Mr. Pink

by Tessa Layne

  She grins up at me and slowly wipes my come from her lips with her thumb, and then licks it clean, as satisfied as a cat who just devoured a bowl of cream. For a wild moment, my throat closes at the beauty of her.

  “That was just round one, Gorgeous. Time to roll over.” I bend and flip her over, pulling her half off the bed so that her ass is sky high. “Open your legs.” She’s just as luscious from this angle and my mouth waters to taste her again. I grab her hips, spreading her ass cheeks with my thumbs to expose a tiny puckered rose. “So lovely,” I murmur as I nip and lick, and taste. Before long she’s panting, arching her back as she seeks more of me. “Where do you want my mouth?” I ask, knowing I’m going to get a sexy dose of her dirty talk.

  “On my pussy,” she pants, and then lets out a moan as I comply. I squeeze her ass as I help myself to another taste, and in no time, we’re both panting. She cries out in frustration as I pull away, rising to round the bed for a condom.

  “Patience, grasshopper,” I tease as I quickly sheath myself. “Now scoot up the bed and roll onto your back.”

  She launches herself into the middle of my king-sized bed, looking like a jewel against the navy sheets. Her skin is flushed pink with arousal, her mouth swollen, her pussy - a shining pink pearl in an ocean of eight-hundred thread count sateen. I crawl over her, my cock throbbing and heavy between us. She bites down on her lip, and in a flash so brief, I almost don’t recognize it, worry flickers across her face. I draw the back of a finger down her cheek, holding myself in check. I nudge against her opening, the heat of her encasing my head. “Are you sure?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

  “I. Want. You. To. Fuck. Me,” she says with iron in her voice.

  The breath I didn’t realize I was holding whooshes out of me. “You’re gonna see stars when you come, baby.”

  She rises to meet me as I slide into her, balls deep in one fluid motion. She’s tight. And hot. And she squeezes around me as I pull out, and it’s fucking heaven. I’m in goddamned nirvana and I don’t want it to end. I slide into her again and she moans. Slow and deep. She feels too fucking amazing to rush it. I want to savor every second I’m encased in her heat. She meets every thrust with a roll of her hips. I dimly register she’s kicked off her shoes, but all I care about is losing myself in whatever magic is emanating from her pussy. I could die of a heart attack right now and have no regrets, because this, without a doubt, is the best fuck of my life, and I don’t want it to end. I want to fuck to infinity. I want to lose myself in whatever alternate dimension Macey has woven around us. My balls draw tight, tongues of fire licking up and down my legs, bright light building at the base of my spine. I thrust harder, but not breaking my pace. Her fingernails dig into my ass and she arches off the bed, face frozen in ecstasy as she squeezes around me so hard, my vision spots. “Oh sweet Jesus, yes. Like this. Fuck, yes.” Her words are incoherent, a stream of profanity as her body shudders beneath me.

  It’s too much, I can’t hold out. I drive into her sweet heat with a bellow, vision going black as a thousand colors burst behind my eyes and my tongue and my limbs go numb. I empty myself into her over and over until I’m spent, and I collapse onto her, dropping a kiss at her temple.

  Mind. Blown.

  For real. I’m not sure I can remember my name. Isn’t that what I promised her? It wasn’t supposed to happen to me. Motherfucker. And all I can think is that once isn’t nearly enough. I prop myself up on my elbows, and tuck a damp lock behind her ear, suddenly at a loss for words. What is there to say when you’ve had the best sex of your life? Words seem blasphemous. She gazes up at me with something akin to wonder, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

  And bursts into fucking tears.

  Chapter Seven

  Fuck. Me.

  A four-alarm fire sounds in my head as I stare down at her. What in the fuck just happened? I freeze as I watch a tear squeeze out of her eye and slide down her temple. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

  I should slap her on the ass and send her on her way. Get as far away from her as possible. I don’t do emotions, and I sure as hell don’t do tears. It was sex for fuck’s sake, not a religious experience. Okay, maybe it was a little bit religious. Okay, fine. A lot religious. I forgot my name for chrissakes. But that doesn’t change the fact that I need to distance myself and get her out of my penthouse as quickly as possible. I should have known better than to fuck one of Jason’s friends. He’s gonna slice out my tongue, and then my heart, and then my balls when he finds out about this.

