by R. R. Banks
“You're a naughty boy, aren't you?”
I slap her ass again and she sucks in a deep breath. With one hard thrust, I sheath my whole cock inside of her. She cries out as I drive myself even deeper into her.
“Oh fuck, Eric,” she says, her voice hoarse. “Yes, baby. Fuck me. Fuck me good and hard.”
As if she needs to tell me that. I slap her ass again and start to pump my hips, driving my cock into her hard and deep. She's moaning as I pound her from behind and I give her hair a good, hard pull. Lara pushes herself back against me, taking my cock even deeper into her. She cries out, calling my name, and begs me to fuck her harder.
Letting go of her hair, I grab her by the hips with both hands and oblige her. I drive myself into her as hard as I can, making her scream. My breathing is growing labored as I pound her from behind. I feel my balls tightening and know that I'm getting close, so I step back and pull my cock out. I sit down on the couch and turn her around again, pulling Lara down onto my lap.
She leans back, her back pressed to my chest, and grabs my stiff prick, guiding it back to her opening. She slips the head of my cock into her and I give her a hard thrust, driving myself back into her molten pussy. Lara moans as she starts to rise and fall, sliding herself up and down on my cock. She leans forward, putting her hands on my thighs to brace herself and begins to move up and down, harder and faster.
I hold her by the hips, helping to guide her as she rides my cock. I watch her sweet tight ass bouncing up and down on me as she fucks me. Lara leans back against me again, slowing her pace, her breathing becoming ragged.
“I almost forgot how much I like fucking you,” she gasps.
“You're not done yet,” I say.
“No, I'm not.”
Climbing off of me, she turns around to face me. Thrusting her breasts in my face, she grabs my head and pulls it forward. Kneading her tits with my hands, I lick and suck on her stiff nipples, giving her a good hard bite that draws a gasp from her. I look up at her and swat her ass again, harder this time. She squeals and bites her bottom lip as she looks me in the eye.
“Fuck me, Lara,” I said. “Get on my lap and ride me. Now.”
She grabs hold of my shaft and obediently lowers herself down onto me. The head of my cock parts her wet, swollen lips and she wraps her arms around the back of my neck as she lowers herself down, taking me into her until I fill her up completely.
Lara kisses me, our tongues swirling together, as she starts to grind her hips. She moves herself up and down on my cock, throws her head back and cries out. She writhes on top of me, her movements frantic, her eyes locked on mine.
“I'm going to come, baby,” she says. “Please tell me I can come. Please, baby.”
I smack her ass and pull her down onto my cock hard. “You can come.”
As if her body reacts on command, Lara shudders and digs her nails into my shoulders. She calls my name as she begins to spasm on top of me. Her body is trembling and she leans forward, biting my shoulder as her orgasm powers through her.
Eventually, it subsides and Lara is left looking at me, her face flushed, her body still trembling slightly. She climbs off my lap and grabs hold of my cock. Slipping the condom off of me, she tosses it to the side before getting back down onto her knees. Taking my cock in her hand, she starts to stroke it as she looks me in the eye again.
“I want to taste you,” she purrs.
Lowering her head but not breaking eye contact, Lara goes back to work with her mouth and hand, sucking and jerking me off. I watch her as she works, incredibly turned on by the sight of it. She squeezes my prick as she tightens her lips around it, her movements hard and fast. I moan and feel the pressure building low within me.
I lean my head back onto the back of the couch and groan as Lara brings me to edge – and then pushes me over it. My cock pulses and a shudder rolls through my body as I blow my load into her mouth. Lara never breaks eye contact as I fill her mouth with my seed. She simply takes it all in and swallows it down.
It takes a few moments, but my pulse settles back down and my breathing returns to normal. Lara gets up and sits down on the couch next to me, laying her head on my shoulder.
“I sometimes forget,” I say and chuckle, “you give the best blowjob on the West Coast.”
“I keep telling you to come to San Francisco more often.”
I laugh and kiss the top of her head.
“We should probably get downstairs,” she says.
I sigh. “If we must.”
Chapter Three
“Dr. Galloway,” Lara says, stepping over to me, a glass of champagne in hand.
“Ms. Weathers,” I reply. “Nice to see you again.”
“Always nice to see the man of the hour,” she says.
“Hardly,” I reply. “Just somebody trying to do something good.”
“And you're doing a lot of good,” she says. “Believe me.”
A string quartet plays on the stage, its music beautiful – although, somewhat boring. But it's the kind of music people seem to expect at gatherings of wealthy people. Personally, although I enjoy classical music, I'm more of a classic rock guy. Unfortunately, I don't see the string quartet breaking into some Pink Floyd or Credence Clearwater Revival anytime soon.
I thought – hoped, really – that after my little session with Lara upstairs, we'd be able to come down, get the ceremony over with and be done for the night. But apparently, cocktail hour stretched into cocktail couple of hours as people decided to mix and mingle a while longer.
