Fox & Hound: Part Three
http://www.interracialerotica.net/erotica/articles/175/1/Fox-amp-Hound-Part-Three/Page1.html
By Tracy Ames
Published on March 2, 2010
“Perfunctory,”
“What?” Scott looked up wearily at Case, holding a crossword puzzle.
“Perfunctory: unthinking, automatic.” He said proudly.
Perfunctory, like this damn conservation. Scott closed his eyes and leaned back in the stations’ semi-worn recliner, his 24-hour shift mere minutes from completion. It couldn’t come soon enough. The hours were long but having twenty days off a month made it worthwhile. The television blared some God awful talk show, which three guys seemed drawn too, while Case read off his latest word discovery with little regard for Scott’s pounding head.
Case was Casey Loomis, his ex-Courtney’s, older brother and the reason he had a job. Their parents thought it would be cute to give their children unisex names but quickly realized the error of their ways when Case spent more time fighting on the schoolyard than actually learning in the classroom—‘Case’ it became shortly thereafter. He and Scott met when Courtney tricked him into meeting her parents only days after they’d met. Case was the only member of their Greek orthodox family that hadn’t welcomed Scott with expectant eyes…No, Case shook his head and mouthed, “You poor sap.”
They bonded over grappa shots and firemen talk. Case was a ten year vet of one the largest stations in the Atlanta Metro area and loved hearing Scott’s hellish tales of working in Marietta. He promised to let him know on any openings. Six months later, Scott was in and he and Courtney were on the outs. Luckily, Case sided with Scott but rarely poked his nose in his sister’s relationship; it was a mess. Overall, he was a decent guy, yeah he grinned a little too often and performed crossword puzzles with the enthusiasm of a prepubescent boy watching porn but there were worse qualities one could possess.
Scott pulled his head up just long enough for his bloodshot eyes to make out the time on his watch, 6:50pm. He called it a night and heaved himself to the car, exhausted. The night following his shifts were the most grueling and feeling the early stages of a head cold didn’t help matters. For the pass month, he and Monica sent every night together and developed what vaguely resembled a relationship, so he prayed she’d take mercy on him and go straight to sleep.
Without bothering to check his messages or even turn on the lights, he crawled in bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillow. The phone rang less than an hour later. He smiled a little when he heard Monica’s voice—she was whispering but it wasn’t sexy, it was panic stricken.
“I need you,” she mumbled.
He sat up straight. “What happened?”
“I have a dinner party tonight and I need a date. I would leave but it’s one of those meet and greet, couple-ish functions. Everyone is expecting me to be with someone. Scott, please.”
The ‘please’ did it. “Fine. I’ll…”
“Great!” she cut him off. “Be sure to lint roll your tux before you leave and the Town Car will pick you up in thirty minutes and bring you to The Plaza. I’ll be waiting. See ya, bye!” And just like that, she was gone. Scott had half a mind to go back to sleep but he cut his losses and headed for the shower.
He drew a deep breath as the driver opened the car door. His expertly polished shoes glistened against and red carpet and he buttoned his tux jacket as he stood to mee his escort, Monica’s assistant. He ascended the stairs under the heavy gaze of the bejeweled snobs lining the entryway waiting to have their vitiations collected.
“Who is he?” Scott over heard someone say.
“He’s someone.” Came another. “We’ll see him inside.”
I’m the person who puts your goddamn fires out! Still wanna to get to know me? He was tempted to say. His pissy attitude lightened when Monica appeared through the crowd wearing a Greek Goddess floor length gown in shimmering gray with a radiant broach affixed its single strap. Her hair was pulled up and tiny twist of curls played about her neck. She was stunning, absolutely stunning. And he wanted her badly.
“Hi, I’m so glad you could make it,” Monica said flakily and pecked Scott on the lips. “We can leave now.”
“What?” Scott hissed gallantly trying not to draw attention to his boiling anger.
Monica turned to the room, smiling. “I only came to close a deal with the Fitzpatrick’s,” she nodded to a passing older couple. “The deal is done and we can go home. I tried calling you in the car. Turn your phone on.” She tucked her arm in his and casually introduced him to the Fitzpatrick’s.
