by Mia Caldwell
I laced my fingers in his hair, helpless to do more than hold on. His hand slowly slid down my belly to the waist of my lacy thong. As his fingertips slid over the silky fabric, I knew he could feel how wet I was. He traced the edge of the thong, across my hip, down the crease of my leg. I parted my legs more to let him in, need surging through me, my hips rising at his touch.
His kisses moved down the bottom of my breast, down that swell to my ribs, down my belly. He stopped at my navel, dipping his tongue just a bit, causing me to squirm. He kissed down to the top of my panties, pulling the band down, kissing across my mound. I’d been longing for this closeness. His tongue slipped into my cleft, causing me to gasp.
Walker lifted his head and smiled at me as he pulled the thong down. I lifted my hips to let him pull it all the way off.
He kissed the inside of my knee and began working his way up my thigh, my legs opening as he kissed higher. I imagined that each kiss left a lighted spot, each brighter than the last as his mouth got closer to where I needed it to be. At last, his tongue traced the outside of my folds, along the crease of my inner thigh.
My breathing was ragged. I clutched the silky sheets in my hands. When his tongue crested my outer folds and dipped down to lap at my most sensitive spot, I cried out. Expertly, he licked and sucked, circling my bud with the hard tip of his tongue, sucking it into his mouth, pressing against me with the flat of his tongue. My hips bucked up into him, urging more.
I felt his finger exploring my folds before slipping inside me. The combination of his lapping tongue and the finger stroking inside my walls had me shuddering with pleasure. I could feel an orgasm building from deep inside, as if it were gathering power from all corners of my body. As the wave crested over me, he sucked me in hard, thrust his finger up, pressing on that sensitive spot, and just held on while I rocked, lost in the feeling.
As the waves began to ebb, I had to have him inside me. Now. I reached down to pull him up. “Take me, Walker,” I growled. “I want you inside me.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, shucking off his boxer briefs. His length sprang free, fully erect, long and thick. He pulled a condom from the bedside table and rolled it on slowly, watching me. I imagined how it would feel when I got to sheath him with my body. He kissed me, an arm on either side of my head. I could feel his hardness pressing against my mound, twitching with need. I needed the same thing and thrust my hips to rub against him.
I brought up my knees and spread my legs wide. His massive tip pressed against my opening and I pushed down, taking him in just a bit. He stilled me with a hand.
“I like to take it slow. Relatively speaking.” His smile was crooked, but his eyes burned with a desire as great as mine. Slowly, he slid into me, inch by inch. I stretched to take in his girth, the burn exquisite, my core still pulsing from my orgasm. Once fully inside me, he paused and held me, his body pressed against mine.
“I’m claiming you, Andrea,” he murmured in my ear. “I want to be yours, I want you to be mine. I’m right where I’ve wanted to be since I first laid eyes on you. Say you feel it too.”
“I do,” I said.
“I like the sound of that,” he said, raising up enough to look at me. His greenish gold eyes glittered.
He began to thrust in and out, slowly. Each stroke in pushed deep inside me, the bliss of it magnified by the swollen tissue. My moans seemed to come from my very soul, I felt as if were were joined by so much more than just our flesh.
But the flesh part felt really good.
My hips were rocking harder, encouraging him to go faster. He met my rhythm, thrusting harder as he did so. He leaned down to suckle my nipples as he pumped and I soon had another orgasm building up. I grabbed his firm rear, pushing him into me, rocking into him as hard as I could. I came hard that time, I heard myself scream, almost like an animal, as if from far away. Walker’s girth swelled and his thrusting became frantic for a moment before he, too, reached a climax. His hips slammed against me as he came.
Both spent, he collapsed on top of me. As he softened, he rolled aside to toss out the condom and then cuddled against me. We both dozed a little in the glow after our love-making. When I stirred, Walker pulled back a bit to look at me.
“That was even better than I’d hoped,” he said.
I smiled and nodded.
“I’m so sorry you had to think I’d gone to Celia.”
