by Frankie Love
I lay her on her back, kissing her slowly, her breasts rising and falling as she breathes heavy. My cock is fucking hard as steel, but before all that, I need to take care of her.
“When you come, do you sing?” I ask her.
She laughs. “Like, do I have musical orgasms? Is that what you’re asking?”
I nod. “That is exactly what I’m asking.”
She starts laughing, hard. “Not in the past, but do you have a request? Because if you get me there, then I will sing whatever you want.”
I frown. “What do you mean, if? I have no doubt of my ability to make you come, Goldie Greyhound.”
She closes her eyes, shaking her head — pressing a hand to my chest. “Are you always so damn confident?” she asks.
“You bring out the best in me,” I tell her, kissing her tits, then moving lower, my mouth going to her belly button, then sliding her silk panties down past her hips.
She sighs, and the sound is heavenly. I want to make her more than sigh though, I want to make her purr. Then make her sing.
“This okay?” I ask, and she nods as I draw her knees apart, taking in her sweet, pink pussy. “God, look at you,” I murmur, running my fingers over her wet folds. She is already eager for more, I can see that plainly.
“It’s so good. You make me feel so good, Grant.”
“Why is that, you think?” I ask, kneeling on the floor, drawing her ass to the edge of the bed. Making sure I get a good look at her. I blow warm air against her, and she buckles her knees. I smile, holding her in place.
“I feel good with you. Like you have my best interests at heart.”
I look up. She has a pillow under her head. “That sounds so diplomatic.”
She laughs. “Stop talking and lick my pussy, will ya?”
I laugh. “Demanding too.”
Her hands are on her belly as laughter fills the room and I thank god she rolled into town, needed my help. That she’s here, right now.
I kiss her core, breathing in her sweet scent, my cock aching as I run my tongue over her folds, opening her up, tasting her. God, it’s good. She whimpers as I tease her with my tongue, wanting to pleasure her, nice and slow. If I’m getting a song out of her, it’s gotta be for a good fucking orgasm.
She likes it when I suck her clit; she runs her fingers through my hair as I do, her legs wrapping around my head, and I lick up and down her, wanting every inch of her at the edge.
“Oh god, Grant,” she pants as I add a finger to her hole. Fuck, she is tight, so ripe and ready to be undone.
“I want to make you come so fucking hard, Goldilocks. I want to make you mine.”
“Please,” she moans. “Please. Make me yours.”
Her words send a goddamn thrill through me and I add a second finger to her creamy pussy, pumping my fingers nice and fast, hitting her G-spot and making her whimper, her pleasure palpable, and I press my mouth to her, loving her taste.
She arches her back as I insert a third finger, her body riding my hand, and I know she isn’t there yet. She has so much more to give. She is so juicy, slick as I finger fuck her, and she covers her face with her hands as the feeling of fullness seems to overwhelm her.
“There you go, songbird, there you go.” I tease her so damn slow it hurts. She writhes on my bed, the powerful release ready to take over. I spread her pussy, mouthing her so hard she starts coming for me, the way I knew she could. Hard. So damn hard. My tongue circles her clit, hot and heavy, and she starts moaning, her voice begging me for more. Her sweet pussy squirting as I suck off her sweet hole until there is nothing but her gasping.
When she finishes, she leans up on her arms, and begins singing, “I like the way you lick the bowl. Somehow your method touches my soul.”
I grin, my hand on her pussy as I move to the bed, lying next to her. “Ariana Grande? Nice choice.”
She laughs, big and wide and god, it’s beautiful. “How do you know her song?”
I run a hand over her curves, my cock getting hard. “I’m a man of many mysteries.”
She presses me onto my back, pushing my boxers off, and then stroking me.
“God, you’re so hard, and so, so big,” she whispers, rolling on top of me. Her tits in my face, and her eyes shining bright. “Do you sing too? Just wondering what is going to happen when I make you come.”
I squeeze her hips as she straddles me. “When I come? I’ll ruin you for all other men, that’s what’s going to happen.”
“Again, with the confidence.”
I nod, lifting her ass so her sweet pussy can sink down on my thick and ready cock. “I thought a theater girl like you would like a confident man.”
She closes her eyes, her hair falling to my chest, and I know it’s gotta be painful for her tight hole to take all of me. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I got you.”
She nods, her eyes finding mine. “It’s a good hurt. You’re just such a man, Grant. A real man. A man who can… oh god.”
I smile, knowing that Goldie has never been truly loved, never been taken care of the way she deserves. Her body craves it, craves me. And fuck, I want to satisfy her in every damn way.
Her mouth meets mine, kissing me hard. Her pussy is so tight, and feels so damn good wrapped around my cock, I don’t want this to end.
“Oh Grant,” she moans as she moves her hips ever so slightly. I know from this position the intense pressure of my thick cock is a lot for her to take. With my hands on her back, I roll her over, taking the top, and taking control. I want to make her feel like a princess, a treasure.
“You feel so good, songbird,” I whisper in her ear, her arms wrapping around me tight. “So damn good.”
Her legs wrap around me too, and we move like we are meant to be together.
