by Aidy Award
“Grow up.”
“Oh, I’m growing all right.”
I hurried up the last few rungs and into the room. Grant came in right behind me and pulled the door shut. The sound of the wind and rain muted enough I could hear myself think again. But, I couldn’t see a thing. I pulled my phone out of my little day bag and flipped on the flashlight function.
Boxes lay strewn across one corner, half-opened or gnawed at around the edges. I might brave the storm again if there were any furry little creatures sharing our refuge. Yech.
The wind pushed and battered our little shelter. The whole tree swayed and the storm shutters rattled, but at least it was dry. Step one survival. Step two, where the hell was that promised scotch?
“Let’s see if there’s anything to either dry off with or keep us warm.” Grant dropped his camera bag to the side and popped the lid of the closest box open, rooting around inside.
“We’re saved,” he declared.
Food, water? A weather radio? Alcohol? “What did you find?”
“Twenty-five hundred postcards from 1992.” He lifted a stack of faded cards and tossed them to me.
“Great.” We could write our last will and testament on them.
He continued to rifle through the boxes. “Very expired bottles of sunscreen, seashell necklaces, a first aid kit…” Grant lifted a red box with a red-cross on it.
“Oh, good. So we can stop any of the inevitable leaks in the roof with some cotton swabs and Band-Aids.”
“Beach towels.” He threw a couple of the thin brightly colored towels to me and then slid the box into the middle of the room.
“They must have been setting up a gift shop here.” I dried off and toweled my hair so it wasn’t dripping all over the floor. I’m sure I resembled a drowned wart hog at the moment. “Any snacks in there?”
“Nada.” He searched through the remaining boxes discarding the knickknacks and pulled out some of the ugliest t-shirts ever.
“I’m not sure which is worse, being cold and soaked or wearing one of those.” Unless there were extra extra larges in the pile, I wasn’t even trying.
“Come on, you’ll look sexy in this Iggy the Island Iguana shirt. Even better if it’s that and nothing else.” He waggled his eyebrows and his eyes twinkled.
I could practically see the dirty images floating through his mind. “How are you still a hornball when we’re trapped in the middle of a hurricane?”
Grant winked and continued to dig through the boxes. “Fuck yeah. Jackpot.” He held up a hand crank camping lantern and three cans of beer still attached to the plastic six-pack ring. “I knew we couldn’t be the only people to break into this place in the past decade or two.”
“How do you know how old those are? We’ll die if we drink that stuff.”
Grant cranked the lantern handle and light filled the room. He set it on the stack of boxes and grabbed something else out of the treasure trove. He held out a scrap of paper and a bag of crunchy cheesy goodness to me. “Because the date on the receipt is from last week. Cheeto?”
Phew. I could use a beer and some junk food. “Mmm, manna of the teenage gods. This is a brilliant make-out lair now that I think of it.” Why did I say that? As if there wasn’t enough sexual tension in the room already.
“Oh, I think they’re doing more than making out up here.” He held up a twelve-count box of condoms.
If ever the universe was conspiring against me, it was today. Like either of us needed any more prodding to think about sex… with each other.
Don’t go there. We both knew better.
If Grant didn’t think us hooking up was a bad idea, he would have made a move by now. Right? Because we were damn sure attracted to each other. So what if we did get a little dirty? Who would blame us? In fact, Nessie would probably throw me a party. She’d been saying for years that I was secretly in love with the one man I’d never even introduced her to. It wasn’t true.
I needed a distraction. “It’s cold in here. Maybe we can use the boxes and towels to fill in the cracks, make it a bit less hurricane-y.”
“It would help if we got out of our wet clothes.” Grant held up the Iggy shirts.
“That won’t fit me. I’m fine.” I waved him off.
“You are fine and I’d rather you not die of hypothermia.” He took the four steps across to me and the room went from little to practically claustrophobic.