“Yeah, that sucked. But instead of ruining my vacation, you’ve made it the best ever. Not that I have a lot of points of comparison.”
“Well I do, and this was definitely the best. Even better than the one where my mom let me have ice cream for breakfast.”
“Mmm..” I said, “I think there’s pudding in the kitchen.”
“What good planning that was.”
“I’m a professional caterer. We’re good at that.” I sat up in bed. “Oh wait, you wrecked my dress. I don’t have clothes.”
Walker got out of bed and went to a chest of drawers. I admired the muscles in his ass.
He tossed me a t shirt. “That should do for now. I’m sure I can dig something up later.”
I pulled it on and got out of bed. The shirt smelled of Walker and salt air. It must have been big even on him, as it hung down to the middle of my thighs.
He put on running shorts and I followed him back down the stairs, enjoying the soreness between my legs, the reminder of what I had now.
The pudding was, of course, delicious.
Walker
A line of healthy snack cakes was the best idea I ever had. It introduced me to the love of my life and made me filthy rich. Okay, filthier and richier.
Andrea, as it turned out, was even smarter in the boardroom than in the kitchen. Even if she wasn’t terrific in bed, I’d have wanted her on our team. She had a knack for figuring out exactly what was going to be important to consumers and translating it to a large-scale production. Seriously, you can’t train that into someone.
Aunt Tara’s Treats (named after Andrea’s mother, only fair) have been gobbling up market share as quickly as suburban health nuts have been gobbling up the bars. And, thanks to Andrea, they’re actually a pretty healthy product, not just a candy bar in a health food wrapper.
She was reluctant to quit the personal chef business, but once she started planning our wedding, she decided to let it go, handing over her clients to a friend. Their loss, for sure, but my gain. I eat like a king.
Of course, she drove the wedding caterer batshit, since she knew exactly how things should be done, but it made for one hell of a party. Washington will be talking about that one until a President’s daughter gets married.
The cooking school Andrea started in Anacostia has been a quiet success. She won’t let me trumpet it the way I want to, she worries that it won’t serve the right people if it gets too much press. But she’s hired local cooks and chefs to teach, people with both common sense and economics degrees to offer classes on budgeting for a healthy diet, and she recently put her mom at the helm. Andrea’s been pretty exhausted with this pregnancy.
I’ve gotten better about my work habits, too. We’ve taken off a month in the winter to live at the Bonaire house, back in time for the gorgeous D.C. Spring. And, of course, I’ve promised to take time off when the baby comes. Wonder what line of snacks we can name after her?
Kiera
“I swear to god, Dre, if you try to come back here, I’ll change hotel rooms and I won’t tell you where I am.”
I heard my best friend’s throaty laugh over the phone before she told her new boyfriend, “She says she’s going to change the locks on me!”
“No, I’m going to change rooms completely. You’ll never find me. So don’t even bother. Seriously, Andrea, don’t worry. I’ve been on vacation on my own before.”
"Thanks, Kiera. I just feel bad. I mean, you paid for me to come to Aruba, and now I’m ditching you for some guy. Feels like bad friend behavior to me."
“Look,” I said, “it’s not
like you were the life of the party when you were here. You were so busy mooning about Walker I was talking to myself half the time anyway.” Not true, exactly, but sometimes she needs tough love.
“Ugh! Now I feel worse!”
I laughed. I love Dre like a sister, which means I can be happy for her, but still want to smack her upside the head. I mean, I was genuinely happy that Andrea found true love and all, but it actually does suck to have been abandoned. Sure, I’ve come to the Caribbean on my own before, but it was always by choice. We had plans. But Walker had swooped in with his dramatic rescue and his giant mansion on Bonaire and his private yacht. It’s not like I could compete with that, you know?
“Andrea. You know me, I’ll make my own fun. Look, I’m going to go to that surf lesson we had scheduled for this afternoon.”
