something somewhere far behind the house.

  “Yes, I know,” she said and stepped close to me. She smelled of cinnamon and roots and soap and some other indescribable loveliness. I kept waiting for her to say something, but she just looked me over, up and down, and smiled quietly to herself. I wanted to grab her, to embrace her and tell her that I loved her, and that I was sorry, and that she was everything, had always been everything, and that I had been wrong, and that more than anything I wanted to reach out and touch her now, and seal up all these years, and forget everything else, everything except that I loved her, and that all I wanted was her.

  All I could do was extend a hopeful hand, and wait for her to give me hers. Her palms were rough from work, but her touch was soft and graceful. She seemed so in control, so elegant and poised in her movements as she turned and gestured for me to follow her.

  “Come inside and sit down a little. You look tired.”

  It was inside that you could see that the cabin was no longer the same cabin. In fact, it was a full house now, with several extensions added on, making several rooms, all plastered inside and bright and clean. I stared for a moment, shocked. She had really done well for herself. Parts of the old cabin poked through here and there, but there was no doubt about it: the place I was standing in was all hers. I swallowed the lump in my throat. The moment she arrived in Mchinji, all those years ago, I had seen something in her eyes. A kind of uncommon strength. And now here it was, in front of me, the fruit of that strength. I was unspeakably proud.

  With a clatter the boy entered the room holding a tray with a teapot and a set of dainty Moroccan teacups. He wobbled over carefully, placed the clinking tray down and looked up at us both with expectation.

  “Thank you baby, you brought all the things for us,” she said, and he ran up to her and pawed at her skirts again.

  “How old is he?”

  “He’s four.” She stroke the top of his head. He had faint, blonde curls and beautiful tanned skin.

  I laughed and put my back pack down. I was speechless.

  “Wokomamtima, today you must go and play with Jeffrey. Mommy must talk to mister Vik today.”

  The boy looked up at her with big, pale eyes.

  “To Jeffrey?” he repeated.

  “Yes, you must take some cake and put your shoes on, and go to Mama Dora. When it’s dark, I’ll come and get you” she said, and smoothed down the springy curls on his head.

  He nodded and thought to himself for a second, suddenly very serious. I was in awe that such a small child had so much mastery over himself, and that they both thought nothing of sending him out alone.

  He bounded off to the kitchen to prepare a little parcel of cake, and then she helped him with his shoes. He threw little glances at me here and then, smiling mischievously, as though he was sure I would be jealous that he got to go and play with Jeffrey today. She repeated the instructions to him a good few times more, and he nodded and seemed pleased with himself, repeating them back, telling her that when the sun went down, then she would come and fetch him again. They sang a little song together, a local song about the sun, and he clapped his hands and she pressed her forehead to his and kissed him. It made my heart ache.

  Once the boy had left, I smiled at her, raising my eyebrows.

  “He’s very advanced for his age. Wants to do everything himself. Takes after his father,” she said, and gave me a questioning look. I extended my hand to her again and she took it, and I smiled at her. I could spend the rest of my life like this, just smiling at her, enjoying her sweet face.

  “I missed you,” I said. She didn’t say that she missed me in return. I continued. “Every day I was away, I dreamt of coming back, of coming back here. Back to you. You’re my home, Penelope,” I said, and it was the first time I had said something like that, even though the moment I uttered it I realized that it was the simplest way to express what I was feeling. She said nothing.

  “I was afraid, before. I’ve been running away my whole life, and I didn’t expect anyone ever to
find me. But you did. By some magic, or some miracle, you came into my life anyway. And I …I hurt you. I was an asshole…”

  I waited for some acknowledgment on her face, but she remained silent. The loose blonde tendril floated noiselessly. How had she grown so beautiful?

  “And that haunted me all the time I was away. Every day. I wanted to run away again, that’s all I know how to do, to run away. Just like my mother, I wanted to run away and pretend none of it ever happened. But this time I couldn’t. You followed me. Your face was everywhere. When I closed my eyes, I saw you. In my dreams, I saw you.”

