by JR King
Trying to forget about Elena’s Jax-filled dreams, I concentrated on finishing two novels, but it wasn’t easy. Once upon a time, finding out my girl dreamt about another man wouldn’t have elicited any emotion from me. At worst it’d be a blip on my radar of fidelity, at best a sign to breakup with her. My emotions were corrupted; they had been since my mother died. I was the kind of guy who could fuck a girl and take his leave before the sweat had even dried on her skin, full well knowing she’d cry herself to sleep. My ability to give a shit about others was present but unprioritized. Quite frankly, when it came to Elena, I was clueless. My guess is that she’d never trust me the way she’d trusted Jax; the constant specter of not being good enough would always haunt me.
The gazebo was housed in glass like a Victorian conservatory, the meal a service à la française affair. Christopher Turner—the runt of the litter—was fifty-eight, a smattering of silver hair adorning his temples and a few tips of his hair. With symmetrical features, high cheekbones, a cleft chin, and depthless grey burning in his eyes, he was very attractive. My gaze drifted across his chest as he leaned in to kiss his wife, and lingered at his biceps. Nicely muscled, lean yet strong, his arms would do anything for Sophia. Brilliant and gifted, he’d captured her attention when my father had reunited families on Easter.
Not an aberration, he’d failed fluency earlier in the evening, his fingers locking about the knot of his tie when he saw Elena in an evening gown. She was the spitting image of her mother. Like Ms. Jolie, this girl could easily pull off a yellow Emanuel Ungaro dress. The scoop-neck sheath dress from Escada fitted her body to perfection, and though arguably the ankle-length skirt was a bit too conservative for my taste, this suitability was for my family.
Through the hubbub, I heard, “Alex?”
My eyebrows climbed upward. “Yes, uncle Chris?”
“Is Elena coming back?” The wayward smile that tickled the corners of his lips was quite a sight.
“She needed some fresh air,” I lied, not knowing where my girl was. “I’ll go find her.” I lifted my fingers to close my jacket.
I worshipped this estate as if it were sacred ground, not just because its insurance was sky high. In a matter of heartbeats, I reached the main house. The interior was modeled on old yachts and log houses. Browns, creams, and gold, with slanted windows in strategic places. A barrel-vault ceiling resembled the interior of an overhauled hull, a nautical theme echoing throughout it. Built into the floor’s circular spaces were actual compasses created with strips of different kinds of wood, and model ships encased in glass display cases adorned several hallways.
When the 18th century Chinese folding screen no longer blocked out the view, I caught sight of Elena’s nude d’Orsay pumps from Manolo Blahnik by the rear swimming pool deck. At approach, I drank in her slender profile. Her eyes were set on the horizon, and the flickering glow of artificial torches lit dramatic shadows on her face. Dangling her feet in the pool, her skirt had deliciously ridden up. Within seconds, the expanse of naked skin seduced me. Thank fuck she was horny too. Probably a side effect of orgasm denial.
“Who said anything about going to the bedroom, kitten?” Reaching down, I took her hand in mine and pulled her up. I appreciated the sandalwood scent of her shampoo, the smooth feel of my fingertips against her skin. “Would you like to come?”
Standing on the balls of her feet, she took a staggered lungful of air, and nodded twice.
“I’ll think about it.”
“You’re evil.” Her voice was full of sulk.
With her heels removed, her dash down the limestone pool way was almost Cinderella-like in its execution, dainty hands pulling my arms. Our fingers interlocked when we reached the pool pavilion. Beyond it stood a cottage-style spa poolhouse. One end of the module contained a relaxation zone, the other a domestic area. You already know where I was leading Elena. The space was filled with natural light from a huge skylight and frosted glass pocket doors.
“We can’t do this. What if someone comes looking for us?” Elena’s face softened, an elfin smile curling her rich lips as she took in the sylvan setting. “What if they catch us red-handed?” She trailed her fingers along the wainscoted wall. She looked so beautiful against it, soft light catching in her dark hair.
