by Marie Force
If I made a spreadsheet of Lauren’s attributes, it would look something like this:
Smooth, lightly tanned skin.
Big, full breasts with light brown nipples made for sucking.
A flat, toned belly.
Endless, sexy legs.
A completely bare pussy (or as I like to think of it—the frosting on a delicious piece of cake).
A perfect ass that makes me want to grab on and do dirty, dirty things.
Gorgeous brown eyes.
Curly blonde hair that I want to wrap around my hands when I fuck her from behind.
A mouth made for sin, and I have a few specific sins in mind when it comes to her luscious mouth.
Total = Perfection.
I lick my lips as I catalog every spectacular detail of her stunning body. Of course, I’ve always known she’s hot as fuck. We grew up together. I’ve seen her in everything from a bikini to a prom gown to the shortest of skirts and the highest of heels. But seeing her in absolutely nothing was a revelation. Literally. And figuratively. I’m never sure of the proper use of those two words, so let me sum it up—Lauren Davies is a literal and figurative smoking-hot babe.
Tonight I’m going to prove to her that her challenges with guys have nothing at all to do with her and everything to do with them. Once I get her feeling better about herself, I’m so outta here.
Chapter Two
At this point, you might be wondering what a guy who doesn’t want to put down roots in the small town where he feels stuck does about sex when he’s not creating a sexual disaster with his best friend. One word: tourists. They come from all over to see Marfa’s famous lights, the art installations and to soak up the funky artsy vibe of our desert town. They’re easy to find in the bars and restaurants around town, and it doesn’t take much effort to convince one of them to invite me to her hotel room for some mindless fun.
Since I returned home after college, I’ve “honed my craft,” if you will, with tourists. The beauty of the transient encounter is that they don’t know any of my people, so they don’t talk and they don’t spread rumors that might get back to those who might be appalled by my tourist trade. I send my out-of-towners away with smiles on their faces and good memories of their brief visit to Marfa. I don’t give them my last name or phone number, so there’s never a chance of a repeat performance. It may sound shallow, but it’s worked to keep me sane when so much of my existence is out of my control.
Around town, I have a reputation for being somewhat of a monk, focused exclusively on running my thriving business while helping my mom and acting like a surrogate dad to my three younger siblings. I like that reputation. I love that my friends think I do without. It makes me laugh. I like that no one knows about the tourists that have kept me from actually living like a monk while I wait and hope for something better than my life in Marfa.
Lauren and our tight-knit group of friends have been a bright spot in my life since I came home after college. It’s been a couple of years now since the night Lauren’s argument with Wayne turned violent. I’ll never forget receiving the call from Honey with the news that Lauren was in the hospital, badly beaten by her husband. I wanted to murder Wayne with my own hands, but because so many people depend on me, I resisted that urge and focused all my attention on Lauren. I visited her for hours every day for the week she was hospitalized, and after she was released, I spent fourteen nights on her sofa so she wouldn’t have to be home alone at night.
Her closest girlfriends, Honey, Julie and Scarlett, volunteered to stay with her, but she wanted me. Probably because she knew I’d beat the living shit out of Wayne if he came anywhere near her. I still hope to get the chance to teach him a lesson about what happens to guys who treat women the way he did Lauren.
She’s been understandably fragile since that incident. That’s why I’ve never pushed her for more than the close friendship we’ve always shared. Instead, I’ve bided my time, fucked tourists, hung out with my friends, worked out seven days a week at the local gym, focused on growing my business and taking care of my family—always with the end goal of getting the fuck out of here the very second my youngest sister graduates from high school. That’s happening in three short weeks, and I’m counting down the days. I’ve even talked to a Realtor about putting my house on the market the day my sister, Sierra, graduates. My “baby” sister plans to join our other sister, Lola, at UT in Austin in the fall, and I’ve got both their tuitions covered, along with generous monthly allowances that keep them in their favorite things, including lip gloss, nail polish and heels.
So that’s pretty much been my life in a nutshell—work, family, the gym, tourists and friends. Nothing overly exciting or out of the routine until six months ago, when a regular beer-and-wings night turned into something far from ordinary with Lauren. For one thing, she wore a frilly floral yellow dress that showed off her considerable cleavage. And for some reason, her curly hair was unusually orderly and she applied makeup that did crazy things to her big eyes.
But it wasn’t just her appearance that was different that night. She was also flirtatious with me, looking at me with something far more complicated than friendship and touching me every chance she got. It reminded me of the old days, before she lost her mind and married Wayne fucking Peterson. And by the way, I blame myself for the fact that she married him in the first place, but I’ll tell you about that later.
Anyway, I could tell from the minute she walked into our usual meeting spot that she was looking to bust loose a little that night. So I indulged her. I let her drink a lot more than she normally does, intending to see her safely home. We shot pool and danced and generally had a freaking blast.
In hindsight, I can see that I was so fucking relieved to see the sparkle back in her eyes that I got caught up in the magic she spun around us that night. I thought, finally… After all this time, we’re going to get our chance. For a guy who prides himself on understanding women, God, did I get it wrong that night.
