Trading with the Boys

I looked down, to get the visual. To burn the image of this beautiful woman’s face in my brain. It was already there, just not like this. It was such a turn-on, watching her. Listening to her…

At the last moment I stiffened, giving her ample warning I was going to come. To her credit, Serena took me even deeper. She swallowed me to the root, making her lips tight while still rolling my balls in her warm fist. The move flung me past the point of no return. Whatever resolve or restraint I had left shattered into a million pieces.

FUUUUUUCK!

I roared like an animal, filling her mouth with pulse after pulse of my hot, sticky seed. Serena swallowed it eagerly without missing a beat. She took everything I had, straight down her tender throat. She didn’t stop until she was sure I was finished, and even then she made an obscenely incredible show of licking and sucking every last inch of me clean.

The whole thing left in me a sleepy but euphoric daze. I lay there basking in the afterglow, enjoying the feel of her warm face cuddling against my bare thigh. I wondered what in the world I’d done right to deserve such an unforgettable experience. Maybe patience really was a virtue after all.

I pulled her up and into my lap, cradling her against me in the silence. Again, there weren’t any words. Words would’ve just got in the way.

Then I stood up, put myself back together, and winked at her from the doorway on my way out.

Thirteen

SERENA

“Yes, of course I’ll do it! Hang on a sec…”

I scrambled frantically for a pen, practically ransacking the house until I got to the desk in my office. It was one of the unspoken laws of the universe: how your need for any writing implement always seemed inversely proportional to the importance of whatever you needed to jot down.

“Mmm-hmm. Yes, I know it’s short notice, it’s still good on my end.” I wrote down the details, one by one. “Sure, just text me the address, that’ll be fine.”

It seemed pretty straightforward, so there wasn’t much to remember. By the time I hung up I was already looking at the weather forecast. My mind was running through a checklist of equipment I needed to bring, one that seemed to include everything just in case.

“Got a fish on the line?” my friend called in from just outside. She was in the backyard still, sprawled out on my patio set. We’d been sipping on Starbucks together. Watching the dragonflies.

“Not just on the line but hooked,” I answered her, after hanging up. “Their wedding is Saturday. They’re desperate.”

“Saturday?” Ginny asked. “As in this Saturday?”

“Uh huh.”

“Wow.”

Already my mind was running a mile a minute. I’d been an amateur photographer since junior high, when my parents had given me a cutting-edge Olympus for Christmas. Since then I’d learned everything I could about photography. And more specifically, digital editing.

“So what kind of gig is it?”

“It’s a backyard wedding,” I admitted, “kind of informal. Sixty or so guests. They plan on getting married at the beach, then heading back to the house for a clambake.”

“A clambake?” laughed Ginny.

“Hey, I don’t plan the weddings,” I told her. “I just shoot them.”

So far I’d been hired as a photographer a grand total of four times, and paid for only two of them. But my finished products were good. Each time I presented my photos they were well-received. I’d even put the last one in album format, which the couple had loved.

I’d have to switch Saturday’s shift with Maria, but that was okay because Maria loved working weekends. The tips were generally higher, and it gave her more time to spend with her fiancé — who also worked weekends — during the week.

“Alright,” said Ginny. “Go back to what you were saying about the basement.”

“Oh, yeah…” In all the excitement, I’d almost forgotten. “I’ve got a construction guy. Cole.”

“A cute construction guy?” Ginny interjected.

“Very.”

“How cute?”