by Madison Faye
Round 2
“I have to text him every morning and wait for him to text back,” I complain to Sawyer, breaking another one of Auntie Jen’s cardinal rules of dating: when out with a guy, don’t talk about another guy. But these guys don’t follow Auntie Jen’s rules, so why should I?
“But you agreed to it,” he points out. “And you haven’t disobeyed.” His hair blows around his handsome face as he pulls into the beach lot. He parks and leans close. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” He tucks a stray hair behind my ear and taps my nose before slipping from the car.
He pauses a moment in front of the car, hand shielding his eyes as he looks over the beach, and I study him. He picked me up in his dirty Jeep, blond hair tousled from the windy ride. Flip-flops, board shorts hanging off his lean hips, and no shirt. He’s not as big as Bear, but who is? Sawyer’s body is a tanned masterpiece, his chest and abs a perfect wall of muscle. He should be running down the beach with a bikini model, Baywatch style. Not here with me.
“Evie,” Sawyer calls. I blink and realize he’s holding my door open.
“Sorry,” I take his hand and scramble out. He’s just like Bear—opening my door. He buckled me in earlier, too.
“You got that look,” he says.
“What look?”
“The one Bear talks about. You’re thinking shit about yourself.”
“What? Am not,” I lie automatically. I can’t believe they talk about me. It makes me nervous and excited at the same time.
“Can’t lie to me.” He grabs a blanket and hands me a large water bottle. “Bear’s super good at this intuitive stuff. He should open up a shrink office next to the body shop. People can get their heads fixed with their oil change.”
“What, really?” I imagine Bear manning a lemonade stand with a sign: Psychiatric Help, five cents.
“Oh, yeah,” Sawyer says. “All those guys getting fancy rims or racing stripes are just insecure about relating to women. Or something.” He shrugs. “He loves helping people through their problems. Next to fixing and pimping cars, it’s his favorite project.”
Ah. Great. So I’m a project. “So what about me?” I say breezily. “Do I have daddy issues?”
He grins. “You do now. You okay with that term?”
I shrug. “Do you like it?”
“Not as much as Bear. But yeah, it works for me.” He holds out his hand. “Ready?”
I take it. I’ll be all right. I’m dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. A sports bra.
“No bikini?” he asks.
I shrug. He grins and shakes his head. If he tells Bear, I’ll probably end up on another shopping trip.
“So why’d you bring me here?” I look down the beach. A few women are lying out, gleaming with oil. One waves to Sawyer and I turn away before I see his response.
“Ever been surfing?” he asks.
“No… we’re not going to do that, are we?”
He chuckles. “Maybe next time. You’d look great in a wetsuit.”
I roll my eyes.
“Come on. I wanna show you something.”
We head down past the pier. The beach gets more and more deserted the closer we get to the bluffs. When we get there, we start to climb, taking long draws on the water bottle as the sun beats down.
We reach an overlook and stop to take in the view, passing the water bottle back and forth.
“It’s a wildlife sanctuary.” Sawyer nods to the abandoned stretch of beach between two cliffs. White birds dot the sands.
“It’s gorgeous.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Sawyer says, and pulls me against him, back to front. His hands go to my waist and smooth up and down. “The way you curve… fuck. This t-shirt is a crime.”
Biting my lip, I step away. I tug off the shirt and face him only wearing my sports bra. “Better?”
“Fuck, yes.” He comes in close again, head slanted for a kiss.
Our lips meet and it’s all sweet and delicate, a camera-ready kiss with the ocean and sky as the backdrop. Then his tongue starts to toy with me, and I answer the challenge, dueling slyly as the world fades away. My hands take the opportunity to slide over his sleek muscle, exploring the flex of his arms as he tugs me close, the rise and fall of his chest and back as he makes promises with his mouth only his body can keep.
Someone coughs and we jerk apart. A skinny man stares at us, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He’s holding binoculars.
“What the fuck, man?” Sawyer barks, and the man jumps, almost dropping the binoculars. He looks mortified.
“Birdwatching. Sorry.” He scuttles away.
