by J. A. Huss
I make a pouty face. It’s real too. “You don’t trust me.”
“Not even a little.”
“You think I’m hiding something.”
“We’re all hiding something. So it’s no big deal. I just want to know what that something is going forward.”
I place my lips on the tip of his cock, pucker them, and give him a sweet kiss. “Go ahead then. Check me out. I’m real.”
He places both hands on my shoulders and steps away. I slide down onto my butt and watch him walk down the stairs and then come back a minute later with a laptop. He beckons me with a finger and passes me in the hallway, takes a seat on the bed, opens his legs, and places the open laptop off to his right side.
“You can stay and watch if you want. If you’re confident I won’t find anything interesting. You can suck my dick while I run your name and we’ll just pretend like this little interlude never happened once I’m finished.” He stops, training that glare on me once more. “But if you think I’ll find something, even,” he says, holding his thumb and pointer finger a minuscule distance apart, “something very small, then I’d advise you to leave now. Because I don’t do business with liars.”
“So this is business?” I smile.
He doesn’t. “Everything is business.”
I think about this for a moment. What will he say when he really does find out the truth? But I decide that’s a problem for another day. He’s not going to find anything right now. Not running the name Cinderella Vaughn. I always knew he’d check. I’ve planned for this moment very thoroughly. He’ll find everything he’s looking for… and I will stay Cinderella Vaughn in his mind until he gets suspicious and puts all my lies together.
But by that time he’ll be hopelessly in love with me. So it won’t matter who I really am.
He will fight for us.
“I’ll stay,” I say, crossing the distance between us and taking a seat between his legs. His cock has softened slightly, but when I wrap my hands around him again, the tip of my tongue doing a seductive dance across the tip of his head, it jumps back to attention.
He starts typing as I try to relax and enjoy the moment.
I have Mr. Mysterious in the palm of my hand. I have his dick in my mouth and once this little expected formality is over, I’ll be in his bed.
I don’t ever expect to leave that bed. Figuratively speaking. Once Mr. Paxton Vance gets a taste of me, he will never want anyone else.
“Where did you grow up?” he asks, pulling me back from my future.
“Colorado,” I say. I can’t lie about that. There are many Vaughns in this world, but the Vaughn identity I’ve attached this name to all over the internet happens to be with my cousins. And they live in Colorado.
“Hmmm,” Pax says.
“Hmmm,” I moan back, making my throat vibrate as I suck on his cock.
“Jesus,” he says, leaning back a little, making his dick fall out of my mouth.
“You don’t like it?” I ask, blinking up at him innocently.
“Just give me a second.” He goes back to typing. “I have a few friends in Fort Collins. You ever heard of Shrike Bikes?”
“No,” I lie. “Should I have?”
“Before your time, maybe,” Pax says, absently.
I am Shrike Bikes. Baby Shrike, that’s me. It’s just too funny not to laugh. But I hold it in because the moment is precarious.
“You went to Catholic school?” A snort comes out with the question.
“My parents are very traditional.”
“Says here your father owns a tattoo shop. Doesn’t sound very traditional to me.”
Jesus Christ. He got that info fast. “Haven’t you ever heard of those Jesus bikers?”
“Your dad’s a Jesus biker?” Pax looks down his nose at me, like I’m totally full of shit.
“Call him up and ask him,” I say coolly.
“Hmmm,” Pax says, looking back at his screen.
I’m sure if he’s found a picture of my Uncle Vic he won’t be doing anything as stupid as calling him on the phone. He’s a scary motherfucker. All tatted up from back in the day. Still part owner of Sick Boyz Inc., my mother’s family-run tattoo shop.
Pax closes the laptop and sets it on the night stand.
“Satisfied?” I ask sweetly.
“No, princess—”
“Don’t call me princess. I told you, that nickname belongs to my older sister.”
“Aurora?”
“We call her…” I stop myself just in time from saying Rory, which he will surely recognize from his visits to my parents’ farm with Oliver over the past few years, and realize I fell into a trap. He has my sister’s name. My real sister. And of course, none of my cousins are named Aurora.