  Yet what do I fucking do?

  I gather this woman who makes me think dangerous words like forever and infinity into my arms. I should send her away and pretend like all this never happened. But I don’t. I can’t, even though that makes me the world’s biggest idiot and quite possibly pussy-whipped. I know I’m asking for trouble, but right now I give no shits about anything except soothing her. “Shhh,” I say, combing my fingers through her tangled hair. “It’s okay baby. Everything’s gonna be okay.” How in the hell do I get her to stop crying?

  I sit up and pull her into my lap, running a hand up and down her spine. She burrows into me, clutching my shoulder, sobbing with her whole body. What in the ever-loving fuck is going on? The harder she cries, the more panic builds in my gut. “Did I hurt you sweetheart? Tell me how to help.” She shakes her head, and cries harder. “What is it?” I feel utterly helpless, and I fucking hate it.

  “I - I’m okay,” she hiccups.

  In spite of the lie, a tendril of relief passes through me. At least she’s talking. So I continue to hold her, knowing that somehow I’m going to pay for this decision, because I’m going against every instinct in my body telling me to run, and I can’t even fucking explain why. I let her cry and cry, while I continue to mumble stupid shit and stroke her back, her arms. I have no clue how long I sit there holding her, but eventually the shaking and the tears subside. I feel like I’ve just survived a tornado.

  “OhmygodI’msoembarrassed,” she mumbles into my chest when her breathing finally slows. She pushes away, still looking down. “I should go.”

  “Not so fast, Gorgeous,” I say, pulling her back into my lap. “Stay.” The words rattle in my mouth, more command than plea, but my chest squeezes at the thought of her walking out of here. “I promised you repeated fucking.”

  That earns me a laugh, at least, even though it’s accompanied by a head shake. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… It’s… ahh… been a long time for me, I guess.”

  She still won’t meet my eyes, and that has to stop. I tuck my fingers under her chin and pull gently. “So what you’re saying…” I smirk as I stare into bright green pools full of uncertainty. “Is that I blew your mind, and you don’t know what hit you?”

  Her mouth twitches up and a giggle escapes through her plush lips. She shakes her head with an eye roll. “You’re so damned cocky.”

  “But I’m right.”

  She’s openly smiling now, and I puff up like a bird. Damn straight, I fucked her to oblivion. I won’t admit it, ever, but my mind was blown too. And it’s my only excuse for throwing away my playbook tonight. I stand, keeping her in my arms. “Shower.”

  “Really, I should go,” she protests half-heartedly.

  “Shower first.” I stalk into the enormous Roman-style bathroom with a sunken whirlpool and the double shower with side-nozzles. With a wave of my arm the water turns on, a perfect one-hundred and three degrees. I step around the glass separation and directly into the spray. She lets out a little yelp and a giggle.

  But then she sighs. “Oh my god, that’s heavenly.”

  I can’t deny it. I fucking love this shower. I love it even more with a gorgeous woman in my arms. But I can’t soap her and hold her, so with regret sounding in my throat, I gently place her on her feet. “Hands on the wall.” She complies without protest and lets me soap her hair.

  When I finish, I aim a nozzle at her head and watch with rapt fascination at the way the bubbl
es cascade down her spine and pause at two dimples before sliding over the curve of her ass. She’s like a work of art - full hips, high, round, muscular ass, shapely legs - she obviously works out. I wave a hand under the conditioner dispenser and massage it into her scalp. She drops her head back with a groan of satisfaction, and I knead at the knots in her neck. I’m surprised that even after a handful of orgasms, she still carries tension there. How hard does she work? Is she a workaholic? The questions rise to the tip of my tongue, but I bite them back, and instead, concentrate on working down her spine. She arches into me with a purr. “Your hands are heavenly.”

  I want to hear more sounds like that, so I soap her body, learning each swell and dip, holding the weight of her breasts in my palm while I tease her nipples into hard little peaks. She moves with me, undulating into my hands in an ancient, slow dance. I skim the soft curve of her belly and cup her swollen sex. I draw a finger through her slit and it comes away slippery with her arousal. My cock likes that discovery. Very much.