We may have met just this week but our bodies find a rhythm that tells another story, and I kiss her slowly, knowing she is more than the girl next door, she is a woman who I am falling for in a serious way.
She knows it, feels it too, because as we climax, our fingers lace and our hearts press together, beating in unison, and we are not strangers, not by a long shot.
After, we turn on our sides, our foreheads touch. “I think it’s your turn to sing,” she says softly, a tiny smile on her adorable face.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Goldie, you don’t want to hear that.”
“Please,” she whimpers. “Prove that you aren’t as perfect as you appear.”
I shake my head ever so slightly, then turn on my back, unable to keep a straight face if I’m looking at her. “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for… But I still haven't found what I'm looking for…” I look over at her and she’s cracking up.
“U2? A song with lyrics like that? Are you serious right now?” she laughs. “You are terrible, Grant Blake.”
I roll over, pining her hands over her head. “A terrible singer, yes.”
“I won’t argue with that,” she says, tears in her eyes. Happy tears.
“I don’t want to argue with you about anything.”
She kisses me again, and this time when I kiss her back, it’s better than the Ferris wheel kiss. It’s the kind of kiss that changes everything.
Chapter Eight
Goldie
We fall asleep after we make love for the second time. Make love might sound too intense for the first time we’ve been together… but I can’t find another word for it. It wasn’t casual sex, that’s for sure. And it wasn’t fucking. It was tender and sweet. And it wasn’t sleeping together. We were wide awake; aware. I felt alive in ways I never have before. Like my heart was cracking open and Grant wasn’t scared of the pieces.
In the morning, I wake to an empty bed, but the smell of coffee brewing is wafting through the hall. I pull on my clothes from the night before, but this isn’t some walk of shame. There’s a bounce to my step. Hope.
In the kitchen I find Grant in front of the stove, wearing a pair of low-slung grey sweats that make me
wet all over again. I can see the outline of his cock and god, it’s the most glorious thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hey, Goldilocks,” he says, handing me a cup of coffee. “Wasn’t sure if you take cream.”
“I‘m pretty sure after last night you know I do,” I say biting back a smile and reaching for the carton next to the coffee pot. I can’t suppress my smile. “So last night was fun.”
Grant looks over at me, a spatula in hand and scrambled eggs and bacon on the stove. “It was more than fun.”
“Agreed,” I say, watching as he plates bacon and eggs, English muffins. A nervous feeling begins curling up my spine. It really all feels too good to be true. Who is this man?
“Hungry?”
“Starved.” I sit down at his kitchen table and look at him across from me, trying to keep my emotions in check. Usually after a night of fun, things fall apart. “So… you’re a singer.”
He chuckles. “Funny.”
“It was cute. All of it. The carnival, the kiss, the song. I’m trying to find your flaws. The red flag. But all I see is your perfect record.”
“Does there have to be some question mark? Can’t what you see be what you get?”
I roll my eyes. “Not in the real world.”
“Why not?” he asks, spreading strawberry jam on his bread.
“Because, Grant, nothing is so picturesque as that. People are multi-dimensional, and usually some of those dimensions aren’t so bright and shiny.”
He shrugs. “I’m not perfect. I’m a middle child though, so I am a peacemaker. I don’t like to fight. I want everyone to get along.”
“That’s not a fault though, it’s a birth order,” I push back, wanting to pick a fight because it doesn’t feel normal for things to feel so good.
Grant runs a hand over his jaw, his eyes soft. “Look, what do you want me to say, Goldie?” he asks. “That I did terribly in school? Can’t stand to lose. Hardly remember anyone’s birthday, ever.” He looks at me, clenching his jaw. I’ve pressed a nerve, I see that now. But he’s on a roll. “Look, I got Otis because my mom felt I was lonely. Which I was. Am. A year ago I saved a guy from a burning car and the town made me out to be a hero, but I found that guy on the backroads late at night because I was out driving. I couldn’t sleep. Could hardly ever sleep. You know why? Because a year before that I was on the Wild Ridge Mountains with my best friend Mark, and he died. On my watch. And I can’t get over it. Losing him. I’ve got baggage, Goldie, and I’m just trying to move forward, one step at a time.”
My heart tightens as I absorb his words. “Shit, Grant. I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Look, you think I’m perfect, but I’m not. Routine, order, whatever you call it, helps me from going into a dark place. A place I don’t want to return to.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right. And I don’t know you, not well enough to know all of that.”
“It’s fine,” he says tightly. “It’s what it is. But I’m not perfect.”
“No one is,” I say, feeling like I put my foot in my mouth in a major way. We eat breakfast in silence, and when we finish, I reach for his hand, nothing but regret in my heart. “I should get home.”
He nods, brushing his thumb over my hand. “I like having you in my bed.”
I smile softly. “Better than keeping you up with my show tunes.”
We stand, and he kisses me. “For the record, I love your show tunes, Goldie Greyhound.”
I leave his house, looking over my shoulder. He’s standing on the porch with Otis at his heels, his mug of coffee in hand.
I was scared I made things too unbearably awkward by forcing that fight. But it didn’t. It deepened whatever it is that is between us. We’re more than strangers, more than neighbors, more than lovers. More than friends. We might just be the start of my first serious relationship.
