Sex Love Repeat, Page 3

  Snow. Falling snow is what brought us together. That and his hurried life which collided us in the first place.

  VENICE BEACH, CA

  HARPOONING: [verb] Copping wood while surfing.

  I am woken in the night, a hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently. “Maddy. ” Soft lips brush my neck, the rough scruff of unshaven skin tickling my cheek.

  I roll, pulling up on the sheet, the cool night air cold on my bare chest. “Stop,” I mumble.

  “Come on,” Paul whispers, sliding under the sheet, the warm heat of his skin settling over mine, his weight gently held by knees and arms. His kisses drift over my body, the hot nip of his lips traveling up my stomach, over my breasts, and settle on my

  lips.

  “I’m sleeping,” I whisper between long kisses, his body settling deeper, pining me to the bed, my legs spreading and wrapping around him.

  “No you’re not.” He grins at me, pulling the blanket over both of our heads, his face close in the darkness.

  “Yes,” I reply firmly. “I am.” I reach between our bodies, adjusting his cock so that it lies against his stomach, in a position to better stimulate me when it hardens. He grinds slightly against me, my hand gripping him firmly, feeling the reaction in his cock, the thickening of skin underneath my fingers.

  “I like you when you sleep.” He leans down, taking a long taste of my mouth and slowly thrusts his pelvis, my hand releasing him, the firm friction right there against my clit as it should be. “Waves are at six feet,” he says against my mouth, a flash of teeth shining in the darkness.

  “So ride them.”

  “I’d rather ride something else right now.”

  “Me too.”

  I don’t need to move his cock. His hips take care of that, a small downward shift and hard cock making the transition easy, my wet entrance more than ready for fulfillment. Then he resumes his strokes, slow and perfectly inside of me, the air under the blanket getting hot with passion. And when I yank the blanket off his head, the cool air is needed, as we both arch our bodies into the darkness of oblivion.

  I dress, slipping on bikini bottoms and a surf shirt, linking my hands through his and jogging down the garage steps. We grab our boards and move, quiet through dark streets, nodding to familiar faces, the homeless and beggars who never sleep, discomfort or addiction keeping them awake. When our feet hit the sand we run, eager to fly, the shock of cold water taking me the final step into wide awake. We paddle until my arms ache, we ride until the waves calm, and then we lay back on salty boards and watch the sun rise, reflecting sparks of fire across the tops of ripples.

  You don’t understand the true awesomeness of nature until you watch the sun rise on water that stretches across half the world. Or until you lay back on the board in the pitch black of night and listen to the world sleep. Until you feel the tug of water and know that you are dancing with a partner that could dip you into death should it feel the need. It is intoxicating, the heartbeat of the ocean. It flows through my blood, it sucks at my heart and pumps breath through my lungs.

  I hear Paul’s call and turn, realizing that he has paddled halfway in and is waiting. The crowds will soon come, the hordes of tourists who have traveled across the country to play in our backyard. Now is the time to return, and let the strangers borrow a piece of our life. I roll to my stomach, and paddle after Paul, the rising sun prickling warm on my bare legs.

  HOLLYWOOD, CA

  SPEEDBUMP: [noun] Someone

  who stand in the way of a good ride.

  DANA

  Some might call my behavior stalking. My opinion is, if you love the person, it gives you some justifiable leeway. My behavior this evening...leeway doesn’t really excuse it. It’s borderline creepy. I sicced my assistant on Stewart. Told her I’d give her two hundred dollars for each event that she could reasonably predict his presence at. It took her three weeks, but she found one. His business partner’s birthday party, at Livello, on Friday night. She called the restaurant, verified that the reservations were at nine o’clock that evening, and we discussed the chances of him being present. A hundred percent chance of him being invited, and we were thinking a twenty-five percent chance of attendance. I was grasping that narrow percentage with the tenacity of a drowning woman.

