The Arrival of You

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The Arrival of You Page 11

by Cranford, B.


  It was still early enough that most families would be at home, sharing breakfast and unwrapping gifts. I imagined that Lucas was my gift—and it was impossible to deny that I wanted to unwrap him. Letting go of his hand, I cupped his face and pressed our lips together, making sure to keep it light and slow.

  “Quick, we have to be quick,” he muttered against my lips, his hands gripping the hem of my summer dress and sliding the skirt back and forth across my ass. “I’ll probably explode the second I’m inside that tight pussy, so that’s good. I’m covered. But I gotta get you there too, pretty girl. I gotta see my girl come.”

  I nodded frantically, dropping my hands from his cheeks to his pants, getting to work on his belt buckle and wondering just how he planned to make this happen.

  We were so exposed. And once again in a situation where space and time were of the essence. It seemed to be our theme, and I couldn’t deny that I liked it a little.

  Okay, a lot. The very idea that someone could pass us by made my desire ratchet up about ten notches.

  “Over here.” Lucas stepped back, his grip on my dress bringing me with him, and sat on one of the benches that ran around the gazebo. Sitting, he smiled wickedly and worked his hands around to the front of my dress, lifting the skirt so he could see the navy-blue panties I’d slid on not long before he arrived to pick me up. They were tiny and I’d never been more thankful for the person that came up with thongs, because all he had to do was hook a finger in the line of material that barely covered my pussy and pull it aside. His mouth was on me in an instant, his tongue flicking urgently against my clit, his fingers holding my panties aside.

  Writhing, I tried to keep my eyes open, alert to any passersby, but soon enough, they were falling closed, my head dipping forward, a stifled cry of pleasure on my lips. My climax was fast and wickedly intense, and I felt exposed. In more ways than just being outdoors and in sight of anyone who happened to wander through this part of the gardens.

  “Turn around, baby,” Lucas directed, wiping his hand across his mouth before finishing the job I’d started with his belt. Unfastening it, he ripped open the button and yanked down the zipper, reaching in to grip himself, freeing his erection.

  “Oh god,” I moaned, the sight of his cock making my mouth water.

  He leaned in and nipped at my thigh, eyes flashing dangerously. “I said turn around, Bianca. Now.” He emphasized the “now” with a swift slap of his hand to my ass, and I obeyed immediately.

  Not that I didn’t love the sting of his spank, even slightly dulled as it was by the material of my dress.

  “I thought I’d let you keep the panties, but no. No.” His voice was accompanied by the climb of his hand under my skirt and over my ass, until his fingers wrapped around the top. He pulled until one side rested in the creases between thigh and ass, groaning as he slid his finger under the waistband to brush across my skin before repeating the move on the other side. With a little more urging, my panties were around my ankles and Lucas was lowering me to his lap, to his cock, with his arms wrapped around my waist.

  “Sit down, pretty girl. Hold that dress out of the way and take a seat.” He chuckled dirtily, and I whimpered at the first feel of his dick nudging my entrance.

  Obscenely wet and ready for him, I couldn’t stop myself from quietly calling his name as I let my body drop down on his shaft. Lost in the moment but still aware of our surroundings, still a lot nervous of being discovered and more than a little turned on at the fact we were in public, I resisted the sudden and altogether ridiculous urge to wish myself a Merry Christmas.

  Once I was all the way seated on him, he stilled me with his hands, burying his face along the line of my back, leaving light kisses along the back bodice of my dress. “God, you feel so good. So right. So hot. Fuck. Fuck me.”

  Shimmying my hips, pressing them back and forth in a little thrusting motion, circling them around and around, I turned my head so I could see him, enjoying the almost pained look of pleasure on his face. “Like this?”

  “Exactly like that. You’re a goddamn Christmas miracle.”