“Is the third degree over then?” I ask, hoping to God he won’t open that laptop back up and go looking for an Aurora Vaughn. That would be bad. Very, very bad. Because Rory’s middle name actually is Vaughn and she will pop right up, only her last name will be Shrike and my whole plan will go—
“What do they call you then? At home?”
“Sugar,” I say, breathing deeply to stop my panic. “They call me Sugar… just like you did.” They call me Baby Shrike. But I can’t tell him that, now can I? Fuck. How did I get here? I literally had his dick in my mouth and now I’m about to blow my own damn cover with this stupid mistake.
“Sugar what?” Pax asks. “You sounded like there was something else at the end of Sugar. Sugar what?”
“Sugar…” And before I can stop myself, I blurt out… “Cookie.”
“Cookie?” He laughs.
Oh, fuck. I need to stop talking.
“Yeah,” he says, threading his fingers through my long black hair. “Yeah, I can see it, actually. You smell like a fucking bakery. Sugar Cookie it is, then.” He leans down to kiss me on the lips.
I look up at him, my eyes filled with… relief, I’m sure. And I’m sure he can tell. I’m absolutely sure he’s going to call me on this. I’m positive that he’s been digging in Oliver’s family history and somewhere along the line he’s heard of Cinderella, even though I haven’t let my parents call me my given name since I was twelve.
“Sugar Cookie,” Paxton says, whispering into my mouth.
“Yes,” I squeak out, all sorts of lies flooding my mind as I try to pick just the right one to keep this ruse going.
“My cock is getting cold,” he breathes. “I think you better wrap your sweet little mouth around it and keep it warm.”
I exhale long and soft as he guides my head back to his waiting dick. And then I relax, take him in my palms, and lick him like he’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.
His hands leave my hair and my eyes track them as he lifts his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. The muscles in his chest are cut angles, hard and deep enough to cast shadows in the dim light leaking through from outside. My eyes trace the curve of his shoulders as I take him in, my tongue pressing against his long, thick shaft. He closes his eyes for a moment, but opens them back up almost immediately.
“Fuck,” he says. “You’re damn sweet and pretty, Cinderella. I bet you explode, don’t you? I bet you come like a superstar.”
My fingers are between my legs, rubbing little circles against the sensitive folds of my pussy.
“I bet you scream, too. Don’t you?”
“Mmmmmm,” I moan against his skin. But before I even stop humming, he’s pulled me up and thrown me face first down on the bed. I squeal with equal parts delight and shock.
Fuck it. Maybe I did mess up, but fuck it. I’m going to enjoy my first time with Paxton Vance. I’ve been working towards this night for years. I’ve been fantasizing about him since I was thirteen years old. Everything I’ve done since I first laid eyes on him in that newspaper article was with this moment in mind.
I don’t care what he finds out tomorrow. I don’t care if he’s pissed off. He will never be able to walk away from me. He will never forget this night.
>
Paxton Vance will be thinking about the day Cindy Shrike walked into his life ’till death do us part. No matter what I do, no matter what he finds out, we are meant to be together.
Now I just need to convince him of that little fact.
“I like it on top,” I say.
“Too bad, Sugar. I like you face down so I can play with your asshole while I fuck you from behind. But maybe later I’ll let you ride me. If you’re good. If you scream for me. If you come at just the right time.”
And then he thrusts inside me. So hard, I slide forward on the bed. So deep I gasp with the sharp pain. He rests his chest on my back and whispers in my ear. “Your pussy will get used to my size soon enough, Cinderella. But don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you tonight since we’re on the maiden voyage.”
Chapter Eight - Paxton
Cinderella’s lips pull back in a smile as she looks at me over her shoulder. Her hips thrust backwards, urging me to take her, to keep going. I grab her hair and pull as I ease away, lifting my weight off her back. Her perfectly tanned skin is already dotted with little beads of sweat.