I still cringe when I think about taking her home and kissing her the way I’d wanted to for so long, right on her front porch where anyone might’ve seen us. That kiss… I’ve thought about that kiss every day for six months. It was the best kiss I’ve ever had with anyone, and it made me want so much more. Without taking even so much as a minute to think about consequences, I had her inside and pressed against the door as I continued to devour her like a man who’d been starving for a taste of this one particular woman.
We pulled at clothes, both of us seeming equally desperate for the feel of skin on skin. The entire thing was surreal, as if it was happening in one of my many Lauren-related fantasies instead of transpiring in real life. Somehow I knew that if I took even half a second to ask her if she was sure this was what she wanted that the bubble would burst and the magic would be lost. So I pressed on, even as a niggling feeling of concern made me question whether we’d be risking a friendship we both relied upon by letting this happen.
We ended up in her bedroom, still kissing furiously with years of latent desire bursting forth explosively. She took my breath away, leaving me light-headed from the lack of oxygen. Breathing would mean breaking the kiss, and there was no way I was going to do that. My hands were everywhere—in her hair, on her breasts, cupping her sweet ass. I’d never wanted anyone or anything the way I wanted her in that moment.
I recall being mesmerized by her soft skin, gorgeous breasts, light brown nipples and the totally bare pussy that was a delightful surprise and made me drool with years of pent-up lust for her. Everything was going great until I stopped kissing her long enough to remove my pants and underwear.
She took one look at my hard cock, and the bubble burst.
I wasn’t sure if she recoiled out of fear or horror, or what happened, but she punched out of what had been about to happen, leaving me reeling as I tried to catch up.
“Lauren,” I said, reaching for her. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head.
I
stretched out next to her and put my arm around her, alarmed to discover she was trembling violently. “Did I do something to scare you, sweetheart?” After what she’d been through, that would kill me.
“N-no. I, um… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” She turned to face me and started kissing me again, as if nothing had happened.
“Lauren—”
“Please, Garrett. This is what I want. Please don’t stop.”
I try to be a good guy and always aim to do the right thing, but I’m only human. When a woman I care about as much as I do Lauren begs me to make love to her, I’m going to give her what she wants, even if I’m not one hundred percent certain it’s the right thing to do.
So I started all over again with desperate kisses while I caressed her breasts and teased her nipples. Then I kissed her jaw and rolled her earlobe between my teeth, loving the gasp of surprise that drew from her. Encouraged by her reactions, I moved down, cupping her left breast and drawing her nipple into my mouth.
She cried out from the sensations, and I sucked harder, wanting to erase anything upsetting or negative from her mind and replace it with pure pleasure. I gave her other breast the same treatment and then kissed her abdomen until she was fairly wriggling under me, all but begging for more.
When I settled her legs on my shoulders, I noticed she was still trembling violently. I almost stopped to ask again if this was what she wanted, but she’d told me what she wanted, and I was determined to give it to her. Dropping my head, I traced her outer lips with my tongue before delving inside to lap up her sweetness. Goddamn, she was like a drug. One taste and I was addicted.
I went a little crazy in my efforts to make her come, licking and sucking and driving my fingers into her tight, wet channel, but I couldn’t seem to get her there, which should’ve been the first clue that this was going south fast. I only stopped long enough to roll on a condom and began to press into her, slowly and carefully, aware that it had been a while since she’d done this.
For a few minutes, anyway, everything seemed okay, but then I sensed her checking out again, like she’d done earlier.
I stopped, gazing down at her, looking for a sign of how I should proceed. That was when I saw tears rolling into her hair. My erection shriveled up and died at the sight of those tears. “Lauren…”
“I’m so sorry,” she said on a sob. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
I withdrew, stretched out next to her and tried to offer comfort I wasn’t sure she wanted. “There is nothing wrong with you.” I began to wonder if maybe there was something wrong with me. More than one of my tourists have told me I’m a “sex god.” Before that ill-fated night, I had never been with a woman who didn’t come—multiple times—with me.
How could I fail so spectacularly with the only woman who ever really mattered? That question still haunts me to this day.
“Tonight wasn’t our night,” I told her at the time. “Doesn’t mean anything.”
Our friends had been waiting hopefully for a long time to hear we were officially together. After that night, the announcement never came. It was like we took a hundred steps backward, which made it that much easier to ramp up my plans to move on from Marfa. The thought of maybe, possibly, someday with her had been the single thread keeping me tied to my hometown, but that thread was severed that night. It wasn’t going to happen with her, and I was strangely fine with that, but only because it reduced the complications, not because I didn’t still want her. Of course, I did. Even more so after having seen her gorgeous naked body.
I’ve spent many an hour thinking about the things we did that night. Remembering her light brown nipples, her bare pussy, the taste of her desire and the tight squeeze of her internal muscles around my cock has led to many a session in the shower to find some relief from the images that plague me.
But what’s been really strange is that I haven’t gone near any of the usual tourist hot spots since that night with Lauren. I’ve been living up to my reputation as a monk, having lost the desire to be with other women after being with her—even if the encounter was a mess.