“Fuck,” Sawyer mutters again but makes no move to touch me until the guy is out of sight. I giggle.
“You think it’s funny?” There’s a dangerous glint in Sawyer’s eyes. He maneuvers me back behind a boulder, out of sight.
“A little.”
“You like an audience?”
I shrug. “Isn’t that why you brought me up here? To get a thrill?”
“Fuck me.” He comes at me again. “You naughty, naughty girl.”
“You’re supposed to make me come,” I whisper as he kisses my mouth, my neck, the hinge of my jaw.
“What about these?” He tugs at my shorts.
“What about them?”
He smiles slyly as his hands dip under the waistband of my shorts. “What color is your underwear?”
“Why don’t you ask Bear?” I sass back. “He chose them.”
“Fuck me,” Sawyer groans. “I wanna be your daddy. Call me Daddy, too.”
“Okay, Daddy Two.” I hold up two fingers. “If you want to be number one, you gotta earn it.” It is a competition. I figure the more competitive these guys get, the more I win.
“Naughty,” he growls, and tugs at my shorts. “Lose these.”
“What if Mr. Birdwatcher comes back?”
Sawyer raises a wicked eyebrow.
I lean back against the rock, realizing his body will block any sight of me.
“All right,” I whisper, and let him remove my shorts.
“Blue,” he says at the sight of my hip huggers.
“Like your eyes,” I tell him, and get a smile.
“They almost look like bikini bottoms.” He eyes me up and down and I realize I’m essentially wearing a bathing suit.
He bundles up my shorts and t-shirt and pretends to toss them out over the cliff.
“No!” I cry, tackling him. We wrestle a moment and my clothes end up draped on a nearby bush. Sawyer holds my wrists.
“Do you trust me?”
“No.”
His teeth flash white as he laughs. “Come on, baby. Live a little.”
I sigh. “All right, yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Fuck, that is hot. Come here and let Daddy take care of you.”
He arranges me near the overlook, my back to his front, facing the ocean. We’re just behind the boulders, so anyone coming up the path can’t see our bodies. If a birdwatcher returns, it’ll look like we’re just taking in the view, cuddling like a couple with Sawyer’s arms around me. They won’t see his hand down my pants.
One long finger stirs against my sweet spot. “You like this?”
“The view? Oh, yes, it’s nice.”
His chuckle gusts in my ear. I gently grind my bottom against him in response to the swirl of his fingers.
“Just relax. I’ve got you.” Sawyer kisses my neck, and sucks a little. I sigh, letting my head rest against his chest. He sucks harder. My knees buckle and he takes my weight, holding me up.
“Bear doesn’t allow you to come without asking permission.”
“That’s… right.” I marshal my thoughts against the distracting flutter of his fingers.
“So what would you do if I stopped?” His finger stills.
My breath hisses. “I’d be upset.”
His jaw moves along my cheek. “How upset?”
&n
bsp; “Really mad.”
“But you couldn’t do anything about it.” His arms flex around me.
“You gonna keep me up here forever?” A seagull swoops below us, hovering over the breaking waves.
“Maybe. What will you do if I let you go?”
“I’ll find that birdwatcher guy,” I answer tartly. His finger makes a tiny movement and my body strains toward his touch. “Maybe he’ll make me come.”
“Or you’ll go get yourself off.”
“Good idea.” I try to move my hips and his arms clamp down, keeping me still.
“Maybe I should tie you up.” My body clenches. Sawyer feels it. “You like that? Bear was right.”
“What?”
“You need someone else to take control.”
“No.”
“Yep. That’s what you need to get off.”
I slump a little. He’s right. “So?”
“So it’s up to me if you get off right now.”
“Sawyer,” I start to whine.
“Ask nicely.”
“Please, Daddy,” I say in a breathy, Marilyn Monroe voice. “Make me come?”
“Good girl. I’ll think about it.”
I squirm and he holds me tighter, his arms like iron bands. Arousal flows through me, hot and liquid, pooling at my core. My pussy pulses under the weight. His finger flutters against my clit, increasing the pressure.