“Not that you aren’t sexy all wet like this.” He grabbed one tendril of my damp hair and twirled it in his fingers. We were pressed chest to chest. He only had to dip his head a millimeter and we’d be kissing.
My heartbeat skipped like a little girl.
“I, uh—” He had no idea how wet I was. When had he gotten so tall, and broad chested, and dark eyed, and fuckable? And when had I lost control of the butterflies sequestered away in steel cages in my stomach. They weren’t allowed to flitter around like this making me all giddy. I didn’t feel this way or act this way around men.
Grant’s lips approached mine. I could feel his breath on my face. Damn, he smelled like rain, forest, and man. I could taste him already. He was delicious and I couldn’t help but lick my lips.
His eyes flicked from my eyes to my lips and back again. “I’ll take off my shirt, if you take off yours.”
He’d already seen me mostly naked dozens of times over the years at photoshoots and such, including today. But, I’d never seen him without a shirt on, or pants.
Why couldn’t I?
I rarely denied myself almost anything I wanted. Right now I wanted Grant. Bad.
Bad, bad girl.
I parted my lips and leaned into him. His eyes damn near exploded into supernovas of twinkles and he brushed his mouth across mine.
That tiny touch ignited us. I wrapped my arms around his neck pulling him closer to me, into me. He dropped the shirts and pushed his hands into my hair, gripping tight, holding me to him, controlling the kiss. I wanted the pain, I needed to return it to him. He pushed his tongue into my mouth and I pushed back, then sucked his lower lip in between my teeth and nipped at him.
We were on fire. Burning for each other.
Cameron decided to put us out.
A crash sounded above our heads, branches punching through the roof raining water and debris down on us. We were both instantly soaked and right back into the hurricane. The papers, clothes, and towels flew around the room.
For one breath that lasted a lifetime we stared into each other’s eyes. I was exactly where I wanted to be.
There was no hurricane, no outside world, only the two of us and our beating hearts.
Grant smiled and kissed me again, a quick press of his lips to mine. Then he bolted across the room and grabbed three of the boxes filled with gift shop crap.
I touched my lips, took one more breath and joined him. I didn’t have time to think about what had happened. Together we stacked the boxes until they reached the ceiling. A small gap remained, water pouring through it. Grant glanced around the room, snagged the first aid kit and stuffed it into the hole stopping the leak.
We were both out of breath, and I didn’t know if it was from the kisses or running around and stacking boxes. “I hope that holds.”
“Yeah, but in case it doesn’t let’s bundle up in the towels and snuggle to keep warm.” He wrapped his arms around me.
Oh god, now the crisis was past and we were alone again, all the thoughts and reactions I’d shoved away flooded in worse than the rain.
He’d kissed me. I kissed him back. What. The. Fuckballs?
Plus, I liked it. A lot. There had been no negotiations, no roles, no one person in control guiding or directing. It had not been a scene.
Damn if I didn’t want more.
This was not me.
I was a Domme. I controlled other people’s pleasure and pain. I did not fall in love. Love was messy and it meant letting someone really see inside your soul. No way, Jose. Or Grant.
Whoa whoa whoa. It was a fucking kiss. H
e wasn’t proposing. That image filled my mind.
Grant down on one knee, a beach wedding, a dirty-fun filled honeymoon, and two point five kids later he’d go off to the office while I stayed home or scurried to PTA meetings. He’d call saying he had to work late again while we both knew he was fucking his beautiful blonde Barbie of a secretary.
I don’t think so. This. This was why I got into the BDSM scene in the first place. Fun and fucking with no strings attached. The relationships were defined, going outside the boundaries of the rules was punishable. That I could do. This I couldn’t.
Unless I taught Grant about that world, that part of me.
He crouched over one of the boxes and I imagined him on his knees in front of me.
Never gonna happen.
“Here, one of these should fit.” He held out three of the fugly shirts.
They were all men’s and I checked the inside collars, L, XL and 2XL. Smart man.