  It’s ten, and I am huddled in the back corner of the lobby, nursing a bottled water, an Elle magazine held open before me. My mission is simple. If he is alone, approach him. And if he is with someone, scope her out. I’m giving myself till eleven, then I’m going to bail. Toss Belinda her two hundred bucks and go soak my feet in Epsom salts. I curse the three inch heels I put on this morning. Next stakeout, I’ll wear flats.

  The door opens, and in a burst of cool air and perfume, they enter.

  God, three years hasn’t changed him. He is smiling, and that is the first thing I notice. Holding the door open for her, his hand moves to cup her waist when she moves through the door in front of him. Their cheeks are flushed, her giggle reaching back into the dark corner that I sit, a curl of jealousy snaking through me at the sound. I sink in my seat, watching them closely, noticing everything, the brush of his hand against her ass, the look in his eyes when she grabs the fabric of his skirt and presses into his chest, his head dipping down for a kiss. They are quickly escorted into the restaurant, away from my eyes, and I strain for a final glimpse of him, but only see the back of the maitre’d.

  I exhale, setting down the magazine and leaning back in my seat, lifting my purse off the ground and setting in on my lap with a heavy sigh. There was no point in staying to see them leave. I saw everything I needed in that brief moment. The look in his eyes... she is not a fling. Not an escort that he hires for events. That was the look of love.

  My hands tighten around my purse.

  TWO YEARS EARLIER

  MADISON

  It didn’t take long for Stewart and I to fuck. The sweet circumstance of our meeting turned to heat quickly, chemistry sizzling across the linen tablecloths of our first date. For the second date, two weeks later, I told his icy secretary I’d meet him at his place, intent on putting the little time she had penciled in to good use. She extended the appointment, giving me a full two hours, which I took to be a good sign. Two weeks later, I handed my keys to a freckle-face valet, signed in with the security desk at Stewart’s condo, and was yanked inside the moment he opened the door.

  He crab walked me backwards, my hands reaching for his face, pulling it to mine, our first kiss frantic. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong.” He rushed out, between kisses. “Is this too fast?”

  I bit back a laugh, unbuttoning the front of my shirtdress and dropping the material to the floor, nothing but bare skin underneath. “You tell me, is it?” I stepped away, watched his eyes eat me, his expression turning dark, his hand running rough through his hair.

  Then his mouth and his hands were on me, and we didn’t have the breath to utter words for a full hour. We started there, against the wall, with kisses and touches, my own hands pulling at his clothes, till he was naked before me, and my breath caught at his build, his body a tight coil of muscles that all seemed to center and point on a package that would have made my first boyfriend duck his head in shame. He lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist, and carried me to a bedroom.

  I didn’t notice the heated floors or the custom blinds or the six thousand dollar rug. I only noticed the heat of our bodies, the perfect fit, the exact blend of control and fury that took my body from above, from behind, and from below.

  Forty-five minutes after setting foot in his condo, he straddled me. Breathing hard, his face tight in concentration, his hands running over the skin of my breasts, he leant forward and kissing me, pushing away my hands when I reached for him. His cock bobbed between us, brushing my stomach, a plastic slap of latex against my skin. “Don’t.” he groaned. “I’m too close. Give me a moment.”

  But I wanted it, was high on orgasm and his fucks, and anxious to see the result of our work. I sm
iled at him, reaching down with a firm hand and sliding the condom off, his slick head exposed, my hand working up and down and I looked up into his face.

  He squeezed his eyes tight, his breath coming out in short spurts. “Madison, I can’t, you’re-“ He bucked his hips, groaning my name, my hand hard and fast on his shaft, watching in excitement as he came, multiple shots on my chest, his head dropping back as he finished, a long sigh coming out. He collapsed to the side, his limbs heavy on the bed, his eyes closed, a smile on his face.

  I rolled, unmindful of the sheets, resting my head on his bicep, closing my eyes and relaxing, my body relaxed from an hour of orgasms and pounding.

