Nothing More Beautiful (29 page)

“It’s different when you have a personal
investment,” I argued.

“Money makes everything personal,” he
countered. “I’ll tell you what: why don’t you look over your books
and see how bad it is, and say you only need two grand, then I’ll
un-invest the other eighteen. Deal?”

I considered his proposal. If Bridgett was
right about getting more loan money, Vince’s “investment” could be
our only option to stay afloat. I hated the idea of accepting his
charity, but I nodded, agreeing to at least think about it.

“Do you think you could stop by the gym
around eight?” he asked, switching subjects out of nowhere.

“Uh—why?”

“I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

He nodded.

“What kind of surprise?”

“You’ll just have to show up and find out.
Can you do eight?”

“I have a whole mess to work out, but I
guess so. For a surprise.”

He leaned in for a kiss goodbye, then let
go, heading for the door. “See you at eight.” He was gone a breath
later.

OUR BUDGET PROBLEM WASN’T
as dramatic as Bridgett had made it out to be. Every month we were
steadily draining money—that part was true, but we had about six
months before everything crumbled. Six was a long way from two. In
six we could pick up and be far ahead. From a realistic, objective
standpoint, we did need Vince’s money though. About six grand of
it. He didn’t seem worried about the $90,000 he had forked out
getting the card back, but if that was included in the bill, we
were dead, plain and simple.

I guess we got lucky that Bridgett didn’t
try her slick maneuver on a greedier person; otherwise we wouldn’t
be coming out ahead. I decided to swallow my distaste for accepting
unearned money, and embrace Vince’s “investment,” despite how
queasy it made me feel. I didn’t know if it was guilt or what, but
something was twisting up my insides.

I spent the rest of the afternoon committed
to the chore of deciphering the books, and the clock read 7:53 when
I glanced at it. Stuffing the Reuben leftovers in the fridge, I
locked the back door, speed-walking down Hawthorne. The wet, cold
air did nothing for my mood. Although, trying to guess the surprise
Vince had in store for me did help cheer me up. I had a feeling it
would be something expensive and I’d have to turn it down, already
over the limit for the month.

Nearing the front entrance, I noticed that
most of the lights were off even though the gym never closed. Taped
to the door, a sign informed members that it was shut down for
maintenance, and apologized for the inconvenience.

Confused, I swiped my card anyway, and sure
enough the light turned green and the door unlocked. Inside, I
found the place deserted. A bag lay on the front counter with a
note on it that said “MACI.” I withdrew a white sports bra. Only it
wasn’t a full bra. Holding it up to my chest, it reached halfway
down my boobs. The second article was a pair of white
underwear.

A trail of rose pedals led me to the
bathroom, a clear indicator that I was supposed to change into the
new outfit. The panties covered half my cheeks, exposing most of my
ass. When I put on the bra, I understood its design and purpose. It
covered my breasts until just past my nipples, revealing the flesh
under my boobs. I didn’t grasp the sexiness of the top, except for
the easy access, but clearly Vince had fantasized about this for a
while. The tight material of the bra pressed my boobs together,
with a different type of seductive cleavage.

Leaving the bathroom, I climbed the stairs
to the second floor, where I’d seen Vince most often and expected
him to be. As I ascended, the air grew hotter, as if the heat had
been turned way up. When my eyes peeked over the floor, I saw a
thousand white candles spread out before me, all flickering with
life.

I sighted Vince at the centermost bench,
doing arm curls, shirtless. My quiet footsteps went unheard, but my
image in the floor-to-ceiling mirror made me easy to spot. He
dropped the weights and stood, whistling as he eyed me up and down.
“You are one sexy lady,” he said, breathing hard. His body
glistened with sweat, his muscles bulging from the workout.

“And you’re one sweaty man,” I returned,
eyeing his arms with lust. I wanted to eat each of his defined ab
muscles, but I supposed licking them would also do.

He glanced down at his arms and chest, then
back at me. “My goal is to make you one sweaty woman.” He grinned,
alluring me, seducing me. My knees nearly buckled.

I sucked on my lip in a way that said, “I
can’t wait.”

“I know it’s not silky lingerie, but how do
you like the outfit?”