  Not even my startled snort of laughter was enough to stop our frantic coupling from becoming even more frenzied. It was over quickly out of sheer necessity, his hips pushing up into me and mine bearing down onto him, my body accepting him because he belonged.

  He belonged.

  I felt him still below me, his arms squeezing tighter around my waist, as he came. The knowledge that I’d done that, that I’d made him lose control, made me want to lose my control too. Slipping one hand down to just above where we were joined, I pressed two fingers down on my clit and rubbed around and around in a tight circle until I felt the unmistakable beginning of my climax start to roar through my veins.

  Panting, I bent forward enough to grip my panties and felt the slow slide of him as his cock left my body. I hated it, the empty feeling it left behind. I wanted to try and process it, to think about why I felt so complete and full and right when we were together, when it just shouldn’t be possible. Satisfied, yes, absolutely. Wanting more, I’d buy that.

  But like it was meant to be? Like the missing piece of me was leaving once more? No.

  No.

  “Bianca? I’m sorry.” Lucas’ voice was as shallow as I imagined my own would be if I tried to speak, but it also sounded hollow.

  I stood, pulling my panties back up and into place and turned to face him, resisting the urge to crawl back onto his lap—facing him this time. “For what?” I asked, searching his face for a clue.

  “I didn’t use . . . I wasn’t thinking.” He looked down between us, his spent cock bare of protection and a punch of fear hit me hard and fast. He smiled ruefully at me. “I told you, you make me lose my mind.”

  I shook my head. “Are you implying it’s my fa—”

  “No! No. Shit, that wasn’t what I meant.”

  “What did you mean then?”

  He didn’t answer, his eyes darting away before alighting back on me, all trace of worry replaced by open honesty. “I’m safe. Clean. I promise.”

  I accepted his words with a barely there smile. “Same. I was tested after I caught Mason.”

  Silence froze the air between us as we left unspoken the other possible consequence of our actions. And instead of forging on and making a plan—to find somewhere to get the morning after pill—even though it was technically the morning of pill I needed—I fell into his lap, rested my head on his shoulders and closed my eyes.

  Sated. Exhausted. And kind of desperate to avoid Christmas with his parents . . .

  11

  Lucas

  “You’re leaving?” I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice, but it was next to impossible. “Right now?”

  “Yes?” Bianca stood up, turning back to face me with her head tilted, turning her answer into a question. “The timing isn’t the best, granted, but I need to find a Walgreens or whatever the equivalent is. A pharm-agency, right?”

  Under normal circumstances I might’ve enjoyed her play on pharmacy and newsagency, but these were not normal circumstances. “I can go with you. I should go with you.”

  She started shaking her head before I even finished talking. “No. No, I can do it on my own. Your family will be waiting for you.”

  “Waiting for me, but not you. What aren’t you saying?” I knew there was something. Hell, I was even sure I knew what it was. We were no more than fifteen minutes past epic sex, and she suddenly wanted to leave—and I didn’t think that meant leave the Botanic Gardens for my parents’ place with a quick detour for the morning after pill.

  While I could understand the need to take care of the potential problem we had just created, I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around the fact that she wanted to cut out.

  She didn’t seem to understand that I wanted her to stay. Now more than ever.

  I’d just fucked her in public, so desperate for her that I couldn’t wait for a decent place to have her, and now she was—<
br />
  “Lucas, look. I can’t stay here, in Melbourne, and I think—that is, I feel like staying is going to mean more of”—she swept a hand around the gazebo—“this.”

  I ran my hands through my hair, gripping the strands in frustration. “You didn’t think there was anything wrong with ‘this’ when you were coming on my cock, Bianca.”

  Eyes flashing fire that was designed to turn me into a pillar of flames, she made a noise of anger that would have been cute if I wasn’t perilously close to losing my cool. “How dare you? How dare you say that to me, you bastard?”

  I braced myself for a hit. For her to slap me or push me or something. Except she didn’t. Instead, she turned and started walking away. Back in the direction we’d come from.