  I felt my chest tightening. I felt like I had never said so many words all at once before. And once I started speaking, I couldn’t stop. I was afraid if I stopped speaking then I would cry, so I carried on speaking. I told her about going to Russia. That my mother had passed before I had a chance to find her. I told her everything. And when I was done with that, I started talking about her son. Our son. And when I said “our son” I did cry, although I quickly wiped away the tear and carried on talking. She held my hand, and listened, following my every word.

  When I was done, the tea was cold. She clasped my hands and looked deep into my eyes. Then she knelt on the floor in front of me and took my hands to her cheek, kissed them and held them again. Her hands went over my thighs and onto my knees, and she stroked me, like a wounded animal that had wandered into her home. I relaxed and exhaled, grateful beyond belief that at least she was touching me.

  She traced her hands up onto my torso. Her touch was not gentle and seducing – there was no need, after all. She already had me, heart and soul. No, these touches were grounding, like she was reclaiming me. Checking to see if everything was where she left it. The hands travelled further up and then she had my face in her hands. Slowly, she moved upwards to kiss me, and I moved downwards, and our lips met halfway.

  It was as though no time had passed at all. Instantly, my body remembered her, and I sighed into her gorgeous lips as she pulled me down into a deep, slow kiss. Every cell in my body piqued. I was hard in seconds. In silence, we kissed for a long while, her tender lips patient and kind. I was overcome with a feeling of wanting to please her. To know all her needs and fulfil them, perfectly. I wanted to love and hold her, and the little boy too, and every time her beautiful face broke into a smile, I wanted to be the reason for it.

  I stroked my hands down over her neck and onto her shoulders. She lifted lithe arms and shrugged off her shirt. Underneath, her breasts were loose, the nipples hard. They were heavier than I remembered them, and fuller. She rose to her feet and wriggled off her skirt, to reveal the rest of her body, equally soft and full. Her skin was so delightfully silky. Her hands on my shoulders and neck, I lowered my head and took her all in, only wishing I had more hands to paw at her glorious flesh. She smelt like something partly tamed, like wet earth but warm. She had the unmistakable musk that had driven me wild so long ago, except the scent was more mature now, even headier and more luxurious. Even in my fevered dreams, I couldn’t have imagined her as beautiful as she was now.

  I gave her belly and the tops of her thighs small, respectful kisses, greeting each part of her. The dramatic curve of her waist. The fine down on her navel. The soft carpet of blond curls at the beautiful cleft between her full legs. She stroked fingers through my hair as I worshipped each part of her. Every fold and swell had its own character, its own scent and heat, but the prayer was always the same: I love you.

  She gestured for me to stand up and led me over to a bed. Nothing at all like the run down mattress we had made our home so long ago. No, this was a soft, feminine space, and as we both collapsed onto a little mound of hand embroidered cushions, more of her earthy scent was released. She peeled off my trousers and then my shirt, dropping them to the floor like she couldn’t understand the need for them.

  I was completely naked before her. And I wanted nothing more than for her to take me. To take everything I was, receive it all, accept everything I had and take me into her beautiful body. My cock stood stiff and hard, and I felt like I could explode from wanting her. These sensations were new. I had felt lust before, a million times. But this was a deeper ache, something that shook me way down inside, and it hurt. I was no longer all muscle and bone and anger. I was a little older now, and my body had some signs of wear. I stood before her. Let her see it all.

  Her hands stroked over me again, down my chest, parting her hands down around my cock and then making their way down each of my legs. My poor, tortured cock stood erect and red, untouched. We knelt and faced one another, and kissed a little more. What the years had taken from me, they seemed to have given her. Even in her humble body, she seemed impressively strong, and as I kissed her, it was as though I was lapping her up, drinking from deep within her.

  Her lips went over my chest and shoulders, and then in an instant she was kissing the tip of my swollen cock, tenderly. Without any more ceremony, she rose to the balls of her feet and squatted deep over my lap, shimmying close to me and balancing against my chest. The moment was slow and sinewy, yet throbbing with energy. When she finally lowered onto me, I couldn’t help but cry out. She kissed me and lowered a little more, her strong thighs taking in just as much as she wanted, while I waited below. She winced a little as the width of the head split her open, and she paused for a moment, frozen in her kiss while her twitching body adjusted around me. I wanted to grow bigger still. To fill all of her. I pulled back and stared into her flushed faced. I needed to see her expression. I needed to know the effect I was having on her.

