by M. C. Decker
“Rich, I need you.”
“You have me, sweetheart.”
“No. I.need.you.in.me.now.”
“Just come for me, Brooke. I want to watch as you erupt on my hand. You are so fucking sexy right now. So fucking sexy. I didn’t get to take my time with you last night. I didn’t get to watch you fall apart.”
With that, my walls tightened around his fingers as I felt the most amazing orgasm ripple through my body. With no time to catch my breath, I heard Rich tear open the foil wrapper.
“Rich, don’t. I want to feel all of you this time.” I heard his breath hitch at my request.“ I’m on the pill,” I told him just to reassure him that I was safe that this was safe. “I trust you.”
He looked at me with wide eyes as if he were registering what I had asked of him. Before I could get another word in, he rammed his bulging cock inside my already pulsating pussy. I had to reposition my body underneath him to allow him to fill me completely. Rich must have felt me move beneath him because, before I knew it, he had me flipped over and on top of him.
“Ride me like a carnival pony, baby.”
I couldn’t help but giggle before I realized he was being completely serious. I did as instructed and began bobbing up and down as he filled me with each thrust. He grabbed my neck and pulled me down, my tits rubbing against the perfectly sculpted surface of his chest, for the most passionate, yet aggressive, kiss of my life. As our tongues were teasing, I took the opportunity to run my hands through his shaggy hair. I was just about to come unglued when I heard Rich groaning.
“Harder, Rich. Don’t stop … please,” I begged.
With that Rich flipped us over again in one quick motion and began thrusting into me. He pumped even more deeply into me several times, before I screamed out his name one final time, as I came undone around him. My screams must have put him over the edge because, before coming down from my high, he grabbed my ass to pull me in closer, his liquid warmth filling me completely. He found his release and collapsed, breathless against my tender breasts.
Rich held me, my head on his chest for several minutes as our breathing evened out. I felt his fingers stroke my hair, just as he had done on the night that Jay and I had broken up, making me feel like a college kid again. I was young and carefree in Rich’s strong embrace, as though the last ten years of my life hadn’t happened.
As I ran my fingers up and down Rich’s sculpted chest, I noticed a large, Celtic knot tattoo with a set of dates over his left pec muscle. Tracing the outline with my finger, I felt his breath hitch at my touch.
“What does it mean,” I asked.
“The Celtic knot represents my father’s Welsh ancestry. I added the dates – his birth date and death date – just recently,” he answered with reflection in his voice.
I wanted to ask him about his father, but I knew he would talk about it, if he wanted to. I knew better than to push it. I couldn’t stand it when people urged me to talk shortly after my mom died. I talked to a few select people and I wanted everyone else to leave me alone.
Just as I was starting to drift off again, I heard him ask …
“Does it ever get easier?”
“Does what get easier?” I asked, only half-awake.
“Your mom … I mean does the pain ever go away? Do you ever stop missing her?”
I had to take a minute to process what he was really asking me. Rich was taking our conversation to a much more intimate level. This was far past standard, pillow talk and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for this. I had just thought about asking him about his father, and I guess he did want to talk after all.
“Rich,” I said, blinking back the tears that were welling in my eyes, “I don’t think we should discuss this right now.”
“Come on, Brooke. I … I need to know if it gets easier. I don’t have anyone else to talk to. No one else gets it. All of my friends,” he went on, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. “All my friends, they still have their parents. Most of them still have their grandparents even. I don’t know anyone else like … like us. And, I need to know if it gets easier. Please, just tell me … that it gets easier.”
He was pained and he was pleading with me to take away the hurt of losing his father. He wanted me to promise something that I could not promise him. Sure, my pain had dulled from what it was six years ago, but it hadn’t gone away and I was starting to believe it never would. I didn’t think I ever wanted it to fade away. Once it was gone, would I forget my mom completely? Would I forget the sound of her voice, her smell, the look on her face when I brought home my report card chockfull of straight A’s in the fourth grade? No, I didn’t want the hurt to completely fade because then, too, would the memories.