Like everything in Monica’s life, her choice of clients was maliciously well thought out and planned; each of them a step up to someone or something grander. She’d remained in her entry-level position at Morgan’s long enough to see the benefit of moving to Fleming’s while her contemporaries were fishing for position elsewhere. Once Fleming’s wells ran dry, she moved on. Dealing with her clients were no different. She used this client to get to that client and so on. However, unlike her competition, she didn’t discriminate. A rapper’s listening party at a hip-hop venue received the same level of expertise and attention as The Links at The Plaza. Her street cred runneth over and the snobs worshiped her.
Mr. Fitzpatrick was another story. She’d had to work to secure the bid to host his family’s charity fundraiser. Really work! For the last month, she’d attended balls and dinners thrown in his honor, swilled enough French champagne to constitute an intervention and run up a dry cleaning bill larger than an average mortgage. She’d seal the Fitzpatrick deal by out maneuvering her competition, The Links was the key she needed to the land of the ultra rich and Mr. Fitzpatrick was the fattest, in both weight and wealth, of them all.
The Fitzpatrick’s were an old Atlanta family whose wealth steamed from coal production. Nowadays, they were philanthropists but, through a seemingly innocent conversation with his driver, Monica found out that Mr. Fitzpatrick had a passion for his family’s heritage and enjoyed gabbing on about it. Monica, the quick study she was, dove into everything coal related and indulged him in endless conversations and even emails. Bingo, her year was set!
“Mr. Fitzpatrick. I’d like to introduce you to Scott.” She gestured between them gracefully. “Scott, this is Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick.”
They exchanged pleasantries and Monica took note of Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s sudden giddiness in Scott’s presence. Yes, he attracted the attention of younger women, but now older women were jocking for position. He was beautiful, a darker haired, blue eyed Gabriel Aubry minus the gay following. He charmed the Fitzpatrick’s and, contrary to all common sense, agreed to escort Monica to his house for dinner the following Saturday. Two days away.
Why had he promised? He didn’t want to be anywhere near Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and he told Monica as much soon as they exited the hotel.
“I don’t wanna go.” He unbuttoned his jacket and crawled in the car after Monica.
“You have too, they’re expecting you.”
“No, they’re expecting you.
“They’re expecting us both,” she turned his chin to her and kissed him. “Please. We won’t stay too long. We’ll just make an appearance. Please.” She said then lazily kissed him.
How could he say no? She said ‘please’. “I’ll go,” he surrendered.
Monica laid her head in his lap and stared up at the small pot lights on the roof. “Dim the lights, driver. My friend has a headache.” She all but ordered. The light faded and she studied Scott perched against the window, his eyes closed, his hand rubbing her thigh. “How are you feeling? Long day?”
“It was a very long day. I’ve been awake for 22 hours and I feel a cold coming on. You may want to stay away for a few days.” Slowly and sensually, he peddled the silky fabric of her dress around her waist, exposing her mound just out of the driver’s line of sight. His hand slid between her legs, his fingers traced their way up to the crotch of her panties.
“What are you doing? He can see me.” Monica wiggled.
“Sshh, he can’t see. “Just lay back and enjoy.” He said as if his fingertips weren’t rubbing between her legs, gently but firmly, round and round, they caressed her. “You don’t want to be touched in front of strangers?” he asked looking out of the window.
“It’s not the kind of thing I normally do.” She pushed his hand, making a half-hearted show of discouragement. She wanted it. He was, quite honestly, the only man who could finger her to orgasm. She loved waking in the middle of the night to find his hand moving between her legs, as if even in his sleep he desired her.
His hand drifted to the waist of her panties where he teasingly slithered his hand down inside, pass her smooth mound, his fingers found her clit and rubbed it gently and rhythmically. She groaned softly in response and opened her thighs a little wider. Nonchalantly, he watched the passing landscape, his fingers still caressed her clit, over and around, teasing her, stroking her, feeling she move against his hand, his fingers traveled slowly to her slit. “Damn you’re wet.” He opened her thighs further.
She gasped as his fingertips part her labia, fondling her softly, sinking into her wetness; his fingertips slick with her juices. Back and forth, his patient fingers moved to her clit, being rewarded with a groaning response. She wanted more, but perhaps not, to be touched in full view like this, to be watched by a stranger—it wasn’t her style yet it aroused her—it felt…amazing. She wriggled again, halfheartedly, trying to escape the tender, insistent demands of his fingers, still not entirely sure she really want to stop.