  She blushed and smiled, and wiggled down an inch more. I wish I had a cock a mile long, so I could do this forever, and never stop. I could tell she was out of practice. Her body took time to soften and accept me. I remembered the old days, and how we’d fuck for hours every day, her raw little body buckling from the sweet abuse I doled out, and how she’d keep coming back, never sated. But now, I just needed to be in her. As far I could go, as far as she would let me in, I wanted to fuck her, and love her, and find my way back to the place again.

  I pressed in another inch and found a hidden pool of wetness inside her, which now began to stream down the length of me. Onto the slickness, she slid down further and eventually I was all inside, and she nestled her hot inner thighs into my lap, wiggling a little and settling her weight onto me. Inside her, I settled too, and pictured my cock swelling and melting to fill every corner inside her. She was fearsomely warm inside, indescribably sweet and so slick she glided over me like silk.

  She fell forward onto my body and I held her there, and she rested for a moment and let me stroke fingertips down her long naked back.

  “I love you Vik,” she said, almost too quietly for me to hear.

  The words tore at me inside, my cock jumped of his own accord, inside her, and she moaned and nestled closer.

  “I love you Penny,” I said to her shoulder. The little blonde tendril waved around and tickled my nose. I lifted my hands and unwound her head wrap, like she was the ultimate birthday present, and lay the fabric aside. Her hair fell loose onto her shoulders in warm clumps. It had darkened a little, but was still that same ethereal shade of blonde as it always was.

  I stroked my fingers through it, admiring its length. She clenched around me, tightening her pussy all along the length of me. I groaned in appreciation. Did she remember all the things we used to do? Did she remember the way her right leg would shiver every time she came, or how we’d make bets about whether there was or wasn’t one more drop of cum she could coax out of me with her tongue, or how she once, just once, asked me to slap her and call her azungu…

  The muscles in her thighs tensed up and she rose, lifting her sweet body off of me. In the split second where I felt I would die without her engulfing me, she fell back down again, taking the whole length, more easily this time. I felt her opening up inside. She lifted again and dropped her strong, skillful hips down onto my lap again. Each thrust was juicier than the last, and as sh
e picked up speed, I found my grateful thighs rising up a little to meet her.

  We found a peaceful, slow rhythm inside each other. Her body drove me so wild I was instantly on the edge, but she slowed down and ground careful hips into me, sensing when I was close and rising up on her haunches off of me again. My tongue played over her plump breasts, decorated down the middle with the strands of beads, and I could make out a mantle of freckles all around her neck where the sun had hit her, and below: white.

  When I looked at her face again, she was crying. This sent me to the edge again.

  “Are you staying?” she said, and all at once I saw her old girlish face again, one filled with uncertainty and vulnerability. I squeezed my arms around her as tight as I could and pulled her in.

  “I’m never going away, ever again,” I said, and as I did her body shuddered a little. With the tip of my cock I felt her warm cunt spasm, and release more glorious juice that flooded down out of her and onto my stomach. She groaned and squirmed. My body remembered this all – the way she would tighten and heat up just before she came. Fuck she was beautiful.

  She whimpered and choked on her words a little as she tried to tell me was she close, but there was no need. I could read her body like a book. Her little hands tightened around me and I held her waist firm. I gave her my cock again, pressing in as deep as it would go, reaching right into the deepest parts of her. With one strong jerk she cried out and I felt something hot and wet inside her quiver and then explode all around me. Her pussy clenched hard around me, but all the tension fell from her thighs and she collapsed down onto me.

  The little moans she made were so sweet, and so fucking sexy, I was soon following after her, and all at once I let go and shot an immense load of hot, warm cum deep inside her, my hips curling and convulsing into her body, pumping her full of it.

  I pulled her close to me. “Shhhh…” I whispered into her ear, as each shudder rocked her body and made her gasp out loud. The tears were flowing freely now, and with surprise I realized my own face was wet. I fell back onto the bed and she folded down onto me, her body now loosened and melted. I had forgotten just how good she felt. She was mine and I was hers. It had always been that way.