I put a hand to his chest and push until he turns onto his back. I climb on top of him and rub my cleft against the underside of the big dick I’ve managed to trap. He finally smiles a little and pulls a condom from beneath his pillow.
Mmm…morning sex. All kinds of new things.
“That was more than thirty minutes,” I scold, but take the condom anyway.
He folds his hands behind his head and lifts a brow. “Then as punishment, I think you should ride me for the full thirty minutes, slow enough that I won’t come.” His eyes twinkle up at me as he taunts, “Make me pay.”
“I should make you ask nicely.” I frown down at him as I work the condom onto his length.
“Bet you can’t make me.”
I jerk my head up to see if he’s serious, but he’s still smiling, and I know he’s issued a challenge he wants me to accept. “Bet I can,” I shoot back, though I’m not certain at all.
He shrugs and the indifferent gesture makes me want to win, to make this big man wiggle and beg beneath me. I want to make him so desperate that he wrests control from me, flips me over and pounds me hard and fast.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
His smile falters a little when I position his cock and slide down, taking him almost fully inside in a single roll of my hips. But the angle is different this way, and he’s more difficult to take. It’s probably a full five minutes before I finally have him, the lips of my sex stretched wide around the base, my body shaking with a heady combination of discomfort and pleasure.
He shudders and I snap a little less seriously than I want, “Eyes on me.”
“Hell, no,” he mutters, his voice strained and guttural. “This view is too good.” He’s watching his cock disappear with each sway and roll of my hips.
I grab the blanket and toss it over his stomach, blocking the view.
“That’s dirty, moon goddess. Very dirty.” But he still refuses to meet my eyes, stubborn bastard, just stares at my breasts swaying as I rock my hips.
Well I can fix that too. I grab my breasts, one in each hand, hiding from him.
“Now that’s just not fair.” He finally lifts his eyes to mine, mischief lurking in the blue depths. I’m pretty sure he’s going to take over or tickle me or something, but he just arches his hips, tightening his thighs each time he slides inside, arms still folded beneath his head.
I glance at the clock on the table, noting the time. “Your thirty minutes starts now.”
He glares at me. “No, it’s been at least ten.”
“But that didn’t count,” my voice catches when he curves his hips up into me a little roughly, hitting a particularly sensitive spot. “I wasn’t watching.”
“That’s not my fault,” he complains.
“Fine,” I concede. “We’ll take five minutes off.
He grunts and swivels his hips. “It’s been at least fifteen.”
“Thirty seconds ago you said ten.” The words come out as a moan and I barely stop myself from bouncing up and down frantically.
“Fine, ten,” he agrees hoarsely, grinding himself upward.
“No, five.” I’m losing the ability to think, but I know it hasn’t been ten minutes. I clench my internal muscles, thanking Dr. Hall for making me do kegels for bladder control during and after both pregnancies.
He doesn’t respond, just tosses his head back and hisses. His chest expands on huge, bellowing breaths and his thighs are like iron under my butt.
“If you want me to make it another ten minutes, you need to stop.”
“You have to make it another twenty-five,” I remind him breathlessly.
He swivels his hips beneath me again, driving himself deeper still. “You said ten.”
“No, I said five.” I lean back, releasing my breasts to grip his thighs. I stop rocking and begin a slow slide up and down, dragging his erection through my swollen, slick tissues.
“Maybe I can make five,” he gasps. He pulls his hands from beneath the pillow and grips the sheets next to his hips, crushing the cheap cotton in his large hands. Thick veins stand out on his arms as he strains against me.
Now would be the time, I know. If I want him to beg, I should sink down, take him all the way and just sit, clenching around him until he loses control and takes over. Because even if he doesn’t beg, if he snatches the power to make him beg from my hands, it’s still a win.
His head is tilted back, a slight tremble is working its way through him, and the fists clenching the sheets are probably about to rip it. So I do what I’ve been itching to do for ten—fifteen? twenty?—minutes and ride him hard until air is bursting from his lungs in great heaves, and then I stop, leaving just the head of his cock barely inside.