I realized I had let some time pass, when I heard Rich ask me again, “please, Brooke.”
“It’s only been a year, Rich. The first year was the most difficult for me, too. I walked around in a daze for most of it. Honestly, I have no idea how I even finished graduate school. I don’t even remember getting out of bed most mornings. I guess I was just surviving, doing my day-to-day tasks, and honestly, I wonder how well I did those things, looking back on it. Does it ever get easier? Yes, I’d say it does get easier; the hurt doesn’t go away, though. At least for me it hasn’t, but I don’t think I really want it to go away – not entirely. If it does go away then it might mean I have forgotten her and there is nothing about my mother that I want to forget.”
We were both quiet for several minutes before Rich tucked me closer against his chest and planted the most gentle, softest kiss behind my ear. The intimacy of the moment sent a chill up my spine.
“Thank you, Brooke,” Rich said, tenderly.
“Maybe sometime you could tell me about him. It helps me to tell stories about my mom,” I said the words before I even knew what I was saying.
“I’d like that, but right now we need to get showered so we can tackle this sightseeing list of yours.”
I was a little disappointed and almost suggested we skip the sightseeing altogether and spend the day in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, until Rich moved away from me and peeled himself out of bed. In that moment, I felt empty without him.
As much as I didn’t want it to, something had happened between us in that short span of time. I just knew that I had to get a handle on the situation while it was still possible. After thinking for a minute about what this would mean for my future, I looked up to see Rich standing next to the bed… completely naked.
All my previous thoughts vanished, as my bulging eyes attempted to take in a nude Rich, standing before me with a shit-eating grin on his face.
I hadn’t seen all of Rich the night before in his darkened bedroom, and we were in such a heated frenzy, but the man was seriously a sight for sore eyes – all one-hundred-percent pure, male deliciousness. I could tell he spent much of his downtime at the gym. By daylight, I was convinced I had counted eight chiseled muscles on his sculpted abs that still led down to that delectable V – and below his waist … Sweet Jesus.
“Enjoying the show, Brooke?”
“ … … I … wow … I mean.”
“I never thought I would see the day when I left Babbling Brooke speechless,” he chuckled.
“Shut up. I am not a Babbling Brooke. I used to hate it when you called me that in college.”
“I know,” he added with a grin.
I grabbed the pillow from behind me and chucked it in his direction. He blocked my feeble attempt at bodily injury and laughed as he pulled me from the bed and into his embrace.
“I could hold onto you forever, Brooke Anderson. I know you have your reservations, but just know that I am not willing to let you slip away from me again. I don’t care what I have to do to prove to you that this is where you belong.”
Without saying another word, he grasped my hand and led me into his bathroom.
“I doubt we’ll get out of here very fast, showering together, Rich.”
“I don’t ca
re if we’re here all day, Brooke. I’ll be the one to wash every inch of your body this morning.”
We stepped into Rich’s spacious shower; seriously, it was easily big enough for six people. There were two large, shower heads attached to the modern, tiled wall. Rich turned on the faucet and a steady, warm stream of water began to trickle down his perfectly chiseled body. Feeling a shiver run down my spine, I wasn’t quite sure if it was from the sight of him, or the cold air hitting my naked skin. Rich noticed my body quiver and he pulled me into a tight embrace.
“Step under the water with me. It’s a lot warmer over here, sweetheart.”
The hot water beating on my head, while wrapped in Rich’s tight arms, was just what I needed to feel immediate satisfaction.
“Mmmmm. Perfect.”
Rich’s hands were instantly all over me. He pushed me up against the wall and nuzzled into my neck, while kissing me gently. I reached out and grabbed the bottle of conditioner that was sitting on a corner shelf of the shower. Squirting a dollop into my palm, I reached down to cup Rich’s balls and gently stroked up toward his growing length.
