Baby Batter

by Alexis Angel

  I love every inch of this man. I love how fucking hard he’s cumming, and his sexy face is making me so wet my nipples actually hurt with need. The way he has me pinned like this, I almost wish I could pinch them, but I can’t reach them, and I’d rather have my hands on him anyway.

  But even more than how much I love the way we fuck, I love that I can see how much he loves me back, just by looking at him. It’s written all over his face.

  In the midst of our total filth, he’s looking at me like he won’t ever be able to get enough.

  I know the feeling.

  When the final drop of his cum shoots down my throat and I swallow it up, I feel a little dribble on my chin. Kirk shoots me a wicked look, pulling his cock from my mouth.

  In a swift move, he rolls over and pulls me on top of him, his tongue licking up the cum on my lips and then kissing me deeply.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this with how weak my body feels, but I slide my pussy up and down his cock and wiggle until I get his cock back inside me. My mind tells me I’m exhausted, but my body craves his…

  So here I am, finding my second wind and using it to shove his cock deep in my pussy while we kiss.

  Making up for lost time, remember?

  His tongue slides over mine, sharing the taste of our orgasms as promised, and I’m shivering in his arms. Hypersensitive to every inch of my skin touching his, I arch my back so that my nipples scrape more across his chest.

  Moaning into his mouth, I want to scream out just from the sheer pleasure of how good it feels to be in his arms, his cock buried inside me, and our cum all over each other’s tongues as we kiss deeply.

  We could be trapped like this forever. My pussy is already shaking again and squeezing down on his cock.

  I break the kiss and squeal. “Oh god, I’m cumming again!” I can’t help but yelp out.

  Beneath me, he bucks hard and fucks his cock into me so hard that my orgasm is so intense that I stop breathing. I literally stop and basically forget the world, only aware of what Kirk is doing to me.

  Then I fall back against him and shiver, the orgasm tearing through my body and making my body sweat even more, slippery against his chest. Every hard inch of him against my body feels like heaven.

  I run my hands up and down his firm arms holding mine, feeling every inch of their muscles and how strong he feels everywhere. I’ve never seen a man and felt a man so damn sculpted as him. If it wasn’t for the fact that I’d touched him and seen him with my own eyes, I would never have believed it was possible for someone to be as attractive as Kirk.

  The sight of him is enough to steal my breath, and that cock of his threatens to stop my heart every time I’m near it.

  “Goddamn, Em, I think you’ve issued a personal challenge for me to fuck you until you can’t cum anymore,” Kirk says with a laugh.

  “Because you know,” he continues and pulls me closer to him so that his lips touch my ear. “I’ll fuck you until you black out with an orgasm that just pulls you right under. My cock will stay rock goddamn hard to fuck you right over that edge.” He says this with an air of raw power in his voice that makes my clit twitch and my mouth run dry.

  I can’t say that I’ve ever wanted anything more. “That challenge sounds good, but I think I might collapse any moment,” I say with a breathy giggle.

  “Well, you know, we do have time. Today, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that…” Kirk says with a smirk as he turns us to the side and wraps his arm around me.

  His cock slides a little out and thrusts back, and he starts fucking me slower, with his cock never fully leaving me. The change of pace shocks me, and the way my body feels like butter against his rock-hard steel, well, it’s pretty much perfect.

  I take ragged little breaths, and my heart races at his touch. His lips are on my neck, kissing me softly. I shiver in his arms from the featherlight kisses and the way he’s stroking in my pussy so slowly.

  I’m so contended and satisfied that I just feel overwhelmed with how perfect this moment is.

  “I love sliding my cock in you slowly like this,” Kirk whispers against my neck. “You were fucking me so slowly before, I thought I would burst. But I knew I could repay the favor when you were too spent to do anything but feel how I can fill you up so slowly and keep you on the edge of an orgasm until you don’t know if you’re about to cum, or if you already are. I could fuck you forever,” Kirk adds with a growl.