He lifts his head and glares at me, blue fire glittering in his eyes. “Make me come,” he orders.
I laugh breathlessly. “I can make you come anytime. What you should be asking is for me to let you come.” Yeah, he said that to me the first time. Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?
He clenches his jaw and narrows his eyes before dropping his head and squeezing his eyes closed. “Goddess of the moon, sweet Luna, brave warrior woman…”
“Yeah, yeah. Butter me up,” I tease giddily, swiveling my hips. I win, I win, I win.
His eyes open and he sits up before I realize he’s going to move. He wraps his hands around my hips and yanks me down, hard enough to hurt, before lifting me and slamming me down again.
“Let me come, then,” he grinds out, still bouncing me onto his cock. But he’s not waiting for permission, because just as the words leave his lips, he holds me down and his cock jerks.
Right now I hate the condom that separates us. I want to feel him flood my pussy when he comes. I want to feel each spurt when he jerks uncontrollably, and I want him to feel every inch of me.
When he’s done, he slides his hands under my thighs, and pulls me to his face as he lies back down. Then he licks and sucks until I ask nicely.
* * * *
Light is just beginning to peek across the horizon when Gabe leaves me at my front door with a gentle kiss to the forehead.
“I have to fly to Barcelona Tuesday,” he whispers against my skin. “Then I’ll be between Berlin and Munich until the following Monday. Then London until Wednesday. I’ll be back on Thursday.”
“So I won’t see you next weekend.” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice, out of my heart.
“No. But I’ll have my phone and you have my number. If you hear from Dan, please call or text me.”
I look at his chest, at the springy hair revealed by the open top half of his shirt. I’m not one to beg for affection, and I won’t put myself in a position where one day I might. So I ask quietly, “Is Dan’s predicament the only reason you want to see me again?” I have to know before I let my stupid, stupid heart get involved. I can handle a booty call. I don’t know if I can handle anything more. Not with a man so intense.
Gabe sighs and pulls me into his arms, crushing me against his chest. “It should be, moon goddess. But, no. It’s not.” He rocks me back and forth a few times before he pulls away. “Get the blood work done and birth control. I’ll call you when I get back.”
With that, he strides away, climbing into his quiet little car and zooming off.
Chapter 10
The week that follows my illicit rendezvous with Gabe is enough to make any woman lose her mind. I love my dad: he’s the kindest, most giving soul I’ve ever met. He’s a lover, not a fighter, and has never in my life said a negative word about any woman, including my mother.
I don’t know how he handles his affairs, and I don’t want to know. Whatever he does, it’s worked so far. Even the woman who gave birth to me happily left without a backward glance, leaving a twenty-year-old college boy with a baby. And he’d risen to the challenge, never lamented his decision or let the stress of college and a baby, then work and a baby send him spiraling into depression or anxiety.
But if he wasn’t my father,
I would kill him.
I pull an early shift on Tuesday, since I’m done with school for a few weeks, and school’s out for Dad and the girls. The tips will go a long way toward replacing my alternator, and I’m not sure how much longer the shit-mobile will last. It also gives me a chance to run by the health department for blood tests. I know I’m clean, but I can’t very well expect Gabe to take my word for it if I won’t take his.
Trust. Ain’t it grand?
When I sputter to a stop in front of the house, the car gives a loud creak and groan before summarily dying. As usual. A shiny black car is sitting in the driveway and I frown, wondering who’s visiting. Dad never has women over—lovable playboy that he is, he only goes to a woman’s house or a hotel room—and the car doesn’t look like anyone’s I know.
I take a moment to look as I walk to the door, and realize it’s a new car, the dealer plates still on the back. And it’s a Tesla Model S. Not as sporty as Gabe’s other car, it’s a four door sedan. My heart skips and for a moment I’m excited, certain Gabe’s come back early or decided not to go after all.
