It’s no surprise that he drives a truck. From all the outdoorsy photos on his Instagram account, he’d have a hard time trekking through the wilderness and on dirt roads in a sedan. It suits him. Rugged, masculine. I like the way he drives with one hand draped over the top of the steering wheel while the other rests on the center console. He radiates confidence.
“No subway today?” I say.
I don’t know why he would want to drive the freeway from San Pedro County, maneuvering the icy roads, and sitting in traffic when the subway is a straight shot and would cut off about 15 minutes of travel time. It’s cheaper too. A big truck like this must cost a fortune in gas.
“I never take the subway,” he says. “Can’t stand the smell or being packed in with strangers like sardines.”
“Then why were you on it yesterday?”
He bites his bottom lip. “Yesterday was different. My truck was in the shop.”
His truck is new and top of the line from the looks of the leather, sunroof, and navigation system. So why would it be in the shop?
There was a change in his voice when he said it. A slight rise and fall of his words that didn’t sound as smooth and natural as it had when he’d spoken before. I don’t know him well enough to say he was lying, but if that were Stephanie, I’d call her out on her bullshit.
He takes me to an upscale restaurant with a bar in an adjoining room. I didn’t know this place was even here. It has a breathtaking view of the river and its snowy banks. Inside is just as beautiful with a waterfall sculpture and saltwater fish tank that covers the entire wall behind the bar.
From the looks of things, it has an upscale clientele too. Women wear tight designer dresses and stilettos while I’m in my sweater and boots, prepared for the snowpocalypse. Damn it. I should’ve just toughed it out and took my chances. I am definitely not dressed right for this place. There’s probably a dress code and I’ll be kicked out. I wish Heath would’ve told me where we were going and what kind of place it was before we left. More than likely I would’ve tried to talk him out of it, but if that failed, I would’ve at least worn a shirt with some sparkle.
“Do you want to sit at the bar, or would you rather get a booth?” he asks.
The bartender—he’s probably called a mixologist at a swanky place like this—wears a man bun and tux, mixing brightly colored drinks. He smiles and nods at Heath like they’re old friends. I feel so out of place. I’m more of a beer and burgers kind of girl and I’m afraid it’s painfully evident to all the women in the bar who look at me with judgement in their eyes.
Is this where he brings all his dates and I’m just ‘Ms. Saturday night at the moment’? That sick feeling is back. I really wish I didn’t feel so wishy-washy when it comes to him. It’s giving me whiplash.
“The bar is fine,” I say.
We sit at the end of the bar. The place is packed. The ratio of men to women is off kilter, the women dominating the scene. And they’re all beautiful and sexy. Each one of them with great figures. And they’re all looking at Heath. Even the ones with dates. They don’t even try to hide their interest. I’m fairly certain that any of these girls would happily leave their current dates to spend a night with Heath. One woman in particular seems overly aggressive. She takes the stool beside him, scooting closer than I find appropriate.
“Callista, this is my friend Corbin,” Heath says, introducing me to the bartender. “We went to school together.”
I smile and shake Corbin’s outstretched hand. I feel that jealous tick start to ebb with something else to focus on. So maybe I’m getting paranoid for nothing. When you’re with a guy as hot as Heath, it’s difficult not to.
“Can you believe Heath used to be the ugly one?” Corbin says.
I look at Heath, not convinced. “Oh really?” I say.
“Buck-tooth, braces, acne. He was teased relentlessly. I was always coming to his rescue.”
“It’s true,” Heath says.
I can’t help but laugh. “I can’t even picture that.”
“He definitely couldn’t have dated a girl like you.”
Heath laughs. “Okay, that’s enough of that.”
“All right, I’ll stop embarrassing you,” Corbin says. He looks at me. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Jack and Coke, please.”
They both stare at me as if I’ve said something mystifying. “What?” I say.
Corbin shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just grateful to have one less cosmopolitan or appletini to make tonight.” He gives Heath a sly look. “If you’re not careful, I might just steal her away from you.”
Heath leans toward me. I don’t know if the protective gesture is on purpose or just a reflex. “You’ll have to fight me for this one,” he says.
My face grows hot and I force back the childish giggle trying to get out of me.
“It would be worth the broken nose,” Corbin says with a wink.
When I look back at Heath, the girl who’d been sitting next to him has moved even closer, leaning in to hear our conversation. I catch her eye and she smiles. There’s nothing friendly about it.
An argument at the end of the bar breaks our eye contact. Two men in sleek business suits go back and forth, talking loudly and passionately about some case they’d been working on. Lawyers, I’m assuming, or something in the legal field. Telling by the slur in their words and the way they keep repeating themselves, it’s clear they’ve had a few too many. When they start to get handsy, pushing at each other, Corbin motions to Heath.