“Can you get a refund for my half?” We’ve been friends forever, Dre knows that even making a decent salary as a lawyer, I still have to watch my wallet.
“Maybe,” I lied, knowing they were non-refundable because I’d gotten them on a LivingSocial deal, “and if not, I’ll just offer your slot to the best looking guy on the beach.”
“I know you will. Thanks, Kiera, you’re the best. We’ll be back to Aruba Friday, in time to get my stuff. Walker says you can fly back with us on his plane!”
“Great, you kids have fun. I’ll see you Friday.” Rolling my eyes, I set the hotel room phone back into its cradle. I’d insisted that we have a no cell phone week. Just us girls, on our own. This was a little more “on my own” than I’d bargained for.
I know that it is stupid to feel jealous. Juvenile. Small. Pointless. It’s not just that I had planned out how this vacation would go–I distract Dre from her troubles, we go out, drink, pick up men–although I do kind of hate to see a plan abandoned. And I’m not mad about being alone. I’m comfortable in a crowd, I’m fine on my own. It’s not like I was wishing for a relationship and she got one, I don’t even have the time. It’s just…I don’t know. I’m annoyed.
I know Andrea thinks I sleep with every guy I flirt with, but the truth is I haven’t gotten any action in months. I don’t know why I keep pretending that I’m the hook-up queen, like I was when we were in high school and college. It’s not like anyone’s impressed by that in your late twenties.. It balances the lawyer thing, I guess. Washington DC lawyers are a notoriously stuffy group. We’re all so focused on getting ahead in a city with a lot of competition. Being the girl that can still shotgun a 24 ouncer at least sets me apart a little bit.
Sure, I know I could follow my mom’s advice and stand out by doing more pro bono work or by getting a job with a non-profit instead of a private corporate law firm. You know what that won’t pay? My rent.
My parents moved to Anacostia in the late 1980s. If you know any history of the area, you know that was crazy. But they were idealist community activists, they were convinced that if more middle class black folk moved in, the neighborhood would be saved from the crackheads. Mostly, they just gave the crackheads some nice middle class shit to steal. They also left me and my sister with the sense that we don’t owe “the people” anything. They can work for it like we do.
So now I rent a nice little rowhouse in Capitol Hill and I never get to enjoy it because I work all the time. I have a huge group of young lawyer friends I barely know. And I haven’t had sex with the same guy more than twice (two occasions, that is. I can really pack in a lot of action on a single date) since college. I’m a huge damned success.
Lucky me.
I notice that the light is flashing on the phone, so I call down to the front desk.
“Ms. Simpson, you have a message from Kevin Davenport. He says he’ll meet you at Lambada Joe’s at 8.”
“Thanks.” The hell he will. I’m more annoyed than I should be, I guess. Kevin was a nice guy. He cheerfully spoke only in his native Papiamento when I told him I liked it best if I didn’t know what he was saying. He let me flirt and dance pretty dirty. When I brought him back to our room, we made out and then he left when I told him to. I guess it’s a measure of my standards when “nice guy” means “did what I said and stopped when I said stop.” But he’d called the hotel several times, trying to get me to meet him again. Like I said, he’s nice. And I’ve never really been into nice.
Leave the waiting for Prince Charming to Andrea. I want his naughty little brother. The one that will come riding up on his white motorcycle. And then ride away again at the end of the night.
I dig the tickets for the surfing lessons out of my bag and change into the bathing suit that’s least likely to come off in the waves. Andrea’s the real swimmer, I mostly just like to look cute on the beach. But hey, maybe surfing is just what’s been missing from my life. Maybe after this, I’ll take all my vacations in Hawaii or wherever it is surfers go.
The website said a rash guard would be provided, so I just put on the top with the thickest straps. It’s still pretty sexy, though, I’m not gonna lie. I’ve given up on trying to keep my hair under control and I just let the natural frizz take over, but honestly it looks pretty good, too. I may have been abandoned by my best friend, but I’ve still got it.