I pressed my palm against her lower belly and began sliding it downward. I didn’t stop until my fingers were pressed between her inner thighs, and with calculated precision, I slipped my middle finger along the silk-sheathed slit in between. It felt wetter than spring. “Elena, it seems that you’re awfully wet for someone who’s worried about a family member stumbling on us. Exhibitionist, aren’t you?”
“So not,” she answered with a weedy, trembling voice. The way she manufactured her smile looked like she wanted to express regret. I rubbed her until her lower lip was getting a work over as she came close to climaxing. “Alex…oh God.” The mewing sounds fluttering out of her fed me. Fed the sadist in me.
She was mere moments from coming when I paused, amused by her stricken expression. “Did I give you permission to come?”
“I-I…but, Alex! Please?”
“Are you mine or not?”
“Yes. This girl is yours.”
Not bad, this caterpillar to butterfly transformation. “Very good, you’ve been reading—and gladly not Deepak Chopra’s screeds. We have ten minutes. If you serve me well, I’ll set you free.”
“Yes, master.” Her nose crinkled when she flicked her tongue at me.
As we readied for the quickie, it was clear to me that she was getting comfortable with her body image. She was preening stark naked in front of the mirror, posing provocatively and checking herself out. I moved behind her and kissed her on the neck, wrapping my arms around her taut belly.
“I’m feeling overambitious.” With a sharp tug, she pulled my shirt clean off my body as if to illustrate her point. “It’ll be quick but good.” She offered me a smile with wicked undertones, her fingers hooking into the waistband of my pants.
I smiled back and guided her to the sofa.
Right off the bat, she grabbed my cock and positioned herself over it. I was taken aback by how fast she wanted to go. Under normal circumstances, I’d insist on a little foreplay to get her nice and wet, but since she was already aroused, I let her take charge.
I did let out a low groan as I slid into her. “What’s gotten into you?” She leaned her body against me, her face pressed to mine. “What’s going on, Elena?”
She jerked her hips against me with much force and said, “Shh.” She gave me a slow smile and I left it at that. Our mouths responded hungrily yet tenderly as we kissed. Then she pushed herself up, her arms pressing down on my shoulders as she ground harder and harder into me. I admired her breasts as they jiggled with her movements. After a few minutes, I recognized she was getting close to her climax. I felt her legs tremble and heard her sucking in short, sharp breaths.
“Don’t come, pet.”
The biting of her lower lip with her eyes clenched shut was such an erotic image, a portrait of lust. She scratched me deeply, scoring my skin. Like many sadists, I had a love for pain and took any of it during sex without complaining. The absence of moaning and shrieking was what worried me. Why was she keeping herself quiet? “Babe?” I stilled our bodies, but it was too late. Elena came, and yet she still didn’t shout. Her entire body went rigid, her internal muscles contracting around me.
“What the fuck is going on, Elena?” I hissed, enjoying the sensations of her climax. It was longer than her usual ones. “Why’d you disobey me?”
“I had to. I’m not faking it!” She continued to grate against me with her eyes shut. As the seconds ticked by, stretching into minutes, I absorbed some of her nervousness and felt the dread about whatever she was working up to say to me.
“Tell me, sweetheart. Did someone say something hurtful?”
She opened her eyes and bit her lip, and I saw a droplet on her cheek.
“Who said what?�
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She looked up, her eyes wet, her face red with emotion as we stared at each other. “I couldn’t help overhearing a conversation Sophia was having with Henrietta.”
Of late, Sophia carelessly tore down protections I’d been keeping up and troddened on them. One thing’s for sure; she’d never confront Elena because it would come at too high a price. I lowered my head, dug my chin into Elena’s hair, and readjusted my hands on her waist. “What did she say?”
“She said that I’m with you for your money, that most likely I’m a lousy lay because you look depressed. She laughed and said I must be screaming when I fake my orgasms.” Her answer—and the grave tone she’d employed—felt like a punch to the gut. “Why does she hate me?”