I picked the largest one. It wouldn’t be overly roomy but at least it would be long enough that my whole ass wouldn’t be hanging out. “Yeah, thanks. Now turn around.”
He chuckled, but did as I asked. I turned around too, just in case. The knot on my halter top didn’t want to come undone. I finally slipped it over my head and pulled the whole thing up and off leaving me in my wet bra. I rarely free-boobed it, the girls were too big for that, but it was wet and probably needed to go. I checked over my shoulder to make sure Grant wasn’t cheating and peeking. He was.
“Wait, don’t move.” His voice had a hurried excitement to it.
“There better not be a spider or something grosser on me. Get it off.” I froze waiting for rescue from horrible creepy crawlies.
The click click click of the camera sounded. “This is no time for National Geographic pictures, I’m in mortal danger.”
“There’s no spider. I’m taking pictures of you. The light from the lantern is dancing on your skin. So soft, so damn perfect.”
I glared at him. His camera was pressed to his eye and his finger pulsed on the shutter button.
“I love the fire in that look, but take a step back into the light again, and tilt your chin to the left.”
I instinctively followed his instructions posing and trying to stay in the light. “Why are you taking pictures now. I’m a wreck.”
“Lean against that wall there and look off in the distance, like you’re remembering, no longing for something.” His words sounded more like an erotic story than instructions. Grant prowled from side to side, checking the shots and then taking more. “Yes, fucking beautiful.”
I’d worked with Grant a half dozen times over the years and he was always fun. He gave great direction and his shots were brilliant. With his camera between us there was always a professional barrier. Each direction he gave me now were sweet nothings to my ears.
“Slide the pants down over your hips, slow.”
He definitely had a vision for what he wanted from me and I was only going to be privy to it a tiny piece at a time. How far would he take it? And how far was I willing to let him?
I unbuttoned and unzipped the capris. A matching bra and panties were like a swimsuit, or close enough. I wouldn’t be showing him anything he hadn’t seen before.
For a minute I pretended this was just another power exchange, the kind I’d given up power in a million times over the years. I allowed photographers to guide me, direct me, control me. I knew I was giving as much to them as they were giving me. It was the closest I got to understanding how subs felt.
“Good, push that hip out, toward me. Let me see the panties underneath, but not too much. Reveal them like a secret.”
My breathing rate ratcheted up. I wanted to do what he said and I didn’t. There were comfortable rules and boundaries to a photoshoot, that we were close to crossing.
Grant waited, camera at the ready, but not blocking the heated expression on his face. “Show me your secrets, Danica.”
There were too many of those. But my panties weren’t one of them. I could do this. I would. Grant was asking me for more than a picture of me in my underthings. We both knew it.
I didn’t know how to be what he wanted. But I was damn sure going to try. Maybe I would get something I wanted out of it too.
Sex and Storms
I folded down the edge of my capris to reveal skin but nothing more and put on my best come hither eyes. It was easy because I really did want him to come hither.
“Holy shit, that’s it. That’s the look I’ve been waiting a lifetime to find.” Grant raised the camera to his eye, seemingly in slow motion, and took just one picture.
I licked my lips and instead of waiting for his next direction took control. Let’s see if he could continue taking pictures if I kept taking my clothes off. I slipped a thumb under the halter strap of my bra and slid down my chest to the cup tracing my fingers along the cream lace edging.
“Take it off.” It wasn’t a direction, it wasn’t a request. It was a demand, the words filled with lust and need.
I’d done that to him. The man I’d seen date a million models, fuck around with all the pretty cheerleaders. My body, my curves were turning him on.
A rush of my own arousal, the same as when I was dominating a sub flowed through me from the top of my scalp, racing down my spine to settle low in my belly.
Now was the time to make my move.
“I will if you will.”
His gaze went from a solid hold on my chest to my eyes. The question was written across his face.