  I’ve heard the term sweet nothings before, but the filthy things WineBar whispers in my ear are something else entirely. They’re dirty little secrets that he and I share—the words that make every moment we fuck unforgettable.

  Nothing can touch us when we’re together.

  My body feels so deliciously spent after he fucks me. His cock inside my pussy now feels so warm, so achingly good staying inside of me, that I want to sleep like this and wake up the next day with his cock still buried inside of me.

  My stomach is still sticky with his first load of cum, but I don’t want to wash it off. I like being marked by him.

  Fuck, he licks his cum off my tongue with his. That’s the kind of thing I never even would’ve known I wanted. Kirk mapped out pleasure my body didn’t even know how to get to.

  But it makes my pussy clench again, which totally shocks me.

  I couldn’t possibly be ready to cum again, if any more at all, because I’m so exhausted. But Kirk lowers his palm and plants it right above my pussy, pressing just enough to teeter the pleasure right off the edge.

  I cry out, the orgasm flooding through my body right on command for him. Whimpering, I shake against him, and that only makes his cock strokes speed up and fuck me just hard enough to make my eyes roll back in their orbits.

  I remember what he said about blacking out, and I know I’ve got to work to actually hold on because I gasp, and I’m about to float away from him or pass out or something.

  “Kirk!” I gasp out. He turns my face toward his and kisses me again, so softly it makes my clit burn with need. And it’s no coincidence that it’s what keeps me awake enough in that moment.

  And then his cock is hard as a stone and hot as hell, hammering into me with a furious speed. The cum pouring into my pussy is like little firecrackers lighting me up, sending me into a tailspin of furious lust.

  My body shakes in his hold, and every movement makes us both cum that much harder, drowning in each other. Every sensation brings us higher and higher until we’re both gasping. Kirk’s cock sinks into me to the hilt, and when he’s finally poured every last bit of cum inside me, he just stays there.

  “Can we just stay like this?” I say. I don’t add the last word—forever.

  But I don’t have to. Because he knows. He wants that too.

  “Yes,” Kirk says, kissing me softly. “I love you, Em. It will always fucking be you—forever.”

  Hearing him say it, I know it’s true. We’re perfect for each other.

  Now that we’ve finally figured out this whole mess, we have that forever right in front of us. And it never looked so good.

  Emily

  Standing at the baggage claim in terminal three, I feel like even more of an automaton than I usually do waiting for my luggage. Every fiber in my being is telling me to look at my phone and read Lana’s message for the two hundredth time. Instead, I take a deep breath and resist, waiting the eternity that it takes for my shit to come around the carousel.

  Sitting on the AirTrain, I have all of those ridiculous panicky symptoms—I’m nauseous, I feel my heart pounding at an unhealthy rate, and my mouth is bone-dry. I still want to read the message again, but instead I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at the ugly inside of the train car or the gray day outside.

  When I’m at the curb and the taxi driver is loading my bags into the trunk, I take another deep breath and feel a little calmer. I use this as an excuse to read the message again and try to make sense of it.

  Reading it again doesn’t hel
p. The text message from Lana refers to a letter—not an email, not even a phone call, but an actual paper letter with a fucking envelope and postage—sent from Rainforest.com.

  Getting a letter out of the blue from Rainforest isn’t good, and just the casual start of the text—“You got a letter from Rainforest” — is dreadful enough on its own. Not even a greeting.

  Lana must be as worried as I am.

  I scan through the entire message twice before getting into the back of the Suburban. I try to zone out during the ride, saving my energy for when I actually need to deal with this shit.

  It starts raining lightly as we go up the freeway, and certain words and phrases keep popping into my head: “suspicious activity,” “reviewing the account,” “potential action.”

  I don’t need this on its own, and I certainly don’t fucking need it on top of everything else. I’m not prepared to deal with it right now, but right now may be the only option I have. Lana convinced me I need to cut my trip short to address this immediately.