  “Bianca.”

  “No. I’m going to find a fucking pharmacy, take care of this now before it’s too late, then go back to the hostel. You can tell your parents whatever you want about me, I don’t care. But I won’t be spoken to like that. Not after . . . not after . . .”

  “I’m sorry.” My apology came out gritted and stilted and sounded about as genuine as two-dollar diamond.

  She didn’t even pause to acknowledge me. “Sure.”

  I cleared my throat and forced a calm. “I am. I’m sorry.” It was enough to make her pause, to hesitate. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. I was surprised.”

  Turning slowly, Bianca faced me. I waited to see if she’d say anything before I pleaded my case. “I called you today because I missed you. It hasn’t even been a handful of days, and I missed you already. That has to mean something.”

  She shook her head, regret hiding in the depths of eyes that mostly held a stubborn kind of certainty. “It means that I need to leave now more than ever. This shouldn’t have happened. Not like this. I-I can’t trust myself around you.”

  “That’s a bad thing?” It was a useless question—I knew she thought it was a bad thing from the way she was looking at me.

  “You know it is.”

  “I also know that we have something.”

  She raised her shoulders in a limp shrug, which irked me more than I wanted to admit. I crushed my frustration down and stepped forward, trying to soften my voice. “I wish you would stay.” That she even heard me was probably a miracle, given the fact I barely spoke over a whisper.

  “I can’t.”

  * * *

  “Where are you now?” I pushed the door of my house closed and walked over to my couch. I wanted to be able to settle in for a long talk with Bianca. It had been a couple of weeks since she’d left me standing in the middle of the Botanic Gardens, and I missed her with a punch-in-the-gut feeling that didn’t seem to go away. No matter how often we talked—which was barely once every few days.

  “Right now? At the beach.” She turned the phone around to show me one of Sydney’s most famous beaches, crowded with people. She was smiling, little white earphones poking out of her ears, when she turned it back around. “It’s so pretty.”

  The soft, sappy side of me wanted to tell her that the beach had nothing on her, but instead, I just nodded. I didn’t want to sound like an idiot, and I’d found that she wasn’t so interested in compliments from me. She preferred to ask the questions, wanting to use the time to get to know me.

  The first time, it had been a surprise, given the fact that we hadn’t exactly parted in the best way. I’d practically been left with my dick in my hand, while she’d been angry with me for, well, being me.

  And being an arsehole. That was definitely a contributing factor.

  Shaking off the memory of her leaving—of awkwardly explaining to my family that Bianca wouldn’t be joining us for Christmas while trying to avoid their questions—I focused on her. “So, whaddya want to talk about today? Drop bears? The Phantom of the Sydney Opera House?”

  “There’s a phantom in the Sydney Opera House?” she asked, her brow furrowed in curiosity.

  “No idea. I just made that up.”

  Her laugh rattled my nerves a little, even as I found it sexy as hell. Talking to her, infrequent as it was, was the best and worst part of my day.

  “I know! Will you tell me more about what you do for work?” Her eyes widened in excitement. “I’d do the whole pouty mouth, praying hands thing, except then I’d drop my phone.”

  “And that would ruin the effect.”

  “Exactly. See, you get me.”

  Fist clenching at her casual acknowledgment of our connection, I instead agreed to tell her about my career. “It’s not that exciting, to be honest. Being an osteopath. People come in to complain about aches and pains, I ask questions to try and get to the bottom of their problem, spout off a few medical terms to convince them that I’m not some hack, then work on them until it’s all better.”

  “Oh, that’s it, huh?”

  “That’s it.”

  “I’ve never heard of an osteopath before.”

  “And now you’re an expert.”

  Her laugh was accompanied by an eye roll, and I knew she saw right through my attempt to deflect from my job. But seriously, I could think of at least ten other more interesting topics than the five-ish years of schooling and studying that led to a career manipulating joints and bones and muscles. And at least eight of those topics were detailed descriptions about the things I wanted to do to her, if only she’d come back to Melbourne.