For weeks afterward, the possibility that I might’ve done something to set her back ate at me. It took me a month or so to realize that neither of us did anything wrong that night. She simply wasn’t ready to go “there” with me. Once I made peace with that, I relaxed about it somewhat but not completely.
I felt a thousand times better when she texted me two weeks later to resume our beer-and-wings date, which took place the following Monday with nary a reference to the sex gone bad. Six long months have passed without us talking about it. And in those months, I’ve watched her slowly but surely come back to the Lauren she was before Wayne attacked her—funny, gutsy, audacious, flirty and sexy as all fuck.
Sometimes I thought I might go out of my mind waiting for her to get back to normal so I could feel better about leaving town. I’ve always known that she depends on me. With everything falling into place with my company and my family, I should feel completely guilt-free about moving forward with my plans. But after hearing that Lauren thinks she is the problem when it comes to sex, I’m riddled with guilt about leaving before I fix that misconception.
Now that she’s given me this week to show her that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with her, I’m determined to get it three thousand percent right. I leave work early to make preparations to ensure a successful evening. That’s what I did wrong the last time. I didn’t prepare properly or see to the details. Normally, I’m all for spontaneity. But what works with my tourists is not what Lauren needs, especially after what Wayne put her through. She’s probably expecting me to feed and ravish her, and though that’s exactly what I want to do, there’ll be no ravishing tonight. Well, maybe a little ravishing, but that isn’t the overall goal of this evening.
No, the only thing that will get laid tonight is groundwork. We’re going to build up to the main event, and by the time I get her there at the end of the week, I want her so desperate and so needy that nothing—and I do mean nothing—will get in the way of the best sex she’s ever had. I’ve waited this long to move on with my life. Devoting this week to Lauren won’t hurt anything, especially if it means giving her the peace she so richly deserves at the end.
I finish the orders that have come into my flower shop, Bloomsbury, by two o’clock and leave the store in the reliable hands of Megan, the high school girl who has worked for me for two years now. A few doors down the street, I pop into my friend Honey’s photography studio.
“Be right out,” she calls after the bells on the door announce my arrival.
“It’s just me.”
“Oh good! Come on back.”
I walk through the wide-open space that Honey uses to shoot her Desert Babies portraits. Families come from all over Texas for her distinctive photos that feature babies in the desert environment that surrounds Marfa. In the office, I find Honey seated at her desk, feet up and keyboard on her lap. “Thank goodness it’s just you. I’m so comfortable, and that’s a rare thing these days.”
Honey’s pregnant belly seems to get bigger every day. “How is my nephew doing?” I drop into one of her visitor chairs.
She lays her hand over the baby bump. “I think he’s playing rugby today.”
“Ouch.”
“You said it. The feet to the ribs are my favorite.”
“Won’t be long now, Mama.”
“I can’t wait. Blake is so excited. He talks to him every night and tells him all the things he’s going to teach him.”
“It’s great to see him so happy.” During our senior year of high school, Blake was devastated by the loss of his girlfriend, Jordan, in a car that he was driving when a truck broadsided it. He’s never been the same, and only after he fell in love with Honey last year did he seem to recover somewhat. “Both of you deserve everything you’ve got now.”
Honey gives me an odd look. “What’s the matter?”
“Why would you ask m
e what’s wrong when I’m saying you and Blake deserve to be happy?”
“Because I know you, and as much as I appreciate that, I can tell when you’re upset about something.”
That’s the thing about meeting your best friends in kindergarten. No one knows you like they do. “I’m not upset… I’m anxious.”
“About?”
“I have a date with Garrett tonight. A real date, not the usual beer and wings.”
Honey lets out a giddy squeal and claps her hands. “It’s about freaking time!” She puts the keyboard on her desk and drops her feet to the floor so she can lean in for closer scrutiny. “What brought this on? We all assumed you guys decided to just stay friends.”
“We did. We had. We… Well, it’s complicated.”
“How so?”
I bite my lip while trying to decide how much to tell my best friend, who is also Garrett’s good friend. “We sort of had sex six months ago.”
Honey stares at me, eyes agog. “How can you sort of have sex?”
“We did it, but it was weird and awkward and well… not good.”
“Ohhhh.” Honey taps her bottom lip. “This is extremely surprising in light of his… well…”
“Reputation?”
Nodding, Honey says, “Supposedly, he’s somewhat of a… um…”
“God in bed?” Girls we knew growing up used to wax poetic about his skills even when we were still in high school. Garrett thinks we don’t know this, but Honey and I are well aware that more than one tourist has come to town for a roll in the sack with the guy known as the Sex God.
“Yes! So, what the hell went so wrong?”
“I have no idea. I’ve gone over it and over it in my mind a million times, but it never makes sense. I adore him, and vice versa. We’ve been hot for each other for ages. It should’ve been off the charts. Instead, it barely made the chart, and it brought back a lot of crap from when I was with Wayne and he would tell me I suck in bed.”