  “Hungry for more?” I murmur into her ear, then gently bite the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, tasting the clean essence of her skin underneath the bite of soap. She reaches a hand for the soap dispenser then turns and gazes up at me through heavy lidded eyes as she reaches for my balls. Her hands are like fucking magic, the way she pulls and tugs, then slides her soapy grip up my cock. I thrust into her hand with a groan and let her play with me until I can’t stand it any longer and I think I’m gonna come, which I have every intention of doing, but not yet. “Turn around,” I growl, grabbing her hips and spinning her away. I settle my cock between her ass cheeks and slide through as my fingers seek her clit.

  She rolls her hips back into me. “Lower,” she says through gritted teeth.

  “Like this?” I drive first one, then two fingers into her slick channel. “Is your sweet cunt hungry for more, Gorgeous?”

  She responds by clenching around me with a needy moan. “Yes. I want your big cock filling me up.”

  I jerk at her words, as a blinding bolt of lust drives through me. Dangerous thoughts enter my head. Right now, I want nothing more than to enter her bare, to feel her heat surround me while I pound into her. She grinds into my palm, riding my fingers, breath coming in short gasps. She’s close, and if I were a gentleman, I’d let her climax. But not yet. She cries out when I pull away, but I quickly slide my cock between her folds, coating myself in her desire. It’s as close as I’ll let myself come to going bare. I pause, the tip of my cock at her entrance. For a stark second, my mind goes blank. With superhuman effort, I resist the temptation. Part of me thinks I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

  I step back, ignoring the part of my mind that protests. She turns around, eyes wild. “Condoms,” I grunt.

  “Right.” She nods with a look that’s dangerously tempting. She wants to forego the latex as much as I do. And the knowledge that we both want what we know we shouldn’t have, makes my cock swell even more.

  I pull her out of the shower and into my arms, because I can’t not touch her. I claim her mouth as I walk us backward into the bedroom. We don’t make it to the bed. She rips open a condom and swiftly rolls it on before pulling me to the floor, then climbing on top of me like a warrior goddess mounting a chariot. Water droplets trail down her chest and I chase them with my tongue, capturing a nipple in my mouth and sucking hard as she rides me to a rapid climax, dropping her head back with a cry as she clenches around me with a shudder, pulling me over the edge with her as white lights explode behind my eyes.

  I lose all sense of time as we fuck our way through half a box of condoms before we finally pass out in a heap of sweaty, tangled limbs, completely spent. I sleep heavy, heavier than I’ve ever slept. And in the brief moment of half-awareness before I open my eyes to the brilliant morning sun, I can tell she’s gone.

  Chapter Eight

  Eight weeks later

  * * *

  My pulse quickens as I catch a flash of copper waves through a sea of cowboy hats. It’s like a homing beacon in this godforsaken place my brother now calls home. This time, it’s really her, and my skin sizzles with anticipation. In spite of my rules, one night with Gorgeous wasn’t nearly enough. But any interaction will have to wait until after the wedding - she’s flanked by my brother and his best friend Sterling, the other groom. I look down at the wedding bill someone pressed into my hand, then scan the page again, just to make sure I’m reading it right.

  Best Man: Macey McCaslin, standing in for Lt. Johnny McCaslin. You will never be forgotten.

  My stomach drops.

  I fucked a widow. I’ve been up nights fantasizing about a gorgeous, sexy widow. Worse? I realize I met Johnny. It was years ago. I was a teenager and Jason was a second-year cadet. Sterling and Johnny came home with Jason and proceeded to make my life a living hell for two weeks.

  All the unanswered questions I’ve been mulling over for weeks fall into place with a sickening thud, only to be replaced with new questions. More… emotional questions. I should turn around and get the fuck out of here, Jason’s wedding be damned. Everyone knows widows have baggage, and I don’t do baggage of any kind. And I certainly don’t get into emotional conversations. But I can’t stop staring. She’s wearing the same dress as last time, and my mouth waters to taste the skin beneath the black lace, trace my tongue along the edge of the thigh-highs I’m sure are underneath.

  I scan the page again, just to make sure I’m reading it right, and another name catches my eye. Flower Girl: Sophie McCaslin.

  Jesus H. Christ. I fucking fucked a MILF. And god help me, I want to do it again.

