Dirty: A Naughty Tale

When the water starts to cool down, I wash my hair and body, reluctant to scrub any of Martin’s scent off of me. After blow drying my hair and getting dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, I grab my chemistry book with the intent to study for an exam later this week.

The heat is sweltering as I step outside. Sitting on the edge of the pool, I let my legs dangle in the warm water. Opening the first page I have ear marked, I begin reading. My eyes blur as the words register in my mind, and soon, I’m so lost in the pages I don’t realize I have a visitor until I feel his soft lips on my shoulder, kissing left to right until he’s covered all the exposed flesh on my back.

“Fuck, do you ever look sexy sitting out here like this,” Martin murmurs in my ear as he rolls up his jeans legs and sits behind me.

“Chem exam at the end of the week.” I turn the cover so he can see.

“Yikes. Never was any good with that.” His hands rub along my thighs, distracting me from what I was reading.

“I do alright,” I whisper, enjoying his touch.

“I bet you’re being modest.” I can hear the grin in his tone.

Shrugging, I try to get back to what I was doing, but it’s impossible with his body heat devouring me and sucking me into his raw magnetism.

> “My parents will be home today,” I blurt out. I still haven’t figured out how I’ll tell them I’m with a man almost ten years my senior. Or that he’s a cop. Or that he’s a man they already dislike. I know they won’t be pleased, and they’re going try to forbid me from seeing him.

“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t sound too concerned.

Biting my lip, I turn around to look up at him. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell them about us.” Martin is a steam roller, and I know that if I let him do it, there will be no tact.

“I see.” His voice says he’s perplexed while his eyes tell a different tale. One of indecision, or maybe even worry. “What are your plans for the fall?” he questions, and I’m thrown by the change in subject.

“Oh, well, I was accepted to New York University, Columbia, and Berkeley.” I smile, because they were my top three schools.

“That all?” His chuckle is masculine and sends shivers racing down my spine.

“No. But they’re who I’m choosing from. I have to have a final answer at the end of this month.” Which is only a couple weeks away. I’ve been leaning towards Columbia.

“Berkeley is in California.” His frown affirms the displeasure in his voice.

“It is,” I confirm, wishing I could get a better read on what he’s thinking.

Leaning forward, Martin places his lips over mine and all talk of the future evaporates into thin air and I’m lost in his touch. He sucks and nips at my mouth until I open and then he delves his tongue deep. Taking all that he can get from me.

Dropping my textbook onto the grass behind us, I grip his shirt in my fists and pull him closer. Idly, I wonder if this persistent need to have him consume me will ever vanish and then I pray it never does.

His strong hands tense on my back as he pulls me closer, and just as I’m about to climb onto his lap, a throat clearing pulls us apart.

There in the flesh stand the two people who have been the most judgmental of every moment of my life.

My parents.

“What the hell is this?” my father snaps. Martin growls deep in his chest, vibrating my fingers as they still hold onto him.

“Hi, Mom, Dad. How was your trip?” I try to untangle myself from Martin’s grasp, but he’s not having it and I’m forced to remain still as he assesses what’s happening.

“Never mind that, what the hell is going on?” my father repeats.

“Oh, umm, well, have you met Martin before?” I know they’ve at least seen him around. He’s at the Inwood’s house all the time.

“We’ve seen enough of him.” That doesn’t sound promising.

“Mr. and Mrs. Davis, it’s nice to formally meet you. I’m Marty Lynch.” He stands, reaching out a hand for me to take. I don’t hesitate even if the glare in my father’s eyes is filled with anger.

“We know who you are, Mr. Lynch. Why were you kissing my daughter? I’m quite certain it’s illegal.” His last sentence isn’t quite as confident.

“Dad, I turned eighteen last week. I’m of age.” Martin flinches, my father’s glare deepens, and Mom looks bored. This isn’t going at all how I wanted it to.