When I get onto the hotel shuttle bus that will take me to the beach where the lessons are held, there’s a fine looking man sitting by himself in the back. Tattoos on muscular arms. Sexy half-scowl. He has earbuds in, but he looks up when I get on. I walk to the back and sit across the aisle from him, smiling as I sit down. He’s definitely checking me out.
“What are you listening to?” I say, kind of loudly, pointing at his phone in case the volume’s up too loud to hear me.
He pulls one bud out and grins. He has perfect teeth. His eyes are a weird shade of green that probably means contact lenses, but he looks like that guy that played Chad in High School Musical. “What, baby?”
“What’re you listening to?”
“Usher.”
Ah well, he’s still cute. “Where you headed?” I ask, hoping maybe he’ll help me bring the number of black surfers to two.
“Me ‘n’ my girlfriend are getting on the party boat,” he says, looking up as a girl gets on and starts scowling at me. She knows just what I’m up to with one look and she gives me that “Bitch, don’t even” look as she heads down the aisle.
Fair enough, sister. “Well, have a good time,” I say to the guy and I flash her a grin as she sits between us. Baring my teeth in submission, really.
They get off the stop before me and I don’t feel at all bad checking out his ass. Ha ha you can’t even stop me! Yeah, it’s a stupid act of defiance, but it is a nice ass.
When I get off at the surf school, my heart starts to race. What the hell was I thinking? I barely ever even get my face wet. I’m a pool-lounge-and-umbrella-drink kind of gal. I force my feet to go one in front of the other, headed for the Aruba Surf School tent near the water’s edge. I look out at the turquoise water. It’s not too choppy. The school is in a bit of a cove with a nice sandy beach. It’s not like the big violent waves that dash against the rocks on the other side of the island. I can do this.
“Hey,” I say to the girl behind the counter. “I’m Kiera Simpson, I’m signed up for a four o’clock lesson.”
She looks at the sheet and back at me. “It says you registered for two?”
“Yeah, my friend can’t make it. Chickened out.”
She makes a little frowny face. “There’s no refunds, though, sorry.” Her face brightens and she adds, “But you’ll get a private lesson!”
“Uh, yeah, great,” I say. I do not want a private lesson. I want someone to share the laughs with me and to feel stupid with and then go have a drink with afterwards.
“Here’s a rash guard,” she says, handing me a hot pink swim shirt. “Just be back here in, like, fifteen minutes and Allie will be here for your lesson.”
I wander a bit away from the tent and set down my beach bag. I’m doing that weird octopus move, trying to get sunscreen on my own back so I don’t
have to put the rash guard on early. The sun is strong, but that shade of pink is just nasty.
“Would you like some help with that? You’re missing a bit right in the middle.”
I turn around to see a ridiculously hot man standing there. His chest is broad and tan, his brown hair is all sun-streaked and flopping into his face in the breeze. His swim trunks are just kind of slung around his hips and I can see that gorgeous muscle that leads the eye right down. Oh HELL yes, you can help.
“That’d be great, thanks,” I say, making sure he gets a chance to check me out before I turn back around.
He rubs the sunscreen into my back with firm, sure strokes. It’s way more erotic than it ought to be. But something about that touch says “this guy knows what he’s doing.”
“You gonna take a lesson?” he asks. His voice has the very faintest Southern accent. Like he worked to get rid of it.
“Mmhmm,” I say, arching my back into his touch, like a cat. He keeps going once he got that hard-to-reach spot. He squirts more into his palm and rubs it on my lower back. I’m hyper aware and when his fingers brush the top of my bikini bottom, I shiver.
“You can’t be cold,” he says, chuckling.
“No, just nervous,” I lie. “I’ve never tried this before. Surfing, not getting backrubs from strangers.”
He laughs. “I’ve been sitting here watching people,” he says. “Looks like they’re having fun.”
I turn to face him. “Hey, I have an extra lesson already paid for. My friend bailed on me. Do you want to join me? I’d feel better if I wasn’t the only idiot out there.”