Lara walks up to where I've been standing with a couple of guys I knew – sort of. I know that like me, they are vets. And also like me, they're doctors. I've seen them at a few medical conferences before, but it'd be a huge stretch to call them friends. Mostly, when I see them, we just talked about football or whatever sport happened to be in season at the time.
“Gentleman,” Lara says to the other two men. “Would you mind if I borrowed Dr. Galloway for a moment?”
Without waiting for a reply, Lara guides me away from them, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and hands it to me. We step out onto the balcony and into the chilly San Francisco night air. Lara shivers – not surprising, given that she's wearing a slinky, black spaghetti strap dress. Taking off my coat, I wrap it around her shoulders. She pulls it close and gives me a smile.
“Thank you,” she says. “Always a gentleman.”
I shrug. “I do my best.”
We stand at the railing and look out at the San Francisco Bay. A few others are standing out on the balcony, drinking and smoking as they chat, but nobody seems to be paying much attention to us. Lara and I try to keep our – relationship – to ourselves. From a professional standpoint, it just makes sense. She's the head of fundraising for a national veterans organization known as The Walking Wounded.
And the last thing she – or I – need is for anybody to get the idea that she's fucking me just to get me to cut a check.
The truth is, I would donate to the organization regardless of whether or not Lara and I were screwing. As a veteran – and a doctor – I believed in their mission and am willing to donate my time and money to ensure that it continues helping the people it serves.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I come from a very wealthy family and grew up privileged. But growing up in the shadow of my family's name wasn't easy. I know, poor little rich boy, right? I wanted to make my own name, so I went to medical school. But after graduating, rather than going the usual route, I enlisted in the Army.
I served in Afghanistan as a field medic for the first year and spent the rest of my enlistment patching up the wounded at the Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany. What I saw at Landstuhl was bad. But it didn't even compare with what I saw in my year in the actual shit. Not even close. I saw things as a field medic I wish I could un-see. Things I knew were going to haunt me until my dying day.
But through it all, I saw the valor and bravery of the soldiers over there
. I saw them give their lives to save another more times than I could count. Hell, I'd had somebody save my ass on more than a few occasions. And because of that bravery – and the fact that I probably wouldn't be standing on that balcony right now – I feel like I have a debt to those veterans. One I can't possibly hope to ever repay.
So, no. I don't donate my time and money to the charity because I'm sleeping with Lara. I donate because I have the means and because it's the right thing to do. God knows, how terribly the VA system in this country fails our veterans – I'm just glad organizations like this exist to they can get the help they need. Help they deserve.
“Why are you so resistant to being recognized for all you do?” Lara asks me. “You're doing great works that help a lot of people, Eric.”
I shrug. “Because I don't do it for the recognition. You know that.”
“I know you don't,” she replies. “By the same token though, you shouldn't be afraid to look out into that audience and know that you helped a lot of people – and feel good about it. Eric, this organization might have folded a long time ago without your help. Both the time you put in, the pro-bono surgeries – and yeah, the checks you cut. It all helps more than you even know. More people than you can imagine. You should be proud of that.”
“Not saying I'm not, Lara,” I reply. “I just don't feel like I need to get all dressed up to make a little speech, accept some little wooden plaque, do a little song and dance, and let everybody tell me how great I am. I'm not into the ego stroking and you know that too. It's never been my scene.”
“It's actually a glass and silver statuette,” she says, a small smile playing across her lips. “It's really quite lovely.”
I chuckle and take a sip of my champagne. “All I’m saying is that I don't need the affection or adulation to do what I do.”
“I know you don't,” she replies. “Think of it as PR for our organization though. Maybe you don't need the ego stroking and adulation, but there are some people who want it more than life itself. Maybe seeing you standing up there accepting all that praise will inspire somebody else to dig a little deeper in the hopes that it'll be them up on that podium next year. Which would make it a big win for the organization.”
I nod and take another sip of champagne, looking out at the lights on the Golden Gate Bridge set against the darkened sky of the San Francisco Bay. San Diego is my home and I love it there, but I've always had an affinity for the Bay Area. There's just something about it – a vibrancy and energy that's hard to beat.
“If nothing else,” Lara said. “At least you get to spend a couple of days having mind-blowingly amazing sex.”
I tap my glass against hers and smile. “Which is about the only reason I agreed to attend this little dog and pony show.”
“Then let's call it a win for both of us.”
“Indeed.”
We share a moment of companionable silence, sipping our champagne, and soaking in the atmosphere. Somebody steps out onto the balcony for a smoke and the sound of the string quartet drifts out to us through the temporarily open door.
“You ever think about getting married?” Lara asks.
I turn to her, my expression curious. “No, not really,” I reply. “Why, have you?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes,” she says. “I think that one day I want to settle down with somebody. Maybe have a family. I don't know.”
I'm honestly not sure how I feel about this but I'm not thrilled with the direction it seems to be going. Lara and I share a connection – we're friends and our sexual chemistry is off the charts. But I never think about having any type of romantic relationship with her. That's just not who we've been. Not who we are. And I've always had the impression she likes it that way as much as I do.