I pressed my boobs together, creating more
cleavage. “I like that you like it.” I slid my hand down his gym
shorts to his rock-hard cock.

He cupped my breasts, bending over to shove
his face in them. He spent a minute inhaling with his nose in my
cleavage, then he straightened up, his hands reaching around to my
ass, squeezing, caressing. Suddenly our mouths connected, tongues
swirling, wet and exhilarating.

He slapped my ass and my heart jumped.
Pulling away, he flattened the inclined bench he’d been working out
on, and turned it lengthwise so that it ran parallel to the mirror.
He eased me on to my back and when I glanced at the mirror, I could
see the full length of our bodies.

Biting his lip and on his knees, he ran his
fingers from my feet, up my thighs, and to my ass. I rested my feet
on the ground as he spread my legs, his nose skimming from one
thigh, over my panties, to the other.

The soft nuzzle tantalized all my nerves.
With every pass, he drew closer to my clit, but never touched it,
teasing me. “God, you’re so sexy,” he whispered. “And you smell so
delicious.”

I lifted my hips, wiggling them, begging
him. He relented. Moving aside the panties, his tongue swept over
my clit, down to my pussy. He licked up in broad strokes. I gasped.
He removed my panties in one swift motion. Free of holding my
underwear, his hands fondled my exposed breasts while his tongue
continued to glide up and down.

“You taste so sweet,” he murmured. “I could
do this all day.”

I writhed in pleasure, unable to contain
myself. Eventually, he concentrated on my clit, pressing a finger
under the bundle as his tongue twirled. He licked a finger and slid
it inside me. My stomach contracted, and my legs pressed in,
crushing his head. His left hand clenched my thighs as his tongue
increased speed.

Then he bit down. A gentle nibble at first,
adding more suction.

I screamed. I could feel the wetness flowing
out of me as my hips convulsed. My muscles contracted in waves, and
eventually I released my thighs that hugged Vince’s face.
How
did I not suffocate him?
I wondered in a distant dream. I
noticed his dripping wet curls as I raked his scalp. My eyes came
back into focus, and I glanced down at Vince, who was looking at me
with burning eyes. He wiped his mouth, coming up for a kiss.

“I love the way you taste,” he said,
massaging my clit with two fingers, our eyes locked, intense.

I flexed up for another kiss.

The heat from Vince, combined with the
candles, had bathed my body in sweat. The atmosphere created a mood
that I’d never experienced before, slick and hot and intimate. The
dim candlelight was intoxicating—stimulating. Romantic.

Vince knelt beside the bench. With his other
hand, he grazed my skin, skimming a finger under my breasts, around
my stomach, and down my thighs. It felt like he was everywhere on
my body. Everywhere but in me.

“I want to feel you inside me,” I said,
rubbing his chest, sliding my finger up his neck and through his
hair again. He stood up, slipped off his gym shorts, and helped me
up. Behind us sat another bench, its design angled so that a
person’s head was near the floor as they did crunches. Swinging the
bench to make it parallel to the mirror just like the other one, he
raised the angle of the back so that it sloped a tiny bit in the
other direction, forming an open “V” with the butt cushion.

I stepped in front of it, about to lie on my
back, when he started turning me around. Realizing what he wanted,
I stopped him. “I want to see you.”

“You can, in the mirror,” he replied,
compelling me to turn with his strong arms. He bent me over the
bench. Its sturdiness easily held my weight. I grasped the sides of
the seat cushion for support. “See?”

I peered at the mirror and could see Vince’s
hand sliding up my legs to my ass. I hadn’t even noticed that he
had moved the weights that normally sat in front of the mirror,
giving both of us a clear view of each other.

I shook my ass for him to enter.

He took his cock and played with my lips for
a minute, until he was nice and wet and ready. My lips parted and
he gently eased into me. I watched as he slowly thrust in and out:
my own private, erotic show. His hand holding my hips, he gradually
increased his pace, his muscles flexing, shimmering with sweat.

He was also regarding the mirror, watching
as my boobs bounced, the undersides smacking my ribs. That drove
him wild with lust, and he began pumping hard, slamming against my
ass. I moaned as his balls slapped back and forth. He was gasping
and grunting, but the sound of him driving into me was even louder,
and I loved it, loved how wet and delicious it was.