“Speaking of fighting, you want to help me take care of this? I’ve got a full house to attend to.”
Heath grumbles and looks at me. “Sorry, he always makes me play bouncer when I stop by.”
“It’s fine,” I say.
While he goes to break up the fight, I sip my drink and watch the show the two drunk guys are putting on. I guess it doesn’t matter what kind of bar it is. When there’s alcohol involved, things are going to get rowdy.
The woman who’d been sitting next to Heath, the same one who’d given me that backhanded smile, moves into Heath’s chair.
“That seat’s taken,” I say to her even though I’m certain she already knows that.
“I’ll only be a second,” she says, her voice thick with some kind of accent.
She’s gorgeous. Long wavy hair, dark Latina skin, and curves I would kill for. Her tongue wraps around the skinny straw in a bright pink drink rimmed with blue sugar.
“So you’re the No-O, huh?” she says.
I let out a long sigh. Not this again.
Her gaze travels the length of my body as if she’s sizing up the competition. She doesn’t look too intimidated and her sudden smile lets me know she doesn’t see me as a threat. I am really not in the mood for this. I just wanted to spend another amazing night with Heath.
“Yep, I guess that’s what the kids are calling me these days,” I say, exasperated. I don’t try to hide my irritation. I want her to know she’s intruding.
“Is he as good in bed as everyone says he is?” she asks.
Jesus, lady. Do I have to literally tell her to fuck off for her to get the hint?
“Better,” I say childishly, using the kind of voice I used to use on the playground when I had something that everyone else wanted, but I wasn’t about to share.
“How about this,” she says to me, leaning in close so that no one else can hear, like she’s about to tell me a secret. “Why don’t I get you a cab and you go on home, because once the O-Maker gets a look at me, you don’t stand a chance. And I will have him tonight.” She sits up straight and licks the rim of her glass, leaving a blue stain on her tongue. “You should slip out the back real quick. I’ll tell him you weren’t feeling well.”
I want to slap that smug look off her face. Normally, I would be intimidated by a woman this beautiful, but now, I’m too pissed for that.
“Fat chance, but nice try,” I say.
Her cocky smile morphs into something ugly and pinched. “You had your chance with him, so fuck off.”
She steps off the barstool, towering over me while I sit. If she thinks physical intimidation will work on me, she has another thing coming. I was the captain of the girls’ ice hockey team in high school, and I have a mean right hook. Just one push in those mile-high stilettos and she’d hit the ground.
“Hello, is this a friend of yours?” Heath says, seeing me in a heated conversation with his admirer.
“Nope. Just another O-Maker groupie it seems,” I say, unable to mask the irritation I feel. If this is what it’s going to be like going out with him in a town he doesn’t even live in, I don’t know if it’s even worth it. I can’t keep feeling like I’m in a battle for his attention. It’s too much work, and my self-esteem can’t keep taking hits like this. Eventually I’m going to sink. This never used to be such a problem for me.
He turns his back on her to face me. The obvious dismissal has her stomping away with a string of Spanish cuss words flowing behind her.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve known this little internet firestorm of ours would follow us to the bar.”
I stare straight ahead, at the bright colored fish in the tank behind the bar. “It’s fine,” I say, voice flat and emotionless.
He leans into me, lips brushing against my ear, warm breath caressing my skin. “Let me make it up to you,” he says. His hand touches my knee, sliding up my leg and between them.
I let out a quivering breath as his fingers tickle my inner thigh. Spreading my legs, I give him access to everything. All is forgiven with a single touch.
“What if someone sees?” I whisper, voice barely audible against the hum of voices and the music playing in the background.
“Who cares?”
Certainly not me at this point. My eyes close, mouth parting as he massages me through my jeans, making me wet.
“I want to feel your tight cunt around my cock again,” he says in a hushed voice that draws the lubrication right out of me as if he’s some kind of pussy whisperer. “I want your warm, silky body to swallow me up.”
His breathing gets heavier, hotter against my skin. I reach out. When I touch the hard mound of flesh beneath his jeans, he shudders and sucks in a breath.
“I want you so bad it hurts,” he says in a strangled voice.
He presses harder against my hand and I can’t help the sigh that pushes past the seal of my lips. “I need you to fuck me,” I say. “I don’t care where. I just need you inside of me.”
He grabs me by the arm. I stand up. He pulls me toward the back of the bar. At first I think we’re about to leave out a back exit, but instead he pushes me into what looks like an office space the size of a small closet—just big enough to fit a tiny desk and a chair—and shuts the door behind him.
“What if we get caught again?” I say, not really caring. I already have his pants unbuttoned and I’m fishing for his cock.
