“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he mutters with my tongue currently busy circling a spot on his neck to make him shudder in response.
I place my finger to his lips and stand on that flat rock with my bare feet planted firmly. Frantic is a good word to describe the way that I take off the skintight wetsuit. He gives me that look, and I have no other choice but to sit down on his prized stallion. The large, encompassing head pushes past the blooming flower of my excitement.
My knees are on both sides of him and I can feel every inch sampling the pleasure that I am inflicting him with. I move in increments of an inch at a time to let him feel the pleasing sensations of those walls closing in on him. I love the look of surprised euphoria on his face and I feed on his enthusiasm until I am bouncing, unrestrained, in his lap.
“This isn’t fair. How can a man resist someone like you? You make me believe in fairy tale endings.” He has his hands on my hips and we are working together to bring about that moment of sweet release in both of us.
I begin moaning a little louder with every thrust that he manages to make underneath me. I twist in a grinding motion with every inch impaling me. The base rubs me the right way and I feel that burning desire to make him the prisoner of my hungry infatuation. The feeling is right there on the surface waiting for that extra little stimulation to send me over the edge.
This comes in the form of him pressing my breasts together and sucking both nipples at the same time. A light bite causes the spark inside of me to turn into a flame. My body responds with wild gyrations and screams that echo in his ear hotly. I’m still riding high from the competition and this only prolongs the adrenaline rush running through my veins.
I’m facing him and seeing how his expression changes from shock and confusion to this pleasure-infused smile that is hard to ignore. My orgasm intensifies for the next thirty seconds and I see in his eyes he is about to give me a sizzling reminder of his lust.
His length and thickness grows, with the inflamed head pulsing with a life of its own. The heat of his hot cream is running in a straight line through those veins. We are staring at each other in complete denial, with everything forgotten for the time being. Pleasurable shockwaves go through us at almost the same time. I can feel his lust contained inside of me.
He grunts and then bites my shoulder, initiating a little bit of pain with my pleasure. I hold him to my chest, muffling his outcries of delight until I finally come back down to reality. We come to an abrupt stop with our bodies sticking together after this exchange of mutual pleasure. Our bodies have done the talking for us.
I slowly lift myself from his impressive equipment, which is still stained with my loved juices. A deep breath has me sitting there wondering how to bring it up in conversation.
It’s a breathless minute where I can’t think straight. It’s time to see where his head is at. I hate to extinguish the light in his eyes by bringing up a difficult subject for him, but we really don’t have time to run around in circles. This is the last time we can say what is on our minds. I’m not going to waste a single moment with regrets.
“I can’t even begin to tell you what I’m feeling. That was amazing. There’s just something about you that makes me do insane things in the spur of the moment.” He places his hands around me and I let him feel my body heat until I come to my senses.
“Are you ready to talk about my kid? Nothing has changed. Can you accept the entire package?” I don’t want to put him on the spot, but I have to think about the future.
He shuts down and leans back against the rocks with this unexplained faraway look in his eyes. He tries to say something, but nothing comes out. I see the truth written plainly on his face. It doesn’t look like anything is going to change his mind.
I can’t bear to hear his rejection. Diving into the water unexpectedly is my only answer to get some distance. My flight leaves in an hour and I’m going to be on it.
Ch 6 – Gage
It’s not hard to understand why she didn’t want to give me the benefit of the doubt. Hearing the words and fully digesting them took me a few days. She has a child. It doesn’t matter how many times I say it over and over again; there’s no way I can possibly wrap my head around it. Everything stemmed from showing up at her competition to give her my heart, but it sure didn’t go the way I had envisioned it.
She wanted to talk about it again, but I couldn’t even force a word out. I sat there flummoxed, unable to move. Now, her words are dust in the wind, and I don’t even know where to start. I know what she wants to hear, but I don’t know if I’m ready to say those words.
That was three days ago, and I’ve come to some painful conclusions during that time apart.
Driving through the neighborhood searching for the right address is making me crazy. The GPS has sent me around in circles, but I’m certain it will get me to my final destination eventually. I’m not sure what I’m going to say when I get there. The only thing I know is that I have to see her again.
My friends tried to talk me out of it, but I wasn’t hearing it.
It’s easier to drive myself instead of relying on someone that knows the area better than I do. I have this excess energy with my fingers shaking on the steering wheel at the prospect of seeing her again. I don’t even do her the courtesy of calling before showing up unexpectedly.
It was impulsive to jump on a plane, I know that, but I can’t help feeling there is something left unsaid between us.
This is my way of taking the initiative. Sitting alone thinking about it hasn’t done me any good. Waiting any longer is risking losing her to somebody else. I don’t want to fight with her. I’m just not sure what I’m going to say when she opens the door. This is assuming that I actually find it before somebody calls the cops about a suspicious vehicle driving around in circles in broad daylight.
I have everything I need to make a grand gesture in a way that will hopefully take her breath away. The house is right there, at the end of a residential area surrounded by trees and with a tire swing in the front yard.
The white house with green shutters is a split-level with a driveway that leads to a steep incline in the backyard. Stopping the car at the curb has me getting out and collecting the supplies I’ve brought, including the boom box. It’s a little cheesy but I think I know what will get her attention.
I grab the tan trench coat and put it on, with the boom box over my head as I’m walking toward the door. It’s turned on with the volume playing an old country tune. The artist is her favorite. Shania Twain is singing ‘whose bed have your boots been under’.
I drop to my knees with the boom box over my head, mimicking a favorite scene from one of her cheesy eighties movies. The neighbors are starting to come out of their homes, mumbling underneath their breath and staring at me on the front lawn acting like an idiot.
People are taking photographs and videos to upload. I’m not sure what came over me to do something like this, but it has to be something big to prove to her that I’m not the same man she remembers.
Only a few days have gone by and thinking about her has become an obsession.
“It’s so romantic. She would be a fool not to accept his apology.”
“I wish my husband would do something like this for me when he’s in the doghouse.”