“Ohhh no...please don’t... not here...” she struggled placing her hand atop his urging him on. “No...please... I don’t think I can do this...I can’t cum like this.” Quite certain the driver could hear her muffled pleas.
“I don’t think not cumming is going to be a problem,” Scott ignored her protests; his fingers were all the way inside of her panties, descending between her dripping wet lips, two fingers reducing her to a shaky moaning heap.
Fox & Hound: Part Three
The last thing Monica, an Afro-American woman, wanted was a last night pub crawl with people she hardly knew until she was introduced to Scott, a tall, devilishly stunning man. As the night quickly progressed they find themselves exploring their sexual limits....
Fox & Hound: Part Three
“Perfunctory,”
“What?” Scott looked up wearily at Case, holding a crossword puzzle.
“Perfunctory: unthinking, automatic.” He said proudly.
Perfunctory, like this damn conservation. Scott closed his eyes and leaned back in the stations’ semi-worn recliner, his 24-hour shift mere minutes from completion. It couldn’t come soon enough. The hours were long but having twenty days off a month made it worthwhile. The television blared some God awful talk show, which three guys seemed drawn too, while Case read off his latest word discovery with little regard for Scott’s pounding head.
Case was Casey Loomis, his ex-Courtney’s, older brother and the reason he had a job. Their parents thought it would be cute to give their children unisex names but quickly realized the error of their ways when Case spent more time fighting on the schoolyard than actually learning in the classroom—‘Case’ it became shortly thereafter. He and Scott met when Courtney tricked him into meeting her parents only days after they’d met. Case was the only member of their Greek orthodox family that hadn’t welcomed Scott with expectant eyes…No, Case shook his head and mouthed, “You poor sap.”
They bonded over grappa shots and firemen talk. Case was a ten year vet of one the largest stations in the Atlanta Metro area and loved hearing Scott’s hellish tales of working in Marietta. He promised to let him know on any openings. Six months later, Scott was in and he and Courtney were on the outs. Luckily, Case sided with Scott but rarely poked his nose in his sister’s relationship; it was a mess. Overall, he was a decent guy, yeah he grinned a little too often and performed crossword puzzles with the enthusiasm of a prepubescent boy watching porn but there were worse qualities one could possess.
Scott pulled his head up just long enough for his bloodshot eyes to make out the time on his watch, 6:50pm. He called it a night and heaved himself to the car, exhausted. The night following his shifts were the most grueling and feeling the early stages of a head cold didn’t help matters. For the pass month, he and Monica sent every night together and developed what vaguely resembled a relationship, so he prayed she’d take mercy on him and go straight to sleep.
Without bothering to check his messages or even turn on the lights, he crawled in bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillow. The phone rang less than an hour later. He smiled a little when he heard Monica’s voice—she was whispering but it wasn’t sexy, it was panic stricken.
“I need you,” she mumbled.
He sat up straight. “What happened?”
“I have a dinner party tonight and I need a date. I would leave but it’s one of those meet and greet, couple-ish functions. Everyone is expecting me to be with someone. Scott, please.”
The ‘please’ did it. “Fine. I’ll…”
“Great!” she cut him off. “Be sure to lint roll your tux before you leave and the Town Car will pick you up in thirty minutes and bring you to The Plaza. I’ll be waiting. See ya, bye!” And just like that, she was gone. Scott had half a mind to go back to sleep but he cut his losses and headed for the shower.
He drew a deep breath as the driver opened the car door. His expertly polished shoes glistened against and red carpet and he buttoned his tux jacket as he stood to mee his escort, Monica’s assistant. He ascended the stairs under the heavy gaze of the bejeweled snobs lining the entryway waiting to have their vitiations collected.
“Who is he?” Scott over heard someone say.
“He’s someone.” Came another. “We’ll see him inside.”
I’m the person who puts your goddamn fires out! Still wanna to get to know me? He was tempted to say. His pissy attitude lightened when Monica appeared through the crowd wearing a Greek Goddess floor length gown in shimmering gray with a radiant broach affixed its single strap. Her hair was pulled up and tiny twist of curls played about her neck. She was stunning, absolutely stunning. And he wanted her badly.