“Then we’ll give them a show they won’t ever forget,” he says.
Kneeling, I grasp onto him, and hear the breath leave his lungs in a loud whoosh. He makes my hands look tiny. Even with both of them stacked up and wrapped around his girth, the head still pokes out. I suck him into my mouth, tongue cradling the underside. He grabs the back of my head, gently rocking into me. The salty taste of pre cum coats my tongue as I swirl my tongue around the rim of his head. His fingers close around my hair, and he leans my head backward in order to sink deeper into my throat. He lets out a deep, animal sound and starts to fuck my face with enthusiastic thrusts until he’s hitting the back of my throat.
“Look at me when you suck my cock,” he says in a graveled voice weighed down by desire. I look up to meet his gaze. My eyes start to water from having my mouth opened so wide, and a tear rolls down my cheek. “Your mouth feels so good,” he says.
I relax enough to where I don’t gag. I take all of him, my throat stretching to accommodate his size. When he finally pulls out, I gulp down a greedy breath, drool sliding down from the corners of my mouth. I lick my way down his thick shaft to his balls, taking them in my mouth and rolling them around with my tongue, making sure to keep eye contact with him the whole time. He shoves his dick back down my throat again and vigorously humps away.
He stares down at me, eyes wild and wanting. “I need that pussy,” he says, and slides out of my mouth.
He grabs me by the armpits, hauling me to my feet. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t walk straight for a week,” he says.
I love the way he talks dirty to me. It makes me feel slutty and sexy, and extremely turned on.
He turns me around and bends me over the desk. He reaches down to his pocket and hurriedly takes out a condom, ripping it open with his teeth and sheathing himself with shaking hands. He then yanks down my jeans and panties so my ass is bared to him. He gives it a hard slap and I yelp from the sting of it. His fingers reach between my legs. I look over my shoulder to watch him. He takes the juices running down my leg and slathers it over the head of his dick before taking aim. With a hard thrust, he slams into me so hard I nearly buckle under the weight of him.
“You like that big cock filling your pussy?” he says.
I’m barely able to get any words out between his thrusts. “You feel so good inside of me,” I say breathlessly.
He pulls out and spins me around to face him, pushing me back down to my knees. “Suck it. I want you to lick off your juices.” I open my mouth wide, taking him in. I can smell and taste myself on him, thick and sweet. He strokes the base of his dick while I polish the head. “Tastes good, doesn’t it?”
All I can do is nod as he continues to push in and out of my mouth. A few more minutes of me giving him head and he pulls back out, bending me over the desk again. I’m like some kind of puppet, my body twisting whichever way he likes. And as it turns out, whichever way he likes is the way I like it as well. I love it when a man takes control in the bedroom. I’m more than happy to submit.
With my ass facing him, he takes my left leg and props it up on top of the desk, spreading me wide open. When he pushes into me this time, he’s all the way in, practically pushing into my womb. As long as I relax it doesn’t hurt. In fact, it feels divine. I’ve heard of cervix orgasms before, and have always wanted to have one, but unfortunately never had a boyfriend big enough to pull it off. Telling by the building pressure in my center and the way my pussy muscles are starting to contract, I may just experience my first one ever. I’m more than excited about it too, pushing back into him.
“Fuck me hard,” I cry. “Don’t hold back.”
I’m almost there, but not quite. I can feel myself right on the cusp, and it’s stellar, but for some reason that orgasm is just out of reach. He starts to fuck me harder, to the point where my body is slamming against the desk, clit furiously grinding into paperwork scattered across the tabletop. His thumb touches my asshole, massaging. I don’t resist. It feels too good. I think he spits either onto his hand or onto the hole itself because suddenly it’s slippery wet and his thumb slides right into my back entrance.
That’s it. That’s all my body can take. My orgasm slams into me and I’m howling with ecstasy, screaming out his name. “Oh, yeah, oh fuck.” The lewd words spill out of me as my pussy contracts, milking his cock.
He lets out a fierce growl and slams into me two more times before his entire body stiffens and stills. I feel his stiff rod start to spasm inside of me as he releases his load. He grabs onto my waist, holding my ass tight against his hips so I can’t move as he comes, and bucks into me.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says and hugs me from behind, kissing the back of my neck.
“I’m surprised that as loud as we were, no one came in to check on the noise.”
“We got lucky,” he says. “But you know who’s not lucky?”
He massages my ass cheeks as he speaks. If he keeps doing that, I’ll be ready for round two in minutes, maybe seconds. If that’s the case, he might be right about not being able to walk right for a week. I really took a beating, and what a glorious beating it was.
“Who?” I ask.
“The poor bastard who gets to clean this up.” He starts to laugh and I know the poor bastard he’s talking about is Corbin.