Stripped (17 page)

I hate to admit it, even to myself, but she’s right. When I’m with her I lose all track of time. I look around the place—it’s nearly empty, and checking my watch, I realize Glenda will be announcing last call.

“Okay, coach, but before we go you have to sing one song with me.”

“No deal.”

“I promise I’ll make it memorable.”

“I have no doubt. And no.”

“Come on.” She’s not budging from her seat. “What can I do to get you up there with me?”

Now she white knuckles her chair. “Nothing, Stone.”

I doubt that.
“Be right back.”

I zip out of sight and rush to the karaoke MC before he packs up. “Hey, mate, could you do me a solid?”

“It’s the end of the night, so this is the last song.” He thumbs at the inebriated bloke slurring Prince’s “Kiss” in the deepest, most bass voice I’ve ever heard.

I pass him a folded twenty.

“Looks like there’s time for one more song after all,” he says.

I grab a bar towel and stuff it halfway into the back pocket of my jeans.

“Dancing in the Dark” begins to play—Bruce circa 1984. Keeping my back to the audience—or rather my bum—I hope to give a performance in the spirit of the classic Springsteen album,
Born in the USA
.

Singing, dancing, and shaking my arse, I sing only to Em.

At the first chorus, I leap from the stage and dance across the floor to our table. She stares with wide eyes as I approach. When my intention becomes apparent, she jerks her head vigorously back and forth in protest.

NO. WAY,
she mouths. Her shoulders are hunched nervously.

I nod, flash my best smile and watch her resolve crumble.

When I’m close enough to give her my hand, she takes it.

Oh Christ, I love when she’s all uptight then melts at my touch.

I dance her back to the stage, carry her up the stairs, and spin her around.

She laughs, and I think it must be what shooting stars sound like from heaven. We move about the stage, almost mimicking the original iconic video. She’s Courtney Cox and I’m Bruce, and by the second verse she’s belting out the words with me.

The lyrics are fucking brilliant. They fit our situation like a glove—I’m dissatisfied with my life and more than ready to be her hired gun, she needs to get over her fallen-apart world, and we’ve each sparked a fire in the other—I want to be hers so we can dance in the dark.

And the bonfire ignites.

Chapter Seventeen

Emelie

Up in flames

We barely make it into his apartment before I’m all over him.

I’m sure I’m behaving like a trollop. Trollops must have a lot of fun.

“I just can’t keep my hands off you, Em,” Stone pants lustily.

And lustfully.

“Good. I like that.”

Our hands are all up in each other’s clothes; we can’t pull them off fast enough! I get his shirt over his head and drop it to the floor. His large, strong hands have worked themselves beneath my dress, and he runs a play for my boobs. I gain entry to his pants and immediately embrace the behemoth.

No need to waste time. We’ve had
days
of foreplay.

My kitten is throbbing, my heart is pounding, and my not-buzzed—I only had one beer— brain scoffs at and ignores heartily any and all possible ramifications of my actions.

The only ramification I care about at the moment is Stone
ramming
that gorgeous hard cock of his into me!

“Oh fuck!” he growls low and throaty as he dips his fingers into my panties. “Can I take you up against the wall?”

“Like you wanted to when you sexted me? Please do.”

“For Christ’s sake, you get so wet for me!” His fingers are tickling through my slit at the same time he’s shoving us urgently towards the wall.

When my back hits it, it’s rougher than he’d intended. “I’m sorry. You okay?”

The sensations that spread through me as he thrusts two fingers into my honey pot make me forget all about my back.

“Never better.” But my panties have just become a casualty of torrential flooding—the force of which deems them unrecoverable.

I moan—hooker style—loud, long, and lasciviously while I try to pull down his zipper. Much to my frustration it gets caught.

“Pants. Off,” I cry out as if it’s some kind of wizarding charm against stuck zippers.

Stone laughs and, employing highly proficient levels of undressing prowess, fixes the zipper and pulls it down with one hand, all while keeping his fingers buried happily inside of me.

I grab at his huge and hardy joystick.

“You want my cock in you?”

“Yes.”

“Just a little more patience,” he purrs against my lips. “I can’t resist all of this sweetness.”

He hoists me from my waist and lifts me up onto him so I’m in position for a
backwards
shoulder ride
!