“Hi, I’m so glad you could make it,” Monica said flakily and pecked Scott on the lips. “We can leave now.”
“What?” Scott hissed gallantly trying not to draw attention to his boiling anger.
Monica turned to the room, smiling. “I only came to close a deal with the Fitzpatrick’s,” she nodded to a passing older couple. “The deal is done and we can go home. I tried calling you in the car. Turn your phone on.” She tucked her arm in his and casually introduced him to the Fitzpatrick’s.
Like everything in Monica’s life, her choice of clients was maliciously well thought out and planned; each of them a step up to someone or something grander. She’d remained in her entry-level position at Morgan’s long enough to see the benefit of moving to Fleming’s while her contemporaries were fishing for position elsewhere. Once Fleming’s wells ran dry, she moved on. Dealing with her clients were no different. She used this client to get to that client and so on. However, unlike her competition, she didn’t discriminate. A rapper’s listening party at a hip-hop venue received the same level of expertise and attention as The Links at The Plaza. Her street cred runneth over and the snobs worshiped her.
Mr. Fitzpatrick was another story. She’d had to work to secure the bid to host his family’s charity fundraiser. Really work! For the last month, she’d attended balls and dinners thrown in his honor, swilled enough French champagne to constitute an intervention and run up a dry cleaning bill larger than an average mortgage. She’d seal the Fitzpatrick deal by out maneuvering her competition, The Links was the key she needed to the land of the ultra rich and Mr. Fitzpatrick was the fattest, in both weight and wealth, of them all.
The Fitzpatrick’s were an old Atlanta family whose wealth steamed from coal production. Nowadays, they were philanthropists but, through a seemingly innocent conversation with his driver, Monica found out that Mr. Fitzpatrick had a passion for his family’s heritage and enjoyed gabbing on about it. Monica, the quick study she was, dove into everything coal related and indulged him in endless conversations and even emails. Bingo, her year was set!
“Mr. Fitzpatrick. I’d like to introduce you to Scott.” She gestured between them gracefully. “Scott, this is Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick.”
They exchanged pleasantries and Monica took note of Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s sudden giddiness in Scott’s presence. Yes, he attracted the attention of younger women, but now older women were jocking for position. He was beautiful, a darker haired, blue eyed Gabriel Aubry minus the gay following. He charmed the Fitzpatrick’s and, contrary to all common sense, agreed to escort Monica to his house for dinner the following Saturday. Two days away.
Why had he promised? He didn’t want to be anywhere near Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and he told Monica as much soon as they exited the hotel.
“I don’t wanna go.” He unbuttoned his jacket and crawled in the car after Monica.
“You have too, they’re expecting you.”
“No, they’re expecting you.
“They’re expecting us both,” she turned his chin to her and kissed him. “Please. We won’t stay too long. We’ll just make an appearance. Please.” She said then lazily kissed him.
How could he say no? She said ‘please’. “I’ll go,” he surrendered.
Monica laid her head in his lap and stared up at the small pot lights on the roof. “Dim the lights, driver. My friend has a headache.” She all but ordered. The light faded and she studied Scott perched against the window, his eyes closed, his hand rubbing her thigh. “How are you feeling? Long day?”
“It was a very long day. I’ve been awake for 22 hours and I feel a cold coming on. You may want to stay away for a few days.” Slowly and sensually, he peddled the silky fabric of her dress around her waist, exposing her mound just out of the driver’s line of sight. His hand slid between her legs, his fingers traced their way up to the crotch of her panties.
“What are you doing? He can see me.” Monica wiggled.
“Sshh, he can’t see. “Just lay back and enjoy.” He said as if his fingertips weren’t rubbing between her legs, gently but firmly, round and round, they caressed her. “You don’t want to be touched in front of strangers?” he asked looking out of the window.
“It’s not the kind of thing I normally do.” She pushed his hand, making a half-hearted show of discouragement. She wanted it. He was, quite honestly, the only man who could finger her to orgasm. She loved waking in the middle of the night to find his hand moving between her legs, as if even in his sleep he desired her.
His hand drifted to the waist of her panties where he teasingly slithered his hand down inside, pass her smooth mound, his fingers found her clit and rubbed it gently and rhythmically. She groaned softly in response and opened her thighs a little wider. Nonchalantly, he watched the passing landscape, his fingers still caressed her clit, over and around, teasing her, stroking her, feeling she move against his hand, his fingers traveled slowly to her slit. “Damn you’re wet.” He opened her thighs further.
