Sex Sessions: After The Cut (Camera Tales #2)

by Charisse Spiers

  If I could experience time travel, that's where I would go, and I'd be perfectly okay with getting stuck there. Saxton would fit there too I think. I always pictured myself with someone like him, twirling me around the dance floor with saxophones guiding us. We could go out on Saturday nights and sip tea on the front porch on Sundays. We would love each other and life would be great.

  "I don't know what you're talking about, baby. I knew you liked music and I wanted to take you somewhere nice you could dress up. This is just what came to mind. New York is famous for it. I didn't know you liked Jazz music."

  "Of course you didn't," I whisper. He always just seems to subconsciously know. That's one reason I love him. A solemn tear escapes. "It feels like home."

  Saxton

  She's been almost silent since we got here and got our table, moving her body along to the music with a smile on her face that never goes away. She looks happy, and for a man in love it doesn't get any better than this. Knowing you contribute to someone enjoying life is the best compliment. I can experience things with her that I never thought I would with anyone, and usually I end up loving it more than I thought when I agreed to do it.

  It was just like I said. I chose this because she has a love for music and New York is a famous landmark for Jazz music. It's home to some of the greats. Most people don't leave here without experiencing it in some degree. I've never really been into it myself, but that doesn't mean I don't have a respect for it. It just wasn't a genre I clicked with. My personal likes in terms of music are a little . . . harder. The AC/DC concert was right up my alley, and I like certain styles of country, but that's pretty much where my musical likes sit, never changing or swaying as the years go by.

  One thing I'm learning quickly is that compromise in a relationship makes for a more peaceful life. She's happy, I'm happy, and it keeps the world turning with no fights. It was more of a bonus that she actually likes this.

  I sip my beer and place my arm on the back of her chair. The pace of the music changes from song to song; some a mellow, romantic Jazz, while some are more like swing music, and others are more instrumental oriented. I lean closer to her ear so that she can hear me. "You having fun?"

  "You have no idea," she says, her eyes glued to the dance floor. The couples utilizing it have changed slightly from time to time, but mostly it's the same ones. I am guessing they are probably regulars. The house is full, every table occupied. The lights are turned down low, leaving the room dark, and luckily I got a table in the corner with little traffic.

  I figured it was probably easier for her since I knew I was going to have to sneak her drinks. Life will be much easier when she's of age. I never expected to add contributing to a minor to my wrap sheet, but to be honest it's always been a stupid law to me. It makes no sense that a person can die for his country and enhance the risk of lung cancer by the age of eighteen, yet can't legally drink alcohol until three years later. The way I see it; if a person can witness some of the things our soldiers witness during a time of war, then you should be able to buy a fucking beer. But that's just my two cents.

  I follow her line of vision to a couple that's been out there almost the entire time we've been here. It's an older couple, probably pushing seventy. He's wearing a suit and she a dress made for dancing, her heels low to the floor. Their smiles never fade as he twirls her around the dance floor to the swing number currently playing.

  I glance back at Kambry. She's watching them with a longing look, her features relaxed and content as she sits with her hands in her lap, her posture straight. It's amazing to me that another human being can have such an altering effect on a person. I'll be the first to admit I'm no dancer, much like the fact that I can't carry a tune in a bucket. I've been to proms and formals through my teenage years and survived through it, but it was more of a hands on hips and sway type thing, and not once did I give a shit about what someone thought, but I'm not an attention seeker either. Still, as I sit here, I want to do for her. I want to be the best for her.

  The song ends and the band playing announces the next one: a cover of Frank Sinatra's, The way you look tonight. I recognize it immediately. It doesn't take a Jazz lover to know Frank Sinatra, or that it's a slower one. He's a classic. I take a deep breath when the instruments begin to play the recognizable tune, trying to mentally sway the thoughts brewing, but immediately could shake my own damn head at myself. You're totally going to do it and you know it . . .

  I stand and reach for her hand. She looks at it, and then up at me. "Dance with me."

  "I don't really know how to dance like that."

  "Come on. Dance with me," I repeat, trying to eliminate a lengthy conversation. She takes my hand and stands, her face a little red, allowing me to lead her onto the dance floor. This is one of those times when I'm forced to wing it. Years of movie watching will make me or break me here.

  She faces me. I place my left hand on her hip and grab her hand with the right, holding it at the exact place it's supposed to be when two people dance. Surprisingly, she falls into position naturally. I pull her close, our cheeks existing side-by-side. Dear God, please don't let me have two left feet.

  My feet begin to move, leading her to the beat of the song. She follows along, and within a matter of seconds it becomes second nature. She pulls back a little and smiles at me. I've always thought her smile was beautiful when it's shining at its brightest. "This is surreal. It's the perfect birthday. Thank you."

  I pull her against me again, wanting her close. Our hands remain fitted together, but drop between our chests, slowing the pace a little. What was feet movement in somewhat of a box changes to allow our hips to sway. "You deserve it."

  She whispers against my ear. "You always say that, but you deserve things too. I don't know what to do for you that would have the same effect as this."

  "You saying yes did, baby."