  “Hardly an expert. But I am going to Google ‘osteopathy’ later and find out what you really do. Somehow, I think you might be understating it.” She shook her head, like she couldn’t believe I’d do such a thing. “Why don’t you want to talk about it? Do you have another deep, dark secret, Valentine?”

  I was tempted to give her the bird for the use of my middle name, but I checked the urge. I didn’t want her to think I really meant it—giving the middle finger, like swearing, was practically a love language for an Aussie, but Americans seemed to take that kind of thing more seriously. And I seriously didn’t want to fuck up with her anymore that I already had.

  Everything felt tenuous.

  “What would my deep, dark secret be, pretty girl?”

  “I don’t know.” Her face scrunched into an adorable approximation of serious thought, then she smiled. “Wait! I have it. You’ve just made up a job and you’re actually something else, like a clown.”

  “A clown?”

  “Or you play Prince Charming at princess-themed parties.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “You’re very charming,” she replied without missing a beat. “And handsome enough to pass for a prince. I guess,” she added.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “You guess? Come on.” I held my phone out and angled it so she could see my body—I’d removed my shirt while she was showing me the beach and had been disappointed when she hadn’t commented on it. I stretched out along my couch, moving the camera to make sure she saw what she was missing. I wasn’t above manipulating her—and objectifying myself—to remind her why she liked me in the first place. “Now tell me that you guess I’m handsome enough to pass for a prince.”

  “Well . . .” She made a little sound and I immediately brought the screen back into view, catching her biting her lower lip, then slowly letting it slide from between her teeth.

  “That’s what I thought.” I smirked at her, enjoying the slight look of discomfort on her face that told me she was maybe a little embarrassed about the whole lip biting thing.

  She shouldn’t be, though. I loved it.

  “What were we talking about?” she asked, eyelashes fluttering. The very picture of innocence, not that I was about to fall for it. She was just trying to get out of being caught checking me out.

  Again.

  Seemed to happen to her a lot.

  “About how much you miss me?” It certainly wasn’t what we were talking about, but it was what I wanted to be talking about.

  “I’ve been touring one of the world’s most popular cities, with some of the world’s most b
eautiful beaches. How could I possibly miss you?”

  I felt my body react with a small flinch at her words—did she really not miss me?—before I noticed her arched eyebrow. She was just messing around, thank god. “If you’re not missing me, you must at least be missing the orgasms.”

  “I can give myself org—I mean, those.” Her eyes darted left and right, which I assumed meant there were people close enough to her on the beach that she didn’t want to be overheard. She lowered her voice. “Which you well know.”

  Images of her touching herself painted across my vision and I smiled what could only be an intensely lecherous and dirty smile. Not that I cared—let her see how much I liked thinking about her and her body and her fingers playing between her legs.

  “I can’t wait until you’re staying somewhere other than a public beach or a crowded hostel, so you can remind me of exactly what that looks like.” I knew she’d chosen the cheaper hostel option for big cities like Sydney because of the cost. I respected it, even. Thankfully for me—and my chances of getting her to engage in phone sex—in some of the smaller towns she was visiting on her travels, she’d have no choice but to stay at a hotel. Or motel.

  “I kind of don’t want to leave Sydney. It’s so busy and so bright and—”

  “Stop right there. I don’t want to get mad at you, pretty girl, but if you keep talking up Sydney”—I put a teasingly annoyed emphasis on the name of Australia’s most popular city because, as a Melburnian who knew the truth of my city’s superiority, that was expected—“I’m going to have to.”

  She laughed, rolling her eyes at my old refrain. It was possible I’d brought this up more than once. “Luc, you’ve told me several times in this conversation that Melbourne is better, and I should come back and see for myself. How could I possibly forget?”

  “Just making sure.”

 

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