My back knocks against the wall again. I peer down, and Stone’s gorgeous face is right there, facing my soaking kitten. My thighs are level with his head.

“Oh, I’ve been craving you for days.” His voice is a thunderous rumble.

I’m going to come, and he isn’t even going to need to touch me!

He uses a finger to pull my panties to the side.

“You have the most beautiful pussy, Em.” He blows cool then warm air over it and I go boneless.

He’s made me so wet, he’s going to need scuba gear.

His tongue parts my waters like Moses did the Red Sea.

“I’m gonna explode.”

“Good, do it in my mouth. Explode all over my face,” he mumbles with his mouth full.

He licks and sucks and pulls at my core with his lips.

“OH FUCK!”

There is so much going on: the cold wall on my ass, his fingers and palms digging into the flesh of my thighs, spreading me apart while his amazing tongue is like a licking flame of fire—the contrast is exquisite, and the sensations are building to the kind of orgasm only he gives me.

I’m becoming an addict!

My own personal global warming spreads throughout me as my body begins to spasm. Stone doesn’t relent, he continues lapping at my clit as I tremble. My thighs lock around his head while my hands—with nothing else to grab hold of—latch onto the back of his head, smashing his face and soft pillow lips into my frenzied center.

With dread, I consider—could there be a chance of me injuring his face, or his mouth parts, or his head? I try consciously to loosen my grip so Stone doesn’t become a casualty of trollop-
ing
.

Stone hardly takes a breath as he grabs my ass with one hand—and my tit in the other—drops me back to his waist and shoves his sopping mouth over mine while he moans like a porn star.

“I have got to get my cock inside that heat.” He rubs said cock over my kitten to lube it up, and I can’t imagine how he got the condom on during all of that earlier commotion.

And behold, the behemoth rides the slip and slide!

“Oh fuck! You’re perfect, Em!”

Man knows how to use his parts—like an art form. First he thrusts hard, fast, and oh so deep, working me up until I can’t catch a proper breath, before he pulls out really slowly, torturing the two of us, staying shallow. He uses his hand on his wand to swirl the tip of his cock right at my opening before edging the head through the labia. Such a small, agonizing move.

I love it.

I hate it.

Then he drives his entire length into me like a bolt of lightning.

“FUCK!” I cry, almost embarrassed again.

Stone’s steely eyes smolder into mine. He pulls out inch by glorious inch, deliberately achingly slowly, and then watches my expression with insane glee as he shoots back into my core, causing me to become a whimpering mess in his arms.

I cry out. “Oh God, I lov
e
the way you feel inside of me!”

“I’m certain I love… it too.”

He grunts and bucks hard—no holds barred, no punches held—I’m writhing with each exertion.

We come together in a fury.

After our oxygen levels come back to normal, he kisses me so tenderly, it nearly brings tears to my eyes.

But who cries after sex, right? Especially great sex?!

Not this trollop, that’s for sure.

With no words spoken, he carries me to the bed, folds me in his arms and we drift to sleep.

The buzzing is raucous. What a horrible alarm clock. I want to smash it, or better yet, throw it out a high window over concrete. But I soon realize that whatever it is, it isn’t by his bed.

“Shit.” He rolls over groggily. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fuck!” Stone exclaims. “It’s nine o’clock! That’s my parents!”

He jumps out of the bed—very naked and utterly glorious—and races to his closet, where he yanks a pair of pants off a hanger.

“Today is the day of the ceremony at the new Habitat for Humanity complex.”

His urgency propels me out of the bed. I follow him into the living room to retrieve my discarded clothing as he—comically, one leg at a time and tripping as he goes—lunges for the intercom on the wall by the door.

“Mum?”

“Where are you, Stone? We’ve been down here ringing you for fifteen minutes!” his mother’s voice—sounding very much like his sister—broadcasts through the speaker.

“Sorry, Mum. I was at Richie’s for coffee. I just got back into the apartment.”

“Just hurry up, your father and I will wait down here in the car.”

They disconnect and Stone rushes back to the bedroom closet for a stick of deodorant and a clean shirt.

“That was an effective lie.”

“It was a little white one. Would you have rather had me tell my mum I was banging the fuck out of your sweet pussy last night and exhausted myself, thus having overslept?”

“No, probably not