“Keep that up and I’ll come,” I inform him breathlessly.
“Better not or you’ll be punished.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
All this talk of punishment gives me a thrill. “What is it with you and Bear denying me?” I pout. “You’re supposed to be doing the opposite.”
“This is more fun.” He slides his fingers in my folds, and pleasure pulses through me. I pant, pressing against his hand to get the stimulation I need.
“Please,” I beg.
“What will I get if I let you?”
“Points. All the points.”
“Tempting,” he murmurs in my ear. “I do want to win.” His voice hardens as he commands, “I’m your number one daddy. Say it.”
“You’re number one. Daddy…I can’t—” My body moves restlessly against him. The vast ocean vista before me blurs.
“Kiss me,” he commands and angles my head toward him. We’re Jack and Rose on the bow of the Titanic. His mouth dominates me, his tongue thrusting until my pussy squeezes in sympathy, begging silently to be filled. I writhe against him, little noises breaking from my throat. Every last thought leaves my brain, helpless against the onslaught. The world falls away.
“Come, Evie.” Sawyer breaks the kiss long enough to give the order. My cries break against the rocks below. Sawyer kisses me again as a flock of birds startle and fly in an undulating curve over the surf.
* * *
Two rounds down, four to go. I’m at work, tapping a pen against paper, trying to keep from writing ‘Evie heart Bear & Sawyer 4 evah’ over and over. What is it about orgasms that turn me into a starry-eyed schoolgirl? It’s killing my movie star mojo.
“How are you coming on the quarterlies?” My coworker and cubicle neighbor pops his unwanted head in. I smile at my blank computer screen. Most days, Ben asks first thing about a project I’ve never heard of. Once I’m flustered, he dumps some of his own work on me.
Not today. I swirl my chair his direction, poised and ready. “Not my assignment.”
At the sight of me Ben’s eyes widen and I smile further. Usually I wear bulky blouses and shapeless slacks designed to hide my body. Not today. A dress arrived at my house last night, a red and white polka-dot number in a vintage style, along with strappy white espadrilles and a note: Live a little.
“Evie, you look…” Ben blinks at me, or more accurately, at my breasts. “Good. Real good.”
“Thank you, Ben,” I purr. I look better than good. The dress has a high neck, showing off my shape instead of baring acres of cleavage. It makes me feel modest, but the way it molds to the sharp silhouette of my waist and chest is anything but.
I gloat a moment more. “I don’t have time for any of your accounts today. Johnson has me on a bigger project.”
Ben nods, a glazed look on his face and I feel triumph. This dress is a weapon, and Ben is my first foe.
“I need you to forward me the Anderson file.” I spin back to face my computer before he can answer, and clack on the keypad. His footsteps humbly retreat. A minute later, his email pops up with an attachment. Victory is mine.
Smirking, I straighten my skirt, shifting a little to get comfortable. The dress and shoes weren’t the only gifts. A discreet black box held a bright pink device shaped like a tadpole with a curved tail. When I slip it into my panties (leopard print, Bear-approved) the device presses against my clit and… my butthole. A little weird, but I can play another kinky game. I have two gorgeous men competing to get me off. It’s a modern day sexual adventure: no feelings, no strings attached. I am a suave, sophisticated sex goddess.
I reach for a water bottle and the vibrator in my panties comes to life. I flail, and spill water all over my keyboard.
“Fuck,” I hiss, grabbing my cardigan to swab the spillage.
“Everything okay here?” My boss’s voice brings me back to reality.
“Yes, fine, Mr. Johnson.” I flush.
His eyes dip down to my chest, hugged tight by the polka dots. By the time they make the trip back up, he’s flushed too.
“I’m working on the Anderson file.” My voice is unnaturally high and loud. Can he hear the buzzing?
“Right. Good.” Thankfully, he moves away. Glassy-eyed, I stare at my computer, every once in a while moving the mouse. The vibrator hums merrily along. Just when I’ve gotten used to it, it stops. I wilt against my desk, mopping my brow with the cardigan. How did they get my exact measurements?