I jerk around when I hear the front door open, and Dad saunters down the driveway, a great big, shit-eating grin on his face.
And no Gabe.
“What do you think?” he asks, still cheesing.
I look back at the car and try to hide the disappointment. “Dad, you got a new car last year.” I run my hand gently over the hood, the hot metal burning. “I mean, it’s great, but…”
“It’s not my car,” he sing-songs, eyes sparkling.
I can hear the girls playing in the back yard and tune out their screams and giggles to try and follow what Dad’s trying to tell me. If it’s not his, then it has to be Gabe’s. So he must be here, outside with my girls, and that pisses me off. I can almost feel the mommy bear emerge. I didn’t want him to meet my children. We’re not there yet, probably won’t ever be. And if he’s in the backyard playing with them…
Realization hits me like a ton of bricks. That mother fucker bought me a car. Mommy bear recedes and I grit my teeth, seething. I’m not a prostitute that needs to be paid, and I’m not a fucking charity case.
Dad shoves his hands in his pockets and the grin fades. Maybe he notices the steam coming from my ears.
“Before you throw a fit, Eluned, listen to what I’m going to tell you.” I glare at him, too pissed off to speak. “First of all, we do special things for the people we care about. You take care of people, cook for them, stand up for them, and lend them an ear. But if you had money, wouldn’t you pay for Sierra’s in vitro? Wouldn’t you…”
“Sierra’s like family,” I snap at him.
He nods solemnly. “You’re right.” He leans forward and floors me with his next remark. “But you would do anything you could for complete strangers, too.” He pauses, and I know he’s waiting for me to try and deny it. When I don’t, he smiles a little. “Gabe O’Malley likes you, and like any boy strutting for a girl, he’s trying to impress you. It just so happens that what he has to strut is money. Let him as long as you’re not leading him on. Besides,” he says, nodding toward my rust bucket. “It looks like old faithful is taking a ride.”
I whirl around. It wouldn’t surprise me if my car spontaneously burst into flames and started rolling away of its own power. Instead, there’s a tow truck driver circling it with a clipboard in his hand, his truck parked on the other side of the street.
He glances up and waves as he walks up the driveway toward us. “I’ll give you a thousand cash for it as long as you’ve got the title. But the guy on the phone said if you don’t want to sell it to me, I was to take it to Tony’s in Mobile to fix.” He looks down at the clipboard for a minute. “Without doing a full diagnostic, I can tell you it’ll cost a lot more than a grand to fix. And who knows what they’ll find when they get it open.” He shrugs. “If I was you, I’d take the cash.”
I try not to scream at the tow truck driver. It’s not his fault, really. He’s just doing his job. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Then I count to ten.
Clenching my teeth to keep my voice low, I ask, “And what if I don’t want it fixed or sold?”
His bushy eyebrows lower in a frown. “He said you’d probably say something like that, and that he’d double my fee if I convinced you otherwise. Lady, I don’t care what you do with your car. But my grandson’s got a birthday coming up, and that extra money would go a long way toward getting him…”
I can’t even let him finish. “Fine,” I snap. “Just fix the damn car.” At least that way I can get it back. I’ll use the Tesla as a loaner until mine is fixed. Then I’ll pay back every damn dime to Gabe if I have to sneak it into his pockets a dollar at a time.
“Let me get my stuff out.”
But I don’t have much in there. Just a tube of chapstick, an air freshener that I leave behind, an extra pair of shoes, and the reusable grocery bags in the trunk. Normally it’s packed full of kid shoes, jackets, dolls, travel games, and the occasional pop tart. But I cleaned it out yesterday and vacuumed, so I don’t have to be embarrassed. Thank God for small favors.
I stand back and watch, clutching the few items in my arms, as the driver hooks up my hooptey and drags it out of sight. He’d grinned to himself as he hooked it up, which hadn’t improved my mood at all. I turn to frown at the new car squatting in my driveway. Dad’s still standing beside it, hands in his pockets, grinning ear to ear.