I smiled, the tiniest turn up at the corners of my mouth. I let the real approval come from my eyes with a simple blink. Yeah. Really. I was in, if he was.
Grant grinned and I knew he understood.
“Take it all off for me. I want to see, touch, and taste every one of those incredible curves.”
“All right, but you don’t get the goods yet.” I slid my pants down going about an inch an hour. If we were playing strip tease my emphasis was on the tease part. The wagging tongue and lusty looks said he was more focused on the strip.
“Put your eyes back in your head already, you’ve seen me in less than this.” Not by much though.
“Yes, but it was never for me, love. It was for the camera.” He lifted the damn thing and took a picture without even looking where he was pointing.
I let the pants drop to the floor and kicked out of them. This was the moment I’d know if he was just a horny man looking for a lay or if he really was attracted to big ole me. I’d given up worrying about whether someone liked my body or not a long time ago. There were plenty of men who did. But none of them were Grant.
I peered up through my lashes dying to see what his eyes, face, and body said. Words were too easily faked.
“I want to tell you how fucking gorgeous you are, but the words sound hollow compared to how much you turn me on.” His sentence was slow, each word careful and sincere.
A ridiculous giddy flip flop bounced around my chest. And the bulge in his pants said he wasn’t lying. “You’ve got me down to my bra and panties, so I think I’m due a strip tease.
He toed off one muddy shoe and kicked it toward the door. “Your turn again.”
“Good try.” I laughed, but then made my voice low and serious. “Take your clothes off. All of them. Slowly.”
“Yes, ma’am.” They weren’t the placating words of a sub, but a full-grown sexylicious man who was as anxious as I was to get naked.
His tie went first, then one by one he undid the buttons on his shirt. I know I said slow, but I was eager to see more of him.
“That’s quite the lascivious look on your face. Does that mean you’re ready to do lots of dirty things to my person?” He unfastened another button and pulled the side of his shirt aside exposing a section of skin then closing it again hiding the dusting of hair and the lower half of a great six pack from me.
I laughed at his teasing and loved that he was actually getting into this. “Take it off, ya tease.”
If only I had some dollar bills to wave at him. I’d be stuffing more than that down his pants if he didn’t finish stripping PDQ.
He hid himself from me, closing his shirt. “No more skin for you until you show me the money. And by money, I mean your tits.”
“You run a tough negotiation.” I unhooked the adjustable strap and then reached around and opened the back fastenings. I held the cups on over my breasts. I wasn’t giving in so easily.
“Give and get,” he said, eyeing my hands.
The three remaining buttons that weren’t opened at the bottom of the shirt popped off and plinked into a puddle of water on the floor. I was so right about the six pack, plus he had the greatest white-blond treasure trail from his belly button down into his pants.
“Ah, ah, ah. I want nice and slow.”
He unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops at a tantalizing pace. I rewarded him by slowly caressing my breasts.
His zipper came down and the anticipation of seeing his cock had me licking my lips. The waistband of his pants fell open and damn if he wasn’t a boxers man. I definitely voted for going commando. There was something about knowing a man had nothing between his cock and his suit.
Grant let his pants drop and stepped out of them. He didn’t even bother to pick them up or move them aside. I wanted his boxers to go next, and never come back if I had my way. Instead he slipped out of his shirt and dropped them to join the pants.
If his ass was anywhere as tight as his abs I really did have a Viking god on my hands. “Where’s my show, Mr. CEO?”
“Where’s mine?”
You want a show, I’ll give you a show.
I dropped the bra to the floor. He licked his lips. But the show was only just beginning. With my eyes on his, I ran a hand down from neck and under one breast, lifting and caressing it, then did the same with the other. I licked my fingers and circled each areola, tightening on each pass coming closer to my nipples, teasing myself as much as Grant.
He stared like a sailor entranced by a siren. “I’m going to suck on those plump nipples until you come.”
Oh yes he was.
“Not if you don’t finish getting undressed,” I sang back.