“Don’t go too easy on me, Pax. I’m not as fragile as you think. And your cock is the perfect size. You won’t hear me complain about that.”
“You little slut,” I say, letting go of her hair so I can grab her hips. I slam her ass back into my cock, our skin-on-skin contact echoing off the ceiling like a series of slaps as I pound her hard, then harder. She moans, her hands reaching up to grab the white cotton duvet, and then they become fists. Like she’s desperate to hold onto something.
I let go of one hip, reaching under her to find her pussy, and begin to strum. Her moans get louder and louder as I increase the friction on her sensitive spot. And just as her back is arching, I stop.
“No, you asshole!” she whines.
But there’s no need for her to worry about me leaving her hanging. I flip her over on her back, spread her legs wide, and crawl between them. My hands flatten against the folds of her pussy, pulling them slightly apart… just enough for me to slip my tongue inside and lick.
Her spine arches and her back comes off the bed. I hold her in place at her hips with both hands, fighting her, not letting her escape my swiftly flicking tongue.
“Oh, shit!” she cries. “Shit!” She writhes under the pressure of my punishing lips. Her legs begin to kick, catching a shoulder and a kidney in quick succession.
“Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”
“Be still,” I murmur into her wet folds.
“I can’t, Pax. Oh, my God. Just make me—”
She screams. Her kicking goes wild, knocking me in the head. I’d laugh, because it’s so fucking cute. But her hands clamp down on my shoulders and—
“Aww, fuck!” I yell, as her nails draw blood. “Jesus.”
She stills, hands over her heart as she breathes and pants her way through the lingering contractions of her orgasm. Each time a wave hits her, she lifts her hips up and I take the opportunity to kiss her swollen clit.
“I have never—”
“Shh,” I say. “I’m not interested in what you have and have not done with anyone but me. Now, be a good little cookie and climb on top, Cinderella. It’s time to go to the ball.”
She’s still breathing heavy as she wiggles herself upright, using my outstretched hand to steady herself. Then she slides her leg over top of me and plants her hands firmly on my chest. My cock is throbbing with anticipation. She has her relief from the build-up, but I’ve barely started.
“Just lie forward,” I say, pulling her face into my neck. “I’ll do the rest.”
She does as she’s told. I like this side of her. The obedient side.
Her mouth seeks out the skin just below my ear and she kisses me like we’ve been lovers for eternity. I close my eyes for a moment and enjoy this new feeling. There’s something very intimate and sexy in that little move.
Her kiss becomes a nip, becomes a bite, and it’s on.
I wrap my arms around her back, holding her so tightly to my chest, she’s gasping for air, and I pound her from below. My balls slapping up against her ass, her huge breasts smashed against my chest. We are slick with lust, and carnal desire, and the sweet sweat you only get from lovemaking.
I come inside her—forgetting everything I know about safe sex, and unwanted babies—because in that moment I am gone, man. I am in some erotic fucking heaven of my own creation with this little bombshell of a girl who weaseled her way into my life with sandwiches, and jingling boots, and that stupid little powder-blue VW bug.
I am gone.
Later, when she is sleeping beside me and I am looking down on her hot twenty-something body… I realize something.
She’s a natural blonde.
My hand slips between her legs, eliciting a sweet moan from her lips as I play with her pussy. And I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop even if I want to, and I don’t. I help myself to more, and more and more as I dip my face between her legs and wonder—as she begins to writhe again—what she might look like if all that jet-black dye was washed out of her hair.
“Huh,” I laugh to myself, hours later, when the sun is coming up and my semi-waking dreams are filled with visions of a blonde princess wearing a blue dress.
“What?” she asks lazily, angling her body into the curve of mine like we were made this way.
“You’re definitely the bombshell version of a Disney princess.”
I feel her smile against my shoulder.
And then it all fades away.
I stumble out of bed, searching for my ringing phone. Cinderella is still sleeping, but all the movement and the damn ringing makes her turn over and expose her breasts to me.