  My mother gives me the stink-eye and motions me to the front row. I stroll up the center aisle, blind to everything except her sensual magnetism that pulls me forward. She looks up, scanning the group, and our eyes lock. My body heats as I hold her gaze, and even though she’s a good ten yards away, I can feel the air crackling between us. Her eyes widen and she shakes her head almost imperceptibly. The movement acts like a punch to the gut - as if I’d dream of giving away our little secret. I have more to lose than she does - my balls for starters. I take my seat next to Declan.

  “Isn’t that the hot little number who was with them in March?” he murmurs.

  “Don’t even fucking think about it,” I growl, possessive jealousy overwhelming me.

  Declan stares at me, surprised. “What crawled up your ass and died?” He shakes his head with a smirk. “Don’t tell me you want to tap that?”

  I wonder what he’d say if I confessed I’ve already had her six ways to Sunday. But I don’t have a chance to respond.

  “Jason would kill you if he found out. There’s lower hanging fruit here.” He nods at a blonde to our left. She’s just Dec’s type. Someone who could easily be covered in the society pages. I give a noncommittal nod. She’s definitely hot, but the only panties I want to remove belong to Gorgeous.

  The wedding starts and I can hear everyone behind me oohing and ahhing over the brides. I’m fine until I see mini-me dump her flowers at the bottom of the steps. It’s the look Gorgeous gives her daughter that makes my chest uncomfortably tight. It’s raw, fierce, and strong, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s really like. Aside from her obvious beauty, being voracious in bed, and a little bit on the snarky side, which makes my cock snap to attention with visions of her hot little pussy spread before me waiting to be devoured - I suddenly find myself wanting to know what’s inside her head.

  I brutally push the thoughts aside. Thoughts like that are dangerous and lead nowhere I want to go. She’s dangerous. I tick off all the reasons why:

  She’s a widow

  She has baggage

  She has a daughter for chrissakes.

  Did I mention she has baggage?

  And what kind of fucked-up is it that even in the face of that list of deal-breakers, all I can think about is how I can get inside her panties one more time? Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with me? I have to get away f
rom the existential crisis my brother’s wedding has triggered. The need to get away is so strong I can’t focus on anything else. I register sniffles and applause at various points, and sneak looks at Gorgeous, but the wedding can’t end soon enough. As soon as everyone stands up, I bolt, weaving my way through the sea of denim and rhinestones until I see someone with a tray of pink-something. I don’t care what it is at this point, so long as it’s booze. I grab a plastic glass and toss it back, downing it in three gulps. My eyes water. It’s fizzy, and surprisingly not sweet. Not at all what I expected. I grab another and toss it back, too. Much to the surprise of the person with the tray. I raise my brows with a shrug. “Cheers to the brides and grooms.” What else is there to say?

  I’m torn. I should walk back to the hunting lodge where I’m staying with Dec and my parents. It’s a far cry from the Four Seasons, but as upscale as you get in the middle of nowhere, Kansas. But my baser instincts take over, because as long as there’s the remotest possibility of another taste of Macey’s pussy, I’m not going anywhere.

  So I drift along with the crowd down the long drive to the bride’s vineyard across the road. By the time I reach the reception area, I’m sweaty and hot. Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to walk a mile in this kind of humidity? I shake my head, mystified, and doff my suit jacket, tucking my tie in the pocket, and dropping it over the back of a plastic chair. I skirt the dance floor in search of the bar which I desperately hope is serving something more than the pink stuff. I’m not disappointed. “Whiskey, neat.”

  The dark haired beauty gives me a hungry stare and pours me a double. I tip her a twenty, and settle into a shady spot where I can observe the gathering unmolested. Two whiskeys later, the party is in full swing, and I’m relaxed, albeit bored out of my mind. The sun casts low rays across the vineyards on the far hill, and if I squint, I can almost believe I’m back home in Napa. A flicker of copper catches my eye, and I spot her on the far side of the party, lounging against a tree strung with white lights. The glow dances across her face, giving her an other-worldly appearance. Again, I’m struck that she’s like Venus rising from the sea foam. And lucky me, she’s alone. I pause, taking in her bemused expression and follow the direction of her gaze. Her mini-me is twirling on the dance floor with the brides. I ignore the way my chest tightens. Instead, I drain the last of the whiskey from my tumbler, concentrating on the heat as it settles in my belly. When I look up again, she’s staring at me. My body tightens, every cell now aware of her presence. I rise, pulled toward her, caught in her tractor beam of a gaze. Her eyes follow me as I skirt the dance floor.