She gasped as his fingertips part her labia, fondling her softly, sinking into her wetness; his fingertips slick with her juices. Back and forth, his patient fingers moved to her clit, being rewarded with a groaning response. She wanted more, but perhaps not, to be touched in full view like this, to be watched by a stranger—it wasn’t her style yet it aroused her—it felt…amazing. She wriggled again, halfheartedly, trying to escape the tender, insistent demands of his fingers, still not entirely sure she really want to stop.
“Ohhh no...please don’t... not here...” she struggled placing her hand atop his urging him on. “No...please... I don’t think I can do this...I can’t cum like this.” Quite certain the driver could hear her muffled pleas.
“I don’t think not cumming is going to be a problem,” Scott ignored her protests; his fingers were all the way inside of her panties, descending between her dripping wet lips, two fingers reducing her to a shaky moaning heap.
Fox & Hound: Part Three
“Uuuhh, Scott,” Her head whirled with conflicting emotions: she needed to be touched, needed to be stroked, and needed to be fucked, but why did it have to be here, like this, where the driver might see? “Yes,” she shook slightly, nervous and incredibly aroused, all at the same time.
He pushed his fingers deeper, his thumb lazily strummed her clit, and she shuddered deliciously, trying to muster some level of control—it’s a feeble gesture at best. She aware she could stop him if you really wanted too. He wasn’t holding her down, he wasn’t forcing her. Yes, she could end this public exhibition but it felt so damn good she didn’t want it to stop. Something about it excited her; more intensely, the idea of being watched—of being discovered, her thighs opened, her dress up around her waist, her panties soaked, his fingers fucking her slowly, teasingly, deeply. Her back arched and pushed down onto his fingers.
“That’s it, cum.” He leaned down and kissed her, stifling her cries. His fingers lapped at her g-spot as he thumbed her clit. Wetness, pure wetness covered his hand as she came. He continued kissing her until she regained her senses. In time, he pecked her lips and smiled down at her. “Hey, pretty girl. Did I mention how positively gorgeous you look tonight?”
Monica smiled timidly. “Thanks”
*****
“He’s creepy as hell, but he’s the kind of creeper you want climbing through your bedroom window late at night. So what if when he smiles it almost looks as though he wants to molest you. For some unknown reason, I’m not afraid, in fact I want it!” Sharon rambled on about her date while Monica sat behind her desk, half distracted.
“Um, huh,”
“Monica, are you listening?” Her tone was accusatory, not at all sympathetic to Monica’s lack of sleep.
“Yes, I hear you…just no more, please,” she tossed Sharon her copy of the Fitzpatrick’s portfolio containing everything from the floor plan to the guest list. This event had to be perfect, which meant Monica would oversee the project herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Sharon’s judgment, rather the time constraints left only a small margin of error. “We’re going with various shades of white on everything. From ceiling to floor, everything will be covered in white. The only punch of color will be the greenery. I didn’t like the idea at first but once Emanuel created the table setting, I was sold. We’re going to cover every square inch of the hall in white flowers and defused lighting. Once KC sees her commission, she’ll be kissing my ass for months.” She smirked. “I’m not sending the jobs out for bidding, I know the vendors we’ll be using.”
Sharon looked up in wide-eyed disbelief. “You have to send out Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s dress. Every designer in Atlanta is awaiting the commission.”
“Shit, you’re right.” Monica tapped her pen on her forehead. She scribbled a note to herself. “I’m sure the word has hit the streets.”
“You’d better believe it.” Sharon closed her portfolio and stood. “Last night after the contract was signed and faxed, my phone began ringing. I didn’t bother answering.”
“Damn,” she sucked her teeth and sighed. “Where are you headed?”
“Cody’s, I have an appointment. And by the looks of it, you should be coming with me.” Sharon laughed pointing out the haphazard ponytail Monica was sporting. “Scott is wearing your ass out! When was the last time you saw him?”
Monica started to lie to cover up her freakiness, but found she didn’t have the amount of energy needed to keep it up. “Last night.”