Watching his cock glide in and out, his
balls swaying out of control, while listening to the sexy
noises—all of it converged as he came, pushing the sweet sensation
deep inside me and out to my fingers and toes. My toes curled as
Vince stilled. I let out a long exhale as my head swirled in
bliss.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed. He
palmed my ass, leaning into me.

I craned back to kiss him. Recovering my
breath, I withdrew, gulping for air. Then, with Vince still
throbbing inside me, unfiltered and unplanned, an impulse took over
and I whispered, “I love you, Vince.”

Gazing at me with those soft, warm eyes, he
whispered back, “I love you, too.”

I
drove home the next
morning. The sun was out and the birds were singing. At least they
were inside my head. If it had been raining, I would have stopped
the car and started dancing in it. My head was swimming from
euphoria.

It was definitely love. I knew that now. We
had both torn down our walls and embraced each other. Truth,
openness, and willingness: that was what it all came down to. That
was love.

And, not to mention, fierce attraction.

I recognized that what I felt for Vince was
beyond infatuation. It was greater. He drew out emotions in me that
I never knew had existed. Beyond sexual gratification, he drew out
happiness—pure and simple happiness.

I parked on the street since my week to park
in the garage didn’t start until tomorrow. I practically skipped to
the front door. I planned on shouting out my love at the top of my
lungs as soon as I saw Danielle, letting her and the rest of the
neighborhood know all about it.

I was 25 and in love.

I turned the key and found Danielle asleep
on the couch. “I’M IN LOVE!” I screamed in her ear.

She exploded awake, slapping me across the
face. “WHAT THE FUCK!” she roared, realizing it was me in front of
her. Huffing, she leaned on the couch for support. “Why—why would
you do that?”

I was holding my cheek in pain, breathing
through my teeth. “I don’t know. It sounded like a good idea in my
head.”

“A good idea to scare the shit out of me,”
she hissed. “Are you okay?”

I rubbed my stinging cheek. “You got me
pretty good, but yeah, I’m fine.”

She laughed, sitting down. “So what did you
even say? I just heard a screech in my ear.”

“I said, ‘I’m in love,’” I repeated
meekly.

“You’re in love? With Vince?”

“Of course with Vince,” I said, cringing as
my fingers massaged the area.

She gave me a naughty grin. “Have another
orgasm?”

I laughed. “As a matter of fact, I
did . . . but that’s not why I’m in love.”

“It’s a part of it, I can tell you that,”
she argued.

“It’s where it started,” I agreed. “Now it’s
so much more, so much deeper . . . the
intimacy, Danielle. I think I understand what you and Ashley
have.”

“Do you now?”

I nodded. “And guess what else?”

“What?”

I paused for a moment for dramatic effect.
“Cock.”

Her head jolted, as if her ear were trying
to catch the word straight from my mouth. Then she smiled. “Maci
Patricia Goodwin, did you just say what I think you said?”

“If it was ‘cock,’ then yes.” I returned her
comical grin.

“Oh. My. God. You really have changed,
haven’t you?” She jumped to her feet. “I’ve been trying to get you
to say that silly word forever. Years even. And look at you,
throwing it out there like it’s no big deal.”

“You can no longer call me a prude.”

“I guess not.” She waved me in for a hug. “I
can’t believe my bestie is having orgasms, saying cock, and falling
in love. Real love. It’s like you’re a totally new woman.”

I shrugged her off. “I can’t tell if you’re
making fun of me.”

“I’m seriously proud of you. No joke.
Honest.”

I looked her in the eye and could tell she
meant it. I returned her hug. After a minute, we broke it up, and
she walked into the kitchen. “Breakfast?” she asked.

“Already ate,” I answered.

“All right.” She pulled out a box of cereal
from the cupboard. “So, are you going to tell me about last night?
What changed? What put that huge smile on your face?”

I gave her all the details: the gym, the
candles, the emotion, and the exchange of those three simple, but
meaningful words. After I went through the entire night, and our
conversation was tailing off, she pointed at the kitchen table.
“You got something in the mail yesterday. A big envelope.”