The vibrator stops for a time and I type frantically. A buzz against my sweet spot and I clutch my keyboard, clenching my teeth against overwhelming arousal.
“Evie?” Ben pops in again.
“Yes!” I almost shout, a little wild.
“You have a delivery.” My coworker backs away slowly and a messenger appears.
“Lunch order.” The messenger holds up a bag. In it, a sub sandwich and a note. Take a break to eat.
How did this happen? I swear off men forever and end up in a sexy game, guided by texts and calls and little notes. I have not one, but two daddies.
I wait until the coast is clear, and use a wad of tissues to extricate my vibrating distraction. I drop it into the basket. They’ll never know.
I’m halfway through my sandwich, entertaining another check-in from Mr. Johnson when my trashcan starts to shake.
“What is that?” My boss peers down just as the vibrator stops. “Did you hear that noise?”
“What noise?” I ask weakly, resisting the urge to grab the trashcan and sprint for the exit.
He’s about to walk away when the vibrator starts again.
“That noise.”
No, no, no.
“It’s coming from—” His head swings toward my trashcan.
“I’m on my period,” I blurt.
He looks at me in horror, the trashcan rattling at his feet.
“It’s um, a device to help with, um—” Shit, what’s the word… “Cramps!” I shout in triumph.
Mr. Johnson’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.
“But it didn’t work,” I explain, hoping he leaves before my blush moves from my chest and unfurls over my entire body. “So I…” I motion to the trashcan. Mr. Johnson steps back and almost stumbles. “I just forgot to take out the batteries.”
“Ah, yes, yes, of course,” my boss stammers and hurries away, looking a little green.
“Sorry!” I call after him and slump over my desk. Now I will have to take a lunch break, to smuggle this demon thing to my car.
My phone comes alive with the ‘Darth Vader’
theme and I fumble for it. Not that I think Mr. Johnson will dare come back and lecture me on personal cell phone use today.
“Evangeline!” my aunt Jen trills as if she’s not calling to ask another favor. Even though I’m not in the wedding party, my cousin thinks it’s fine to delegate tasks to me—picking up and mailing invitations, researching venues, interviewing caterers. I know I’m the boring, capable one, but seriously?
“Did you order the t-shirts?”
“Yes, Auntie Jen.” Six bridesmaid shirts in sizes small, medium, and extra small.
“Oh, and Gwen said she saw you this morning at the Bean Counter. Wearing a dress! Polka dots no less.”
“Yep.” I don’t ask what her friend Gwen was doing spying on me. Gossip is Auntie Jen’s full-time job.
“Well, it’s nice that you found a shop that caters to big girls. Just make sure you wear black to the wedding.”
I grit my teeth.
“Oh, one more thing. Gwen’s son’s divorce just went through. He needs a date for the wedding, so if you don’t have a plus one… his BO is much better now that he’s gotten on medication. Pretty soon he might be able to hold down a job.”
“Awww, thanks for thinking of me, but I already have a date.” I’ll rent one if I have to. Or ask Bear or Sawyer. As soon as I think it, I banish it. This is all for fun. They won’t want to be saddled with traditional boyfriend duties, and if I ask, and they refuse, I might not be able to weather the rejection.
At my feet, my trashcan shakes in sad agreement.
Chapter Five
Round 3
“You’re mean.” I stomp into Bear’s shop. It’s after hours, and no one’s here. The place smells like gas and motor oil, but all the tools are put away, the counters clean.
“Am I?” He leads me into his office and heads to a fancy Coke machine in the corner. He gets a soda and brings it to me. “How so?”
I hold up the pink thing I exorcised from my trashcan. “I was at work.”
“I told you to take a lunch break.”
“You’re torturing me.”
He doesn’t quite smile. We both know I love it.
I’m wearing yet another gift, a navy dress with a red cherry pattern. Held up by spaghetti straps, the tight bodice shows some spectacular cleavage. Normally I wouldn’t feel comfortable baring so much, but I love showing off for Bear. I turn in a circle to give him a chance to admire the full view.