She turns to me and her eyes grow wide for a moment before she breaks into a fit of hysterical laughter. Lara almost doubles over with laughter. I clear my throat and look around, but nobody is paying any attention to us. But when she looks at me, her laughter tapers off.
“Don't worry,” she says. “I'm not trying to rope you into a walk down the aisle. No offense, but you're not exactly marriage material.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” I ask, my tone a little sharper than I intended.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you.”
I shrug. “You didn't offend me. I just don't know what you meant by that.”
She sighs. “I just mean that – look, you're a great guy, Eric,” she says. “You're a good man and deep down you've got a good heart.”
“Deep down?”
“Well – yeah,” she replies. “You hide it behind all of these huge, high walls, so nobody can ever really see it. You're always in command. You're the man in charge and you don't let people close. In some ways, you never left the military, Eric.”
In some ways, I guess what she's saying is true. I was a Captain during my Army days – used to having my orders followed. And I guess I sort of carry that mentality with me today. I have to. As a surgeon, if my orders aren't followed in the operating room, people die. It's my responsibility to see that doesn't happen.
But yeah, I guess that sort of officer's mentality might make some people see me as cold or aloof. Even if I wanted to change that part of my personality and mentality, I don't know if I can at this point. It's pretty well ingrained in me.
“It's more than that though,” Lara says.
A rueful chuckle escapes me. “There's more?”
She nods. “I don't know how to describe it really, but there's this darkness in you.”
“Darkness?”
“Well – yeah,” she says. “In a way. It's like there's this hole inside of you. I guess maybe it's because of your experience overseas. I can't imagine enduring what you did and it not leaving some sort of mark on you. God knows, I see it enough in the vets we work with.”
I take another sip of champagne and ponder what she's saying. I like to think I'm a pretty self-aware man. I know my strengths and my weaknesses. I know everything about myself there is to know.
Or at least, I thought I did.
I know I can be a bit cold at times. But I've always chalked it up to me not being the most social person on the planet. Never have been. I've always been more at ease on my own. Somebody who's comfortable enough in my own skin to not need to be around people.
Which made Lara's dissection of my personality – interesting.
“I almost feel like there's a piece of the puzzle inside of you missing,” she says. “And I know that I'm not the right person to help you find it. Just like you're not the right person to find what's missing in me. That's not what we are to each other, Eric. And there's nothing wrong with that. What we have is special and unique all on its own.”
I give her a small smile. “True. I enjoy what we have.”
Laying a hand on my cheek, she smiles. “As do I,” she says softly. “And there's no need to complicate it.”
After a moment, I nod. “You're right,” I say. “You're exactly right.”
And she is right. There isn't any need to complicate what we have. It's something we both enjoy, get something out of, and best of all, it's not bogged down with emotions neither of us want or need to deal with right now.
Even knowing all of that, I still can't help but feel a little bit stung by her words. It's ridiculous, but then, most emotions are. Which is why I try to avoid relationships that have emotional entanglements.
“Miss Weathers?”
We turn and find her assistant Adam in the doorway to the ballroom?
“Yes?” she asks.
“We're ready to begin.”
“Thank you, Adam,” she says.
He steps back into the ballroom, closing the doors softly behind him. Lara turns to me and smiles, straightens my bowtie and hands me back my jacket.
“Well,” she says. “Ready to go have your ego stroked?”
I give her a salacious little smile. “I'd rather have something else stroked.”
>
“Put on a good show up there for me,” she says, giving me a flirty smile of her own, “and we might be able to work something out later.”
“Well then, lead the way,” I say. “Play the music and I'll dance to it.”
She laughs as we walk back into the ballroom. All the while though, I can't help but think about the supposed darkness and missing puzzle pieces she thinks are inside of me.
Chapter Four
Calee
I wake up feeling like death warmed over. Staring at the ceiling, I'm doing all I can to fight off the wave of nausea that's rolling through me. I groan and roll over in my bed, clutching my stomach and do everything I can to not throw up.
“You okay?”
I look up and find Ruth staring down at me, a look of concern on her face.
“Yeah, just not feeling well this morning,” I say. “Something I ate last night must not be agreeing with me.”
She laughs. “You sure you're not pregnant?”
“It would be ironic,” I say and roll my eyes.
Ruth, like me, is one of the “Fruitless” – wives of Raymond and the elders who, for whatever reason, have been unable to bear children. The whole thing is ridiculous. I'm only twenty-seven years old, so it's not like I'm past my peak child bearing years. But Raymond and the other elders have a taste for younger women. Much younger.
My parents married me off to Raymond when I was thirteen years old. Thirteen. And try as I might, I'll never be able to forget the horror that was my wedding night. It was the most painful, degrading, and humiliating experience I've ever had to endure. I hope that I never have to feel anything close to that ever again in my life.
For so long, I felt disgusting. Worthless. Like somebody whose only value to the world was as a womb Raymond could continue trying to fill with his seed. More times than I can remember, I swore to myself that if I ever ended up pregnant by him, I would find a way to abort the pregnancy – or just kill myself.
There was no way in hell I would ever allow myself to bear Raymond a child. Ever.