I clutched at her waist, pulled her back hard onto my cock as I thrust upward. “She’s overprotective of me since my mother passed away. It’s nothing.” I started pounding her. “Give me another one, pet. When we go back to the table, I want you to remember this. Remember what it felt like to have my cock pumping in and out of you.”
“Alex…Alex…oh God.” Hearing her moan my name was, I concluded, a pleasure in itself. My balls drew up. I smiled and said all the right things, but on the inside I was cursing nonstop as I came, white hot and spurting. Elena’s mouth mashed against mine, the endeavor sufficient to mute her cries of agonized bliss. Her nails raked my flesh as her body writhed and undulated in my lap. I didn’t care that she was marking me. I wanted her to, so I’d be able to see the scratches in the mirror as a testimony that I belonged to her and she to me.
“Are we good, sir?” Her hips moved in little circles, forcing out every drop of pleasure she could.
Not really, but whatever. I pressed my lips to the nape of her neck. “We’re good. Very good.”
While I absorbed the aftershocks, her body slumped against mine. My dick began to grow soft, but it was hard enough to pump into her. I pinched the bridge of her nose and went on to lave her neck with a frenzy of kisses. “Do you want to go back to the table?”
“Oh God! Grandpa will get angry!”
“That’s one too many Oh God statements, Elena.”
Yet another, “Oh God, Alex,” fluttered out of her when thick, milky seepage oozed from between her puffy labia as she got up. I watched transfixed as the silver thread descended and arced through the half-light, plummeting in an abstract pattern to the wooden floor. A rivulet followed it, falling prey to gravity’s inevitability, then a minor gush closed the show.
“Fuck, that’s hot, Elena.” A soft breeze rustled curtains somewhere behind us, and now the smell of fresh cut grass mixed with the smell of my fluids left in Elena. I looked at the thin string of come hanging from the tip of my semi-hard cock. Under the jackboot of bewitchment, I brought out my best panty-dropping voice—if I ever had one: “Once more, babe?”
Didn’t work.
“Don’t just sit there, Alex! Help me clean it all up.”
By the time we returned to the table, there was no trace of what had transpired between us. Save for the slender lines of dampness between Elena’s legs, no one would find out where I’d spilled my deviance. To show off my prize, I cocooned Elena in my arms and gave her the most vainglorious kiss before we took our seats.
A few uncles whistled and cheered, and aunts winked. Some even clapped and laughed, “Tonight’s the night.”
I leaned back into my chair with a nice, sappy smile. “Don’t do that, you’re making me blush.” Proudest man in the world.
“Got some fresh air, Elena?” inquired Christopher sweetly, forking into his pie.
“I did.” No quiver-induced coyness, no spilling our secret. “How’s the crumble, Christopher?”
“It’s Chris, sweetheart.” His eyes cut to me. “She doesn’t wanna be friends with me?”
He liked her in a man’s man way, which was very cute, in my opinion. I kept checking my watch. A little before 1 AM, I swallowed the last of my whiskey and stood up. One successful Easter dinner behind us, I slowly undressed Elena and carried her beneath the warm shower, lingeringly bathing her, washing away every trace of earlier exertions. I dried her tenderly with the plumpest cotton, then laid her out on the softest silk sheets and made long, slow love to her. Voice and gentleness dripping with sensuality, I made damn sure that Sophia’s hurtful words were erased from her mind before meeting Sophia herself to have a last drink.
“She’s asleep?” Sophia was standing near the railing, looking out to the sea. For the moonless night, amber veins of light illuminated the four corners of the balcony. A faint waft of horse manure hung in the air. Several 200-foot Christensen yachts glowed in the distance.
I neared her with two tumblers, ice tinkling as I walked. “She is. Why’d you gossip? Don’t peddle that shit around her.”
“Peeved, aren’t we?” Nonchalantly grazing her lips with her left forefinger, “I was hoping she’d hear us and create drama,” she giggled—a rare thing to do for her.