  Minutes passed, no sound other than our breaths and the whip of the fan, no need to speak, no need for compliments or unnecessary conversation.

  Then he moved, rolling to his side, our faces close, his eyes studying mine. “How are you single?”

  I looked into his eyes, at the bright blue sparks of his pupils. “I don’t need a boyfriend.”

  “Women rarely need the things they want.” He smiled, running a free hand gently along the inside of my arm.

  “I’m not exactly normal,” I offered. His mouth curved at the words, light entering them, a sarcastic response at the tip of his tongue. I waved his comeback off. “I don’t mean that in a good way. You and I? Having sex so quickly? It wasn’t because I was blown away by your penthouse or your gorgeous blue eyes. It was sex, great sex, but just for pleasure. What we just did...I’m not expecting anything from you because of it. I don’t need to make ‘this’ anything more than what it is right now.”

  He frowned. “So you want to use me... using me. For sex.”

  I laughed. “Oh please, it’s every man’s perfect scenario. Don’t give me that guilt trip.”

  His frown twitched slightly at the corners. “And what if I want more?”

  “I don’t think you have time for more.”

  I knew, from the start, what I was signing up for. And I made sure he knew the same. That I was a sexual creature, who wouldn’t stand by and wait to be beckoned. I lived my normal life, with bits of Stewart’s cock sprinkled in when he had time. And that lasted for a bit, till he started getting attached and decided he didn’t want me screwing strangers any more.

  TWO YEARS EARLIER

  “I want you to find a boyfriend.” Stewart said gruffly, while I was pinned against the wall of his office, his rigid cock inside of me. It was nine o’clock on a Tuesday night, everyone with any sanity gone, a uniformed cleaner already sticking his head in and catching us in the act.

  “What?”

  He thrust upward, making me moan, pulling my hips downward slightly, till the depth made me ache. “A boyfriend. Someone to fuck you when I am busy, someone who can take you on dates, and rub your feet, and listen to you talk about your day.”

  “I fuck when you’re busy.” The statement caused his eyes to darken, his thrusts to increase in force and speed.

  He knew this. Knew I wasn’t exclusively his. It was a choice he made, his addiction to success and files and stock prices too time consuming to allow for more than a night or two a week of fucktime. And our sessions were often like this – squeezed in at a time when stress lines his face, and meetings or emails are only a step or two away.

  “I don’t like you fucking a bunch of strangers. It’s not safe. And you deserve more than that.”

  I wished he would stop talking, the words causing his movement to stop, his serious expression putting a damper on my arousal. “Let’s talk about it later.”

  He continued on, ignoring my suggestion. “You deserve someone who will be there for you everyday. Who will rub your feet and take you to dinner, and take you to the doctor when you’re sick.”

  “So you want me to ditch you for someone with more time?”

  He growled, gripping my skin and lifting me, my arms wrapping around his neck for security, as he carried me across the room and deposited me on his desk. “Fuck no. I will never allow someone to take you from me.” He ran his hands possessively down my front, pulling up my tank top and caressing the bare breasts beneath, his hands firm and strong, cupping my breasts like he owned them, dropping his face down and taking one in his mouth. “But I will lose you soon enough to someone who can shower you with time and affection. You need an everyday man to satisfy those needs.” He glanced up as his pace resumed, that dark glitter of intensity that I loved returning to his eyes. “But I will always own your heart. And this man would be second to me in your heart.”

  I smiled, wrapping my legs around his hips and squeezing. “You can’t control my heart, Stewart.”

  He lowered himself to me, bending over the desk as he fucked me, deep, possessive fucks that shot drugged pleasure through me with each stroke. Gripping my arms and pinning them to the desk, he took a long, deep taste of my mouth before breaking away and staring into my eyes. “I can sure as hell try.”