  "Do you really think I would have said no?"

  The faces in my direct line of vision become more blurred as I get lost within the song. "You're still young. It wouldn't have been abnormal."

  "Since you're such an old man and all . . . "

  "I'm old enough to have lived a little. I can get married with no regrets of settling down with you for the rest of my life."

  "So can I. People back in the time period we're currently dancing and living in got married young all the time and lived happily ever after together. Just because the world has changed its standards of normal doesn't mean that's what I want."

  My hand moves to her lower back, my palms at the small and my fingertips to her backside. I can smell her perfume each time we move to the music. It's a scent I'll likely never forget. "I know. I just want to make you happy. I believe in forever with one person, Kambry. My parents instilled that in me over the course of my life. It's why I haven't dated anyone between you and her. I had the mentality that a girl like you didn't exist and real love was lost in the world. A temporary marriage is not what I'm after, and I can get girls that open their legs frequently anywhere. I really just meant that a person deserves enough time to ensure they don't change their mind. I would have understood."

  Her hands inch upward, settling on the back of my neck, and my now free hand moves to accompany the other. She glances at me. "Which is exactly why I want to marry you, Sax."

  "Which part?"

  She smirks. "Shut up and kiss me."

  I inch forward, our lips almost touching. "Your wish will always be my command."

  Then I give her exactly what she asked for in the middle of hundreds of people on this very dance floor, because that's what you do when you find the girl that makes you forget everyone else.

  Kambry

  The driver holds the door to the limo open as we stumble out of the club at closing. My body is consumed with an amazing buzz and my mind with a high that can't be artificially conjured. I'm happy, and it's shown the entire night. We've danced, we've kissed, and we've laughed from the fun the environment has created. It'll be hard
for a future birthday to ever top this one. This one is perfect.

  He lets me enter first. When he follows behind I grab his black tie in my fist and pull him toward me, messing up his balance. I've wanted to do this all night. There is something extremely sexy about a man wearing a tux and tie. I haven't figured out why. It just is.

  He finds a place to break his fall toward me as I pull his lips into mine. My tongue instantly searches for his, the beer on mine mixing with the beer on his. I'm dizzy, and everything in my line of vision is covered with a foggy haze. I want him, right here and now, to end my birthday in a way I'll never forget. For me, and maybe a lot of girls, this is something imperative that I need in our relationship; him reacting to me the instant I initiate intimacy, even when it’s not the first time. I constantly need to know that he wants me too. It's a connection that is unexplainable: when your bodies become one. I suppose it probably was created for marriage. The Bible tells us so. But, I feel that it's just as important if it's someone you truly love. As humans, sometimes we can’t wait. It may be wrong, but it's nature.

  His body rests on top of mine, the fabric of my dress stretched as far as it will over my legs. "Where to, sir?" The driver asks through the pane of glass that separates us.

  He breaks the kiss and I immediately wish he hadn't. "Just drive. I'll let you know when we're ready to go back home."

  "Yes, sir," he says, and then the window begins to rise until it's sealed off, leaving us in private quarters.

  He looks back down at me. "You really want to do this here?"

  "Yes." I sit up and he lets me, going with the flow until he's sitting on the bench seat. "It's just us this week." I remove my heels, one by one. "We may or may not get this for the next half a year. I want this week to be the top memory for a long time."

  I hike up the lower half of my dress and pull my panties down my legs, removing them, and then I straddle him. "When you see a limo or hear the word, I want you to think of tonight."

  His hands rub up my thighs. "Fuck, baby. I already would without anything more tonight. It's not just about sex with you."

  I unbutton the bottom buttons of the tux and push the jacket over his shoulders. He leans up to remove it completely, leaving him in the vest, shirt, and tie. The alcohol starts talking for me. "Shut up, Maverick. Give me what so many girls before me have gotten, only more."

  His mouth drops slightly and he blinks at me. "But I've never—"

  I press my lips against his. I know where this is going. He probably thought that was a smart-ass remark with his past experience since I have none, but really, it wasn't. I'm just in the mood to be a teenager in ways I've never gotten to be. I heard about the behind the scenes of prom night for the four years I was in high school. I was always so jealous that I didn't get to stay late and experience the full night all dressed up with the guy I love, followed by the sex wherever a place was available. Now I have it, and I don't want to miss a thing.

  I pull back. My lips feel slightly swollen, tingly, and wanting more already. I undo the hook-and-eye clasp above my right breast on the inside of the fabric, and move the strap around my neck to let it hang on the other side. He looks at my chest and back at my face. "You want me to experience things, well, this is something I want to experience. Be careless with me. Let's pretend we just left prom. What would you do to me if we had?"

  He peels the front of my dress down, baring my front. He grips my breasts in his hands as I begin to unbutton the vest, kneading them as I get to his button-down. "I fucking love you," he says when I pull at the knot of his tie, loosening it enough to remove his shirt.

  He helps me, pulling the tail out of his pants when it's all that is left. I remove his tie, putting it on me and letting the long portion run between my boobs. "Show me."