“She’s smart, Sophia.”
She nodded, her face giving away nothing. “She’s also preciously beautiful.”
Tersely, I said, “Pull the plug on tittle-tattle and leave us be.”
She moved closer, caressed my cheek. “I’m considering it. Chris loves her. Outperformed himself tonight.”
Proffering the glass, I laughed. “Every Turner nut bag seated at that table must have outperformed himself tonight. She’s live Viagra.”
At this whiskey-steeped hour, how the words live Viagra made me think of it remains a mystery, but I just knew I had to do the Vanity Fair spread with Elena. I could picture it all in my head. Jax reading the chilling article, throwing the shiny issue against the wall, then making arrangements for his jet to fly to Boston.
Alexander Turner
The Reunion
It was Easter Sunday. When I stepped out of the shower, my stomach rumbled loudly, indecorous and intolerant. I toweled myself dry, jittering like a child. I wasn’t hirsute, and any intruding hairs had been epilated a couple of days ago. Pubic hairs gone, scrotum shaved, chest smooth. I liberally coated my body with Hugo Boss body lotion, leaving my privates soft and fragrant. I decided not to shave my face. I thought that would be wicked, because this way I could rub my stubbled chin over Elena’s nipples, harshly. Move down her body, scrape her stomach and then her thighs, and finally rub her pubic mound with my chin. Nice, no?
I wasn’t religious per se. Don’t worry, I won’t go into the debate of religious fundamentalists polluting the earth, and in some—divine—cases, entire countries. I was more of a struggling atheist—an agnostic, because the distinct possibility of some ethereal power encompassing the universe did haunt my thoughts. It was a list of atavistic whys, basically. Why the Milky Way? Why the sun and the moon? Why entertain sustainable atmospheres? Why can species flawlessly reproduce themselves? The list goes on. In conclusion, if the universe was a type of Pandora’s Box with all kinds of mysteries in it, who—or what—had manufactured the box in the first place?
I was born and raised with fairly equal amounts of religion and free will, so I guess that’s the reason why I was drawn to religion but practiced free will. Past the stigma and unreasonableness, the spiritual imagery, the mythology, and the artsy language appealed to me. I liked the ideas of worship and reverence, praying to a God I found delightfully pedestrian, and practices such as baptism, confession, and communion I absolutely enjoyed because they were symbolic metaphors. Especially, I was drawn to the idea of the forbidden fruit: something so tempting that you’d sacrifice eternity just to get a little taste. I was doomed the moment I saw Elena, briefly struggling with the fact. Wanting to end myself for the second time, I started thinking about the fall from grace, commandments and mental corruption, absolution and salvation, so yeah; I fucking persevered because of religion. The more I fantasized about symbolism, the more it made me stronger. As a result, I was always very horny during religious holidays.
Mentally insert a huge smiley here…
In the dressing room, I cleared my throat to apprise Elena of my presence.
“Zip me.” Her eyes flickered away shyly, and she picked up the burgundy Jean-Paul Gauthier dress. Stepping into it, they found their way back to mine. There was a look of brazenness in her stare as she slipped her arms into the shoulder straps and pulled the snazzy cocktail dress over her shoulders. Ingurgitating her beauty, a cruel idea formed in my mind.
I reached behind her and zipped up the two halves of the bodice with one hand. “Superb dress. No panties, baby.”
She hemmed and hawed: “I…Alex? W-what if…you know…I do believe I might soil…no possible good will come from it.”
The sound of viciousness inched its way upward my throat as I gave her the menu. “You have two choices, Elena. No underwear, but if you insist on devising an acceptable compromise, you may keep it on. With this addition.” I brought forth the other hand that was hidden behind my back, and held the inverted palm of it open.
Having glanced at the gadget, she looked at me in mute horror, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “It’s a torture device.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “That it might be. No underwear is for basic, the egg vibe is for works. I’m rooting for this wonderful little invention.”