  I closed my eyes, gripping his hips, and let him fuck me through another two orgasms before he came, in my mouth, his eyes glued to mine as he pumped himself onto my tongue. I thought he would drop the ‘boyfriend’ talk, thought that it was mid-sex ridiculousness that would never be spoke of again. But he pressed the issue, revisiting the topic enough times that I realized his sincerity. He worried about me. My safety, my happiness. Worried about losing me due to lack of attention. He wanted me to have a steady fuck, wanted someone to make up for the slack he couldn’t provide. He wanted someone safe, friendly. Someone I wouldn’t leave him for, but that would make me happy. He wanted Paul, I just hadn’t found him yet.

  So I continued fucking strangers, my libido as aggressive as ever. And then, on that day in Santa Monica, I met Paul. I fucked Paul. And he was different. Paul was, as he stared into my eyes and fucked me in the surf, someone Stewart would approve of.

  Safe.

  Friendly.

  Sweet.

  Paul has changed since that day. He is more possessive of me than he once was. Not during our daily life, but often our sex is fired with competitiveness, his cock claiming me as if he has something to prove. He is not safe, and Stewart has every cause to be worried. They both own my heart now, an equal division fought over by two sets of blue eyes.

  VENICE BEACH, CA

  My phone rang and I glanced at it. “Lover” displayed across its front. Stewart. I opened the phone. “Hey Babe.”

  “Hey. You free Thursday night? I have a work thing – need a date.”

  “Sure.”

  “Perfect. I’ll connect you to Nicole.” There is a click and a few tones, before the cheerful voice of his assistant fills my ear. We chat for a few minutes, and then I hang up.

  “Was that him?” Paul’s strokes across the board continue, slow patient swipes of wax protection. We are in the garage, the door up, our cars pulled into the alley, bikers occasionally whizzing through the open space. I’ve already waxed my board, my job quickly and haphazardly done, no real desire present to do a thorough job. But Paul takes his time, stretching the task out, his eyes careful on his work, his strokes sure and familiar.

  “Yeah. I’ve got a thing to attend tomorrow night. I’ll be back in the morning. When do you leave for Costa Rica?” I watch his shoulders for tension, his jaw for rigidity - but he is calm, peace in his eyes, an easygoing manner in his movements.

  “End of next week. I’ll be gone four or five days, depending on the flight.” He sets down the wax, walking around the board and leans back against my car, pulling me by the waist, into his arms.

  “I’m gonna miss you Madd.”

  I smile, leaning into his chest. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.” I lifted my chin and he kissed me, his hands pulling me tight, his mouth needy on mine. This is Paul’s worry. That one day he will return, and I will be gone. That I will choose Stewart and not him. He doesn’t mind sharing, but losing me terrifies him.

  I flip through book titles, pul
ling out spines and sliding in new ones, running the alphabet over my tongue, making sure that everything was in its proper place, J.D. Robb sitting after James Patterson and before Nora Roberts. I feel him before I see him, the creak of the floor behind me announcing a visitors weight, the air carrying the scent of sunscreen and sweat.

  I don’t pause, my fingers pushing and pulling on titles, intent on filing these last three books before my mind gets sidetracked and I have to start the whole damn alphabet again.

  “You know ebooks are going to replace these pretty soon.” The slow confident male drawl slows my movements, my mouth curving into a smile despite my best attempt to keep a cool exterior.

  I squeeze the last book into place and stand, turning toward Paul. “Hey—words like that’ll get you killed around here.”

  He scoffs, crossing his arms across a broad chest, covered in a sleeveless tank and a golden tan. “You don’t have a dangerous bone in your body.”

  I walk around the half bookcase between us, ‘til I stand in front of him. “You’re right about that. I’m in sore need of a dangerous bone inside of me.”

  He groans, his eyes turning from playful to feral in a moment, his hand reaching around me and pulling me tight to him. His other hand joins in, both of them gripping and pulling my ass, my pelvis, up into his body, tight enough that the ridge of his erection digs into me. He lets out a loud, shuddering breath as he lowers his mouth to mine. “You want me to fix that situation?”