  He pushes his hips up, shoving me upward, and works his pants open. He then slides them down his legs, me raising enough to get them between us before sitting back down on his lap. His mouth wraps around my nipple, lightly sucking and nibbling. My head falls back at the way it feels. "Put it in," I command, as my center grinds against his length.

  He grips my butt and lifts me. When he presses me back down, his head is at my entrance, pushing inside as I lower myself. "I love that you're always wet."

  I glance down at my bare bottom, my front dress skirt at my pelvis. I pump my upper body up and down, watching his dick as it disappears and reappears. "I love that you're always hard."

  "Only for you, baby."

  My pace quickens, my lips lowering to his. "Always and forever?"

  His hands grip my butt beneath the back of my dress. "Forever and always."

  I kiss him, needing him and wanting him all the same. I feel the closest to him like this. It may seem childish or immature to a lot of people, but when he's inside me, I feel like the bond between us can't be broken. It's a seal between two whole beings. I love him. It doesn't matter where life takes us, because we can always come back here: a place for only us. He's the part of my life I can't go on without, and I never intend to.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Saxton

  "What if they don't like me?"

  I wrap my arm around her and pull her into my side as we walk through the airport to the correct terminal. "We've been through this. They will love you."

  "Tynleigh couldn't take off long enough to come with us? I feel outnumbered."

  I laugh. "She's meeting us at the restaurant. When this is over you'll feel silly for all your worrying."

  Her hand slips around the back of my waist. "Well, how would you feel if the situation were in reverse?"

  I look down at her. "Meeting your parents? I'm pretty sure I would just have to settle with the fact that they'll probably never like me and move on. That's the only way we'd be happy."

  "Good point," she says. She halts, and then tugs on my shirt. "But seriously, what if they ask a lot of questions? What do I say? We need a game plan."

  I pull her forward. "Stop worrying. Should they even ask questions, the answers will come, but I doubt they will. You're the smartest blonde girl I know," I tease.

  "Ha ha! This is not the time for blonde jokes. I feel like I'm going to throw up."

  I laugh again, amused by the fact that she's so nervous. It gives me a sense of satisfaction knowing it alters her emotional state at all. I kiss her temple just before catching Mom out of the corner of my eye, walking beside Dad with a carry-on bag over her shoulder.

  She gives me a big smile, glancing between the two of us, and then hands Dad the bag as she approaches. Like Dad always would, he takes it and continues walking behind her as her pace increases, loaded down with both of their luggage. As she closes in I open my arms to hug her, but instead of coming to me she goes straight for Kambry, wrapping her in her arms.

  "What the fuck? Mom?"

  Dad reaches over and smacks me lightly on the back of my head. "Watch your language, son."

  "Did you see what she did?" I question him, my fingers reiterating what my mouth is saying. "That's so messed up. I'm supposed to be her baby. She hasn't seen me in months, and she's known her for less than a second and giving her all the attention. I'm offended. All those years of sucking up were for nothing."

  My tone is dramatic for good measure. I am a little surprised I didn't get the first hug. I've already been replaced as the family favorite, not that I can blame them. She's my favorite too. Kambry looks a little . . . awkward, yet relieved: what my baby does best.

  "No, you're not a baby anymore. You're a fine young man. Now you're supposed to be having babies. I'm not getting any younger." Mom releases her and comes at me.

  Kambry looks at me with a lined mouth; her eyes narrowing a little in the corners like she's holding back a laugh. "Mom, not the time for awkward conversation. A little too straight forward . . . You're shot-gunning when you should be sipping."

  She laughs; Kambry that is. "Leave her alone. I love it."

  I point at her. "First Tynleigh and now Mom. Y
ou women are not banding together and forming some kind of an alliance. Dad and I are outnumbered."

  "I have no idea what you're talking about." Her lips tighten to form as straight of a face as she can muster.

  Mom hugs me. "I knew I was going to like her. Pretty one too."

  I settle back into the comfort of home easily, the cocky teenager surfacing. "Are you surprised? I'm a sexy guy, Mom. What is there not to like about this? And I don't pick ugly girls."

  "Are we basing this on track record? Because I'm going to be honest, Saxton, you've had me worried for a long time now." She retaliates with sarcasm of her own.

  My mouth falls open.

  A tiny speck of hurt registers.

  A laugh escapes as I watch Kambry behind Mom battling her inner laughing spell that's all over her face.

  "I should place you on the banned list, Mom. Just for that, add about ten years to your first time grandmother status," I tease. "I thought I would at least have thirty minutes of favoritism before you switched to the other team. I'm so hurt."

  "Oh, hush, you are not."

  "I am. So hurt," I emphasize again. "I could have not called you," I push.

  "Saxton Maverick Cambridge."

  "Kidding. How was your flight?"

  She keeps glancing back at Kambry with a huge grin on her face. "She's not a mirage. Yes she's still there."

  She laughs finally. "It's your own fault that I am this way; you and your sister. The flight was lengthy. Two-hour layover. But I'm here now and ready to get to know my daughter-in-law." She kisses my cheek. "Smartest catch you've ever made, son," she whispers into my ear.