The week goes by in a blur, mostly because I have to get the theater ready for auditions. I’ve been in tons of productions throughout my life and put on a few of my own plays throughout college, but I’ve never had this level of excitement. This amount of nervous energy. This is my show, my time to prove to myself what I’m made of.
“You sure you don’t want me to come help?” Grandma says on the phone mid-week. I called her for advice on the casting. I need two female cast members in their twenties to thirties, two men in their forties, and one male lead in his twenties. I’m taking the female lead.
“I appreciate it, but I want to do this on my own. I feel like I’ve never really taken a chance like this on myself before. And you’ve already helped so much.”
And she has. Besides gifting me the theater, she set me up with her insurance guy, making sure everything was legally ready to open the theater.
“Well, your mother and I will be there opening night,” she says. “Which is only what, six weeks away?”
“I know,” I say, biting my lip. “It’s a lot to do in a short amount of time.”
“But the small cast will help. You only need five people to show up for auditions. Now, enough about work, tell me about your love life. Have you gone out with Grant again?”
I laugh, pouring myself a glass of wine and sitting in bed. I have a notepad and laptop next to me where I’ve been taking notes for the show. “After the most romantic date ever on Saturday, we met up for his lunch break on Wednesday. He took me to this little diner.”
“Virgin Street Diner?” Grandma asks. “Oh, they have the best hash browns. You have to ask for them extra crispy though.”
“Good to know,” I say, laughing. “We had burgers and fries.”
“You’re making me miss Cherry Falls,” she sighs.
“You could always move back. We can live together in your little apartment.”
“Oh, my doctors are all in the city now, and I think your mama likes my company.”
“I know she does,” I say.
We end the call with my promising to let her know how casting goes and I finish my wine, rereading the play. It’s about first love, and finding it in an unlikely place. Set in the sixties, it’s about a young woman — inspired by my grandma — who just moved to a small town for a typist job. Her boss — my grandpa — owns a playhouse and needs a secretary to type up all his notes. They fall in love in the theater… this very theater.
Thinking about falling in love, I can’t help but think about Grant. I consider going over and knocking on his door, but it’s past ten, and I know he’s probably already asleep. And I told him I needed to focus on the show for a few days, which he understood.
Now I wish I’d told him no such thing. Because it’s hard to sleep when my mind is on the way he touched me, caressed me, opened me up and made me feel alive.
I want it again. Him.
Setting the wine and the computer aside, I turn off my lights and reach in my drawer for a vibrator. Flipping it on, I spread my knees, thinking of Grant, the way he made me come so hard, come until I was singing him a song.
I come like that again, remembering the way it felt to be with Grant, a man so confident that my body shakes with intensity as I get off. I’m left panting, wanting more. So much more.
Rolling over in the bed all alone, I turn the speed up higher, the hum of the wand the only thing that will put me to sleep.
Chapter Nine
Grant
After a week of dates with Goldie there is no doubt that Madame Lovecraft got something wrong. There is no other man for Goldie — I know I’m the one for her.
Knowing she has auditions this morning, I decide to drop off a croissant and coffee before heading to the Wild Ridge Mountains for a day hike. I need to get outside after being cooped up in the shop all week.
“Thanks, Grant,” Goldie says, giving me a kiss.
“I’ll see you tonight, right?”
She nods. “It’s a date.”
I head out of town toward my buddy Cliff’s place. Cliff Abbott runs the Wild Canyon Campgrounds and we met a few years back. According to so
me folks in town, Cliff can be hard to read, but I find him easy to get along with. He came into the shop needing help with an old truck he’d been driving for a decade, and we discovered we’d both been hiking the same trail the weekend before. We’ve made a point to meet up about once a month ever since.
And he’d been friends with Mark longer than me. The three of us were together on the mountain the day of Mark’s accident. The day our best friend died. It was painful, going through that – but I’m glad Cliff and I have stuck together through it all. Not sure I could handle hiking this mountain range alone after the fall we witnessed Mark take. The one that took his life.
When I get to his cabin, he’s ready to go, and I grab my backpack from the seat next to me. “Sleeping better these days?” he asks as we head north toward the trails.
I run a hand over my jaw, thinking of Goldie. “Yeah, I’ve been seeing someone, actually.”
Cliff snorts as we start out on Whiskey Pass. “Really? She from town?”
“New to town, actually. Goldie Greyhound. Reopening the theater next door to me.”
“It serious?”
I shrug. “I’m not really a half-assed kinda guy. If I want something, I go all in.”
Cliff chuckles. “You tell her that?”
“Not yet, but I plan on it. Tonight.”
“Damn,” Cliff shakes his head. He’s taller than me, with a dark beard, and always in a flannel shirt. “She must be something else. But I’m happy for you, man. I know you’ve wanted a family for a long time. Maybe she can give you what you want.”
I nod, appreciating Cliff’s ability to cut to the chase and not give me a hard time. My brothers, hell, I don’t want to talk with them about Goldie much. The few times she came up this week they razzed me about it. I get it — they’re my brothers — and sometimes a friend can know you better than family can.