Jesus fuck. They are spectacular. Tight nipples in the middle of dark pink circles of peaked skin. They fall slightly to the side, but they are so big they don’t lose their shape, but instead make perfect mounds on top of her chest.
My mouth wants nothing more than to take them in and suck until she’s begging me to fuck her again.
The ringing stops, and the silence jolts me back to reality until a sharp ding signals a voicemail.
I place my head in my hands, rub my hands down my scratchy face, then get up and walk to the bathroom to take a piss. When I’m done, my phone is ringing again and I manage to tab the accept button in time to save myself another voicemail as I pull on a pair of cut-off sweats.
“Yeah,” I groan.
“Mr. Vance,” the voice on the line says.
“Who is this?” Usually I’m good with voices. I can remember a voice forever. But I’m distracted right now, and I don’t feel like racking my brain when a simple question gets the job done just as easily.
“Liam Henry. I hired you to help my son a few years back.”
Steven Henry. Yeah, I remember that stupid little fuck. “What can I do for you, Mr. Henry?”
“I think the better question is, what can I do for you?”
“OK,” I say, walking down the stairs to take this conversation to the kitchen. “Shoot. Tell me. I’m all fucking ears, man.”
“Hmmm,” Henry says, like he hates my guts but has to talk to me because he needs something. I don’t take that personally. I expect everyone to hate my guts. It sucks being nice to an asshole like me. Especially when I hold all your dirty little secrets. “I think this calls for a personal meeting. How soon can you be in Miami?”
I think of my little bombshell upstairs and smile. “A week? Maybe two if I lose interest in what I’m doing here. But I have to be honest, Henry, that’s not looking good.”
“This is a job, Mr. Vance. Are you, or are you not, a professional?”
“A very busy one at the moment. If we have this out over the phone I’ll get your problem sorted twice as fast. How about that?”
“No,” he says sternly. “In person.”
“OK, well, it’s gonna be a week, maybe two—”
“I’ll come to you.”
“Fantastic. Ho
w about Monday at—”
“How about today at six PM?”
“What time is it now?”
“Noon.”
I sigh. Well, I can fuck her once more, then we can take a shower and fuck again, then take a nap. “I guess that’ll work. Where—”
“I’ll be at your house.”
I get the hang-up beeps and the line goes dead. So I just stare at it for a few seconds and then toss it over onto the couch as I go searching for the coffee I most definitely need.
“Who was that?” my delectable little bakery girl asks, coming down the stairs rubbing sleep from her eyes. She’s wearing a half-buttoned dress shirt she must’ve pulled out of my closet.
Her legs, man. I know I’ve seen them in skirts, and shorts, and bikini bottoms plenty of times. But coming out from under that dress shirt. Fuck. Sexy doesn’t even cover how that shit looks.
“Just work,” I say, filling the coffee pot with water.
“You’re leaving me today for work?” Cinderella pouts. “On Saturday?”
“Nah,” I say, smiling. But with my back to her, so she can’t see. I feel like I have a girlfriend all of a sudden. And it doesn’t feel like a bad thing. “He’s coming here tonight. So unless you’ve gotta work, we can spend the whole day together.”
“I don’t have to work,” she says.
I start the coffee maker and turn to face her. Fuck. She is fun to look at. “So what’s the story with that? The sub shop? You bought it”—it’s crazy, but everything about her is crazy—“to stalk me?”
Another shrug. “Is it creepy?”
“Depends, I guess. Why are you so interested? Are you some femme fatale out to screw me up? Or…” God, the smile on my face.
“Or?” she prods.
“Or the distraction I’ve been waiting for.” I exhale. Unsure what those words mean. Knowing full well what those words mean.
Cinderella walks towards me, her mouth not smiling, not frowning. Just flat. And my honesty feels like a mistake all of a sudden. “What does that mean?” she asks, taking my hand in hers and placing my palm against her cheek. She’s warm and her cheeks are flushed pink. Her lips gently brush my fingertips and that little red flag that I tried to put away last night is flying again. “What kind of distraction do you need?”