  The sun’s coming out by the time we’re rolling through the city. Almost instantly, it’s a beautiful afternoon, with the sunlight dancing off the skyline. I try not to think about the letter—or WineBar.

  We drive the last few blocks to my building. The sidewalks are crowded with people who all look so happy, basking in the weather like they’ve never seen the fucking sun before.

  I notice couples—there seem to be so fucking many of them—looking content, fulfilled. It looks like it must be so easy for all of them, like they’ve never had to go through any struggles or challenges, like it all just clicked.

  The taxi slows down gradually on my street, and my heart starts pounding again. That fucking text message, the letter...what does it mean? Why didn’t Lana send a photo of it instead of those few vague, terrifying words?

  The driver tells me the fare. I hand him my credit card.

  Is that what it’s like when you finally find the right person? It just clicks, with no challenges at all? The thought shoots through my mind as he hands me the receipt.

  I listen to the Suburban drive off behind me as I look at the entrance to my building. At this very instant, I don’t even have it in me to walk inside.

  I take a minute to look at the front entrance. Whatever’s on the other side, whatever’s in that letter from Rainforest, I need to face it eventually. So I guess I just have to say, “Fuck it. Here we go.”

  I can’t see inside the building at all. There’s too much glare from the sun. I know that it will be the same lobby, hallways, and apartment for the millionth time.

  I’m not looking forward to any of it.

  I finally step inside, and at first the lobby looks empty. That’s expected at this time of day. Sunshine is also pouring in as I walk through the door, making it hard to see what’s in front of me.

  I do see a figure, though. Just a shadow. Who the hell...wait...what?

  The door closes, and the first thing I see is the flower. Just a single rose, and whoever’s holding it is bringing toward me.

  “Em...”

  That voice…and that face. I now see him so clearly.

  It’s the only sight that could possibly bring me out of the funk I’ve been in the past few weeks. In Cancun, in New York. Pretty much every fucking minute since I woke up the day after the barbecue.

  It’s Kirk. It’s WineBar.

  He’s looking kinda bored out of his mind, as if he’s been here for hours.

  But he sees me.

  He’s coming toward me, holding that single rose.

  Tears fill my eyes, and the doorman’s just looking at the two of us.

  But I don’t fucking care because WineBar’s right there in front of me now.

  “Emily, if it’s a choice between every other girl and you, I realized—it’s you,” he says.

  I can’t speak. I’m frozen to the spot, my eyes locked on his as he looks at me in a way I thought I’d never see again.

  “If it’s a choice between Miami or New York or any other fucking place in the whole fucking world and you—it’s still fucking you,” he says again.

  I might be making some sort of noise, I’m not sure, but right now I don’t fucking care.

  “And, Em...”

  “Guh.” I can’t even form any words, and I know I’m a hot mess with tears spilling down my cheeks.

  WineBar doesn’t even flinch. His eyes stay focused and serious. He leans closer, and now he’s just a few inches away.

  I can feel his warmth. I can smell his wondrous scent.

  I stare into Kirk’s eyes which are directed at mine, radiating warmth, both passion and tenderness and wild, raging desire and soulful intensity. He’s reflecting all of those indescribable things I feel, those things that I know now, we both feel.

  “And, Emily...”

  “Bluh.”

  “It will always be you. Every fucking time. You, Em. It is you. It’s no one but you.”

  I feel the warmth increase as Kirk moves in closer and wraps me in his arms as and brings me closer still, until our lips meet in a long overdue kiss.

  I don’t know how long we’re there in the lobby, kissing like it’s the very air we need to breathe, but eventually we go upstairs.

  I think…for the first day of the rest of our lives.

  Kirk

  The bar in Pacific Heights gets so busy now, even on weeknights, that it feels unreal. It’s only 6:00 p.m., but the crowd looks to be almost capacity.