Suddenly, Rich turned me around and pushed lightly on my back, so that I would bend toward the floor. As I rested my hands on the wet, acrylic floor, Rich guided my hips to meet his now fully erect length. Before I had time to register this steamy scene, unfolding before me, Rich entered me from behind in one, fluid motion. I gasped at his sudden entrance.
“Are you OK, Brooke?” Rich asked, as he began teasing my nipples with his fingers.
“Oh yes, please. don’t. stop.”
“Your wish is my command.”
I loved how Rich had me bent over before him. This position allowed for the deepest penetration. I assumed that in this pose, he would be in complete control of my body, but I quickly realized that the farther I leaned over, the deeper he could go in. In order to slow Rich’s movement within me, I adjusted my stance so that I wasn’t bent over as far, and his thrusting became shallower. Within seconds of my orgasm, I folded my body over completely, as Rich thrust deeply within me a few more times. I felt Rich’s orgasm ripple through him almost immediately.
“Wow,” was all I heard escape his lips as I slowly stepped away from him and returned to an upright position.
“Whoever said the G-spot doesn’t exist has never done that before.”
Rich erupted in laughter as he pulled me into him once more.
“Oops, I can’t believe I actually said that out loud,” I said, feigning innocence.
After nearly forty-five minutes in the shower, exploring each other’s bodies, we decided it was time to get out and get ready for our day. After all, I really did want to see at least some of the city. I was sitting on the edge of Rich’s bed watching him prepare for our day in the city, when I heard my phone chirp once again with an incoming text message. I quickly got up and grabbed my purse, remembering that I was supposed to call Cassidy the night before.
Cass: You better be dead on a sidewalk somewhere because I am worried sick, Brookie. Seriously, text me back, or I will hunt you down and kill you myself!
Ack! Sorry, Cass, I’m a terrible friend. I’m fine. Just about to head into the city to do a little sight-seeing before I catch my flight back to Detroit. I’ll call you when I land.
Cass: Thank God, you’re OK! I thought I was going to have to come fight a bear for you. I'd fight a bear for you, you know? Not a grizzly, or brown bear … or a koala … But like a Care Bear? I'd fight one of those sonsabitches for you. ;)
OMG! I don’t even know how to respond to that … Are you drunk? At 10 a.m. in the morning?
Cass: Nope, I found that on that Pinterest site that I was telling you about. Isn’t it hilarious? I just wanted to make my girl smile. Although, something tells me someone else has already taken care of that for me. Call me the second your flight lands! I need deets!
I will. Love you!
Cass: Love you, too! Safe travels, bbopof! Xxoo
I shook my head and smiled at my best friend’s use of our nickname. We joked that we actually created texting terms years before cell phones were even on the market. We were probably still using crayons when we decided we’d be “Best Buddy O’ Pal O’ Friends” forever. It’s always stuck and it’s always been just for us. Just as I was about to turn my phone off and go back to concentrating on Rich, I heard my phone chime in once more.
Cass: P.S. If you find any other hot guys please pack them in your suitcase for your girl! ;)
You really are a handful, Cass. Love you, bbopof! Xxoo
I tossed my phone back in my purse and looked up to see Rich staring at me with a quirky grin, plastered on his face. Walking toward me, wearing only his jeans which hung low on his waist, he stopped just inches away from where I was sitting on the edge of the bed.
“What’s got your face twisted all up, Davis?” I asked.
“I’m smiling at the most bewitching girl I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing in my bed. Do you have a problem with that, Anderson?”
I felt immediate warmth on my cheeks and I was almost certain I was blushing at Rich’s sudden declaration.
“Bewitching? That’s a pretty fancy word, Rich,” I replied.
“I am the editor of one of the world’s most influential newspapers, sweetheart. My vocabulary is rather extensive. Just wait till I break out some of my words on you in bed.”
“You’ve had me in bed. Not once, but … twice,” I said as I held up two fingers. I let my fingernails trace down his rock-hard abdomen, taking extra time to admire that perfect V. “And, I don’t remember you doing a lot of talking, really, just a lot of … groaning.”