Sharon stood with her portfolio clutched to her chest, shaking her head. Was she approving or not? Her vacant expression made it difficult to tell. “Let’s go. Cody, will squeeze you in once he sees the mess you’ve created.”
Scott lumbered towards the bathroom, feeling slightly better but still achy. It was day one of his five day duty-free stretch. The benefit being a fireman: twenty days off a month. He’d decided to return to school for him masters in crime justice, and provided he wasn’t burned to a char in the interim, he was leaving the station for law school. It had taken him a while to make the decision and yes, he was entering the profession later than most but if a ninety-one year old woman could do it then so could he, and he told Monica as much.
He’d fooled himself into believing she’d care. She didn’t. Then again, he had chosen the worse opportunity to spring the news on her. Note to self: Going down on Monica isn’t a time for talk, it was a time for action! After the room stopped spinning and they lay cuddling, she gave him the affection he so desired. She was proud of him.
She was proud of him, genuinely proud. Scott wasn’t like any other man she’d dated. He was neither overly arrogant nor overbearing. He gave her space to handle her business whilst remaining supportive. He wasn’t a pushover nor was he a bully. She knew and respected him limits as he did hers. The only exception to this was her incessant dragging him to gatherings. He loathed the gawking women….and Cody. But it was the price to pay for dating her.
Dating her? Were they really dating? They certainly were doing something. There was no formal announcement, although, was there a need? From appearances they were a couple…if he dared look at another woman, Monica would hand him his balls and he definitely didn’t want her seeing other men.
The phone rang just as he stepped into the shower. It was Monica laying out their dinner plans.
“We’re meeting Sharon and Creepy Guy at 7:30 at Café Intermezzo’s on Brookwood. Its casual night so find a nice button down, a sports coat and…um, wing it on the pants but no jeans unless they’re a dark wash. Should I send a car?”
Was she asking or telling? It came across as both. “Sure, I’ll be ready.”
“Great! Love you.” She hung up.
“WHAT!?” he said aloud, none too ashamed he’d done so. Had it been said in the industry use like “I’ll call you”? Maybe it was a knee-jerk reaction. “Love” wasn’t a word he throw around easily, not since Courtney. Courtney had almost broken him and there was no way he was subjecting himself to another hollow relationship. If Monica said ‘love’, she’d better have meant it.
Café Intermezzo’s was the European coffeehouse, the hottest and most expensive cafe in the city, and Monica’s favorite. Not only did she have a standing reservation, she had a table which sat eight—which in and of itself was impressive given the cafes’ narrow and cavernous layout. Rarely was the table occupied by more than four, which only served to show that if you were seated there, you deserved to be seated there. Of course, it was all comp. She and the owners were old friends and her presence and weighty clientele list brought them business.
Scott’s Town Car pulled to the curb and he let himself out before the driver came to a complete stop. Inside, he kissed Monica and greeted Sharon and Creepy Guy. Creepy Guy was indeed creepy. His name was Carlos, a swarthy looking fellow Sharon met in the checkout line at Publix. Scott shook his hand and immediately wished he hadn’t and judging by the woeful look on Monica’s face, she’d had the same reaction.
This guy wasn’t going to make it through dinner. Mistake number one came before the salads. He ordered the poached pear and bleu cheese salad. Everyone knew Monica’s delicate gag reflex was triggered by the mere mention of bleu cheese. He ordered it anyway and Scott had it retuned to the kitchen at once.
“Try again,” Scott said looking him directly in the eyes—all too threatening—all too hot.
The night was downhill from thereon. In the end, Sharon kicked Creepy Guy out and they kicked back and talked politics over scones and coffee.
It was after 1:00am when Scott and Monica returned to Scott’s place and after 3:00 before Scott let Monica up for air.
“Ride me,” he ordered.
“What, already? I just gave you the best head of your life!”
He took hold of her waist and in the most undignified manner, deposited her on his cock.
“Oh damn!” She barely had time to catch her balance before her wetness was pouring down his length. “Oh God,” Her head spun wildly as he penetrated deeper, filling her urgently. She loved being manhandled by him.
He reached under her arms, grasp her head in his strong hands and pulls her down within an inch of his face. “You like that don’t you?” his hissed as she leaned over him, her breasts slapping against his chest while his hard, thrusting, pounding thickness lie waste to her pussy. He seized her and she whimpered—her juicy lips sucked his cock with each thrust. “You’re cumming all over me. I’m gonna make you lick off.”