I’ve been manipulated by my own father, my fuck-buddy, and a random tow truck driver to give up a car that I worked and paid for myself, and accept one as a “gift.” And all of this in less than ten minutes.
Men are all fucking bastards, and I’m more pissed at Dad than anyone else for not taking my side.
But secretly—deep down in a part of myself that I’ve trampled and repressed for most of my adult life—I’m so fucking flattered and pleased that it makes me sick.
Dammit.
* * * *
Look in the glove compartment.
The text comes around eleven p.m., jarring me out of a very pleasant reminiscence of Gabe’s tongue.
I’m only keeping it until mine is fixed.
There. Take that.
Tragic accident. It’s at the bottom of the bay. Are you insured?
I blink at the phone in disbelief. I don’t believe it for a second but I don’t think he meant for me to. Am I insured? Yeah, if I hit a kid on a bicycle. It’s called liability, asshole. Unless a NASA satellite came hurtling out of outer fucking space and smashed into my car, no one’s going to pay me for it. Even then, an “I’m sorry” note would probably be the most I’d get for my little pile of shit.
But my “insured” status is irrelevant, since I don’t believe my car suffered such a convenient accident.
Bullshit. Where’s my car, Gabe?
Not where it should be, which is buried at sea. It’s at Tony’s. It’s irreparable. You need a car and I need the sponsorship. Take the Tesla.
Before I can respond, he sends:
Please.
He’s placating me, trying to make it seem as though I’m doing him a favor by accepting the car. I sigh with resignation. I’ll just have to scrimp and save even more than I already am to buy a car instead of getting the Corolla replaced. I don’t doubt for a minute that he’s lying about what state it’s in. For God’s sake, it sputtered and cut off every time I came to a complete stop. I’ll take the thousand bucks for it and add that in with my stash to buy something else. In the meantime though…well, I’ve always wanted to go green.
Fine. Just until I get something else.
Thank you. Also, I found your pearls and money in the Rimac. I won’t push the money for now, but I have to insist you keep the pearls. They raise too many questions when I wear them. They’re in the glove compartment.
I picture him wearing pearls with his suit and giggle. I hate conceding on this, accepting something of such value. But he dropped the issue of the cash. Plus, I had the damned
pearls for a year without dreaming they were real. I should have known though.
Thank you for not pushing the money issue. I will accept the pearls, but reluctantly. No more gifts. I mean it.
I won’t agree to that. If I want to give you something, I will. And you will gracefully accept it.
Ha! If he thinks for an instant that I’ll be a kept woman, he’s got another thing coming. If for no other reason than I want my girls to understand that a woman doesn’t need a man to survive, to be fulfilled. Letting my rich…boyfriend, lover, whatever he is buy things for me and take care of my money issues is a horrible example to set.
I won’t delude myself into thinking I’d take it if I didn’t have kids. The girls aren’t the only reason I have to turn it down. There’s also his perception to consider. If I accept everything he offers, he’ll begin to use money and objects to control me, try to reward or punish me with things. Or he might start to believe that’s all I want from him, and resent me. Then there’s what other people would think.
But all of those reasons pale in comparison to the main reason I can’t take money or expensive gifts: it’s just plain wrong and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. And he needs to get used to the idea, but it’s not a conversation we need to have via text message, and it might be one we never have to have. Who knows how long Gabe will be a part of my life?
My good mood fades a little more and I send him back a quick text, ready to just put the conversation behind me and go to bed.
We’ll talk about it later.
Yes, we will. For now, good night.
I don’t respond, just lay my phone on the nightstand and curl up beneath my sheet to try and get some sleep.
* * * *
I don’t work the following day, and it begins like most summer vacation days: Carmen bouncing on my bed and Hannah watching solemnly from the door.
Luna Exposed Page 12