“Actually, Brooke, I’ve had you three times, if you count the shower sexcapade,” he quipped, placing extra emphasis on the word “had.”
“See, my math skills are pretty good, too. And, let’s not forget my mad bedroom skills. I’m just a talented man, I guess. Oh, and I’ll groan for you any time, any place.”
“As much as I would love for you to have me again, Mr. Davis, we need to get out of here if I’m ever going to make a dent in my sightseeing list.”
“Seriously, Brooke? I really don’t know why you care about seeing the Washington Monument so badly. It’s just a prime example of phallic architecture. I bet you’re more impressed with the ‘Washington Monument’ in my pants, anyways.”
“Oh my god … you are too much, Rich,” I said, as I lightly smacked him across his chest. “Now put a shirt on and let’s get moving.”
The sun was beginning to fade in the distance and I knew my time in our nation’s capital was quickly ending. Rich and I had covered a lot of ground during the afternoon, once I got him out of his penthouse, at any rate. We may have been distracted by his bed once more, before he finally put his shirt on and agreed to come on my little sightseeing excursion.
Along with taking me to see the Washington Monument, the White House and Lincoln Memorial, Rich insisted on taking me to his favorite deli for a late lunch where I indulged on the thickest sourdough bread and fresh tomato bisque.
After lunch, Rich argued with me for several minutes about my list, insisting that he knew of some much better areas of the city that weren’t included on my list from Frommer’s travel guide. I finally gave in to his pouty nature, pointing it out to him, and decided to give up my trip to the Smithsonian’s National Zoo, in favor of his walk through historic Georgetown.
I would never admit this to him, but I knew he was right the minute we stepped off our DC Circulator Bus; the view of the stately homes, Potomac and Francis Scott Key Bridge were magnificent. I really had no words as we walked through the neighborhood. A small flea market and vendor area had been set up in the neighborhood as it was “Fall Harvest Days,” as advertised on a banner hanging above the lampposts.
Rich grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the vendors. He bought us two caramel apples and a large, frozen, apple-cider slushie to share. Trying to avoid “brain freeze” from a large gulp
of the sticky, sweet, frozen concoction, I glanced in Rich’s direction to see him purchase a beautiful, handmade, beaded necklace. Returning to me, he soon wrapped the gorgeous purchase around my neck which had green beads of the most beautiful hues.
“I thought it matched the color of your eyes, at least today anyways, since you’re wearing that emerald sweater. Your eyes have always intrigued me, Brooke. They’re like the most exotic chameleon, always changing colors.”
“You shouldn’t have, Rich, but thank you. It’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful,” he added.
Before I got too distracted by Rich’s charming words, I walked over to the next vendor booth. It was filled with all sorts of cheap baubles from toy race cars to fashion dolls with creepy, googly eyes. In one of the farthest bins, I noticed a toy that I hadn’t seen in years. I reached over to grab the pink-foam top of the Ice Cream Punch Cone. I clicked on its release button just as Rich was walking toward me. I couldn’t stifle the laugh as the foam top bopped him square in the face.
“Ouch. What was that for, Anderson?”
“Sorry, Davis. You walked into that one, literally. Wrong place, wrong time, I suppose,” I giggled while giving him an apologetic shrug.
“Well, Brooke, I did walk right into that one, but whenever you are involved, it will never be the wrong place, or the wrong time.
“If I’m being honest though, that ice cream would be better if it was the real deal and I was licking it off your gorgeous body.”
Rich had this ability of turning even the most innocent thing into my wildest, sexual fantasy.
“You and your lines, Davis,” I said, as I swatted my palm against his chest. Damn the cool weather and the jacket that was covering Rich’s hard abs and solid arms. I tried to act annoyed by Rich’s flirtations, but I was trying my hardest not to soak through my panties. I had to get my mind off of Rich and what he could do, or rather did to me in bed. Ice Cream Punch Cone, Ice Cream Punch Cone, Ice Cream Punch Cum … It became a chant in my head – anything to forget my desires.