“Fuck!” she screamed, he pounded harder, insistently, filled her to the hilt and demanded more. “Ooohh, God, Scott!” she engulfed him as she came, His cock pulsating so damn hard she felt it swell.
He brought her lips to his and kissed her so passionately, so all-consuming, they came together. They embraced in a way they hadn’t before, calmly coming back to earth, their bodies clung to one another. She lie still in his arms, her face pressed into his chest.
“Monica,”
“Yes,” she mumbled.
“Please don’t say you love me if you don’t mean it.”
He pushed his fingers deeper, his thumb lazily strummed her clit, and she shuddered deliciously, trying to muster some level of control—it’s a feeble gesture at best. She aware she could stop him if you really wanted too. He wasn’t holding her down, he wasn’t forcing her. Yes, she could end this public exhibition but it felt so damn good she didn’t want it to stop. Something about it excited her; more intensely, the idea of being watched—of being discovered, her thighs opened, her dress up around her waist, her panties soaked, his fingers fucking her slowly, teasingly, deeply. Her back arched and pushed down onto his fingers.
“That’s it, cum.” He leaned down and kissed her, stifling her cries. His fingers lapped at her g-spot as he thumbed her clit. Wetness, pure wetness covered his hand as she came. He continued kissing her until she regained her senses. In time, he pecked her lips and smiled down at her. “Hey, pretty girl. Did I mention how positively gorgeous you look tonight?”
Monica smiled timidly. “Thanks”
*****
“He’s creepy as hell, but he’s the kind of creeper you want climbing through your bedroom window late at night. So what if when he smiles it almost looks as though he wants to molest you. For some unknown reason, I’m not afraid, in fact I want it!” Sharon rambled on about her date while Monica sat behind her desk, half distracted.
“Um, huh,”
“Monica, are you listening?” Her tone was accusatory, not at all sympathetic to Monica’s lack of sleep.
“Yes, I hear you…just no more, please,” she tossed Sharon her copy of the Fitzpatrick’s portfolio containing everything from the floor plan to the guest list. This event had to be perfect, which meant Monica would oversee the project herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Sharon’s judgment, rather the time constraints left only a small margin of error. “We’re going with various shades of white on everything. From ceiling to floor, everything will be covered in white. The only punch of color will be the greenery. I didn’t like the idea at first but once Emanuel created the table setting, I was sold. We’re going to cover every square inch of the hall in white flowers and defused lighting. Once KC sees her commission, she’ll be kissing my ass for months.” She smirked. “I’m not sending the jobs out for bidding, I know the vendors we’ll be using.”
Sharon looked up in wide-eyed disbelief. “You have to send out Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s dress. Every designer in Atlanta is awaiting the commission.”
“Shit, you’re right.” Monica tapped her pen on her forehead. She scribbled a note to herself. “I’m sure the word has hit the streets.”
“You’d better believe it.” Sharon closed her portfolio and stood. “Last night after the contract was signed and faxed, my phone began ringing. I didn’t bother answering.”
“Damn,” she sucked her teeth and sighed. “Where are you headed?”
“Cody’s, I have an appointment. And by the looks of it, you should be coming with me.” Sharon laughed pointing out the haphazard ponytail Monica was sporting. “Scott is wearing your ass out! When was the last time you saw him?”
Monica started to lie to cover up her freakiness, but found she didn’t have the amount of energy needed to keep it up. “Last night.”
Sharon stood with her portfolio clutched to her chest, shaking her head. Was she approving or not? Her vacant expression made it difficult to tell. “Let’s go. Cody, will squeeze you in once he sees the mess you’ve created.”
Scott lumbered towards the bathroom, feeling slightly better but still achy. It was day one of his five day duty-free stretch. The benefit being a fireman: twenty days off a month. He’d decided to return to school for him masters in crime justice, and provided he wasn’t burned to a char in the interim, he was leaving the station for law school. It had taken him a while to make the decision and yes, he was entering the profession later than most but if a ninety-one year old woman could do it then so could he, and he told Monica as much.