  I’m locked in behind the bar, and Susan mails me a look from the middle of the floor. She’s between tables, and I’m alone in my spot, trying to corral the masses of newcomers vying for drinks. Word of mouth is working for this location, yet I hardly see any familiar faces tonight.

  There is one familiar face that I hope to see tonight, but I don’t count on it happening. That’s going to have to wait until the right time, when I can find out what’s really happening.

  At the moment, I’m more worried about my staff, or lack thereof. The new kid, Henry, chose one fucking hell of a night to call in sick. Even if Emily did show up, I’d probably need to let her float away like last time.

  You know what? Fuck no.

  I wouldn’t do that. Not now.

  But she’s not coming here, most likely.

  When the time is right, it’ll be right. That’s the only attitude to possibly have tonight.

  I work my way down the bar using a fair method, starting at one end and moving down. People are ordering wine too. Youthful hip patrons and seasoned drinkers alike—even young, burly dudes usually not seen without a domestic long-neck in their hands are swilling glasses of the house white.

  There are lot of those dudes here tonight. They remind me of the guy Em was with. I set that thought aside for later, when I’m not trying to manage an unprecedented slam of patrons.

  I continue down the bar, pouring house wines, taking cash and cards, quickly opening tabs like a motherfucker, and ignoring complaints. I have efficient tunnel vision for drinks and money, with occasional glances to the tables and waitstaff to make sure chaos isn’t breaking out.

  Unfortunately, one of these quick glances throws me way the fuck off. One of the requisite burly dudes with a blush wine is trying to chat up a woman by herself at a table.

  I recognize her—it’s not Emily, but it is her friend.

  It’s Lana.

  Fuck, that might mean Emily is showing up at some point. Lana says something to the hopeless guy, and his disappointed expression is obvious even from my distance. He skulks away from Lana’s table, holding his glass by the stem.

  I’m not much for panic, and I know it wouldn’t do me much good if I were, but I’m having a tough time trying to figure out what to do next. A new crowd is materializing at the bar in a hurry, so it’s time to serve more fucking drinks.

  Then, like some kind of guardian angel, I see a fashionable yet slightly gawky college-aged kid standing heroically across the bar from me. It’s Henry
, my new hire, and he’s looking terrifically healthy.

  “Hey, I went to the emergency room. I’m good to go.”

  I don’t know if Henry is full of shit. It’s probably a fair assumption, but I don’t have time to be punitive about it.

  “Emergency room? You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah. I had these stomach pains, but it was just from drinking too much green tea earlier. I’m all good now.”

  I can question him about that later. Maybe. At this moment, Lana is still there, probably waiting for someone.

  She might want nothing to do with me, but I really want to talk to her, if she’s okay with it, and I may not get another chance.

  “Good. Can you tend bar?”

  I know he hasn’t before, but he manages to look confident while thinking of an answer.

  “I took that two-day seminar—that one on my resume. I got some practice there...”

  “Great. I need you to get behind the bar now. Price list is by the soda. Don’t worry about cards. Tell ‘em the machine is broken and it’s cash only.”

  Henry nods, looking in control. His confidence should carry him through, hopefully. He struts to the bar.

  I stride over to Lana’s table.

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  Lana’s glued to her phone when I get to the table. After looking up, she looks moderately surprised to see me, but nothing more.

  “Oh, hey. Sure. I’m waiting on someone, but might be a while.”

  I sit, trying to hold in the question until it fights its way out.

  “It’s not Emily, is it?”

  There are shades of realization showing on Lana’s face, but I can’t decipher it. I want to try to figure things out with as few questions as possible then leave Lana alone and get back to the craziness.

  “Oh, no,” Lana says. “It’s some other people. I may have to go somewhere else.”

  “Okay.”

  I don’t think Lana knows why I’m talking to her. She’s not volunteering anything else, but she looks ready to answer more questions.