He’d fooled himself into believing she’d care. She didn’t. Then again, he had chosen the worse opportunity to spring the news on her. Note to self: Going down on Monica isn’t a time for talk, it was a time for action! After the room stopped spinning and they lay cuddling, she gave him the affection he so desired. She was proud of him.
She was proud of him, genuinely proud. Scott wasn’t like any other man she’d dated. He was neither overly arrogant nor overbearing. He gave her space to handle her business whilst remaining supportive. He wasn’t a pushover nor was he a bully. She knew and respected him limits as he did hers. The only exception to this was her incessant dragging him to gatherings. He loathed the gawking women….and Cody. But it was the price to pay for dating her.
Dating her? Were they really dating? They certainly were doing something. There was no formal announcement, although, was there a need? From appearances they were a couple…if he dared look at another woman, Monica would hand him his balls and he definitely didn’t want her seeing other men.
The phone rang just as he stepped into the shower. It was Monica laying out their dinner plans.
“We’re meeting Sharon and Creepy Guy at 7:30 at Café Intermezzo’s on Brookwood. Its casual night so find a nice button down, a sports coat and…um, wing it on the pants but no jeans unless they’re a dark wash. Should I send a car?”
Was she asking or telling? It came across as both. “Sure, I’ll be ready.”
“Great! Love you.” She hung up.
“WHAT!?” he said aloud, none too ashamed he’d done so. Had it been said in the industry use like “I’ll call you”? Maybe it was a knee-jerk reaction. “Love” wasn’t a word he throw around easily, not since Courtney. Courtney had almost broken him and there was no way he was subjecting himself to another hollow relationship. If Monica said ‘love’, she’d better have meant it.
Café Intermezzo’s was the European coffeehouse, the hottest and most expensive cafe in the city, and Monica’s favorite. Not only did she have a standing reservation, she had a table which sat eight—which in and of itself was impressive given the cafes’ narrow and cavernous layout. Rarely was the table occupied by more than four, which only served to show that if you were seated there, you deserved to be seated there. Of course, it was all comp. She and the owners were old friends and her presence and weighty clientele list brought them business.
Scott’s Town Car pulled to the curb and he let himself out before the driver came to a complete stop. Inside, he kissed Monica and greeted Sharon and Creepy Guy. Creepy Guy was indeed creepy. His name was Carlos, a swarthy looking fellow Sharon met in the checkout line at Publix. Scott shook his hand and immediately wished he hadn’t and judging by the woeful look on Monica’s face, she’d had the same reaction.
This guy wasn’t going to make it through dinner. Mistake number one came before the salads. He ordered the poached pear and bleu cheese salad. Everyone knew Monica’s delicate gag reflex was triggered by the mere mention of bleu cheese. He ordered it anyway and Scott had it retuned to the kitchen at once.
“Try again,” Scott said looking him directly in the eyes—all too threatening—all too hot.
The night was downhill from thereon. In the end, Sharon kicked Creepy Guy out and they kicked back and talked politics over scones and coffee.
It was after 1:00am when Scott and Monica returned to Scott’s place and after 3:00 before Scott let Monica up for air.
“Ride me,” he ordered.
“What, already? I just gave you the best head of your life!”
He took hold of her waist and in the most undignified manner, deposited her on his cock.
“Oh damn!” She barely had time to catch her balance before her wetness was pouring down his length. “Oh God,” Her head spun wildly as he penetrated deeper, filling her urgently. She loved being manhandled by him.
He reached under her arms, grasp her head in his strong hands and pulls her down within an inch of his face. “You like that don’t you?” his hissed as she leaned over him, her breasts slapping against his chest while his hard, thrusting, pounding thickness lie waste to her pussy. He seized her and she whimpered—her juicy lips sucked his cock with each thrust. “You’re cumming all over me. I’m gonna make you lick off.”
“Fuck!” she screamed, he pounded harder, insistently, filled her to the hilt and demanded more. “Ooohh, God, Scott!” she engulfed him as she came, His cock pulsating so damn hard she felt it swell.
He brought her lips to his and kissed her so passionately, so all-consuming, they came together. They embraced in a way they hadn’t before, calmly coming back to earth, their bodies clung to one another. She lie still in his arms, her face pressed into his chest.
“Monica,”
“Yes,” she mumbled.
“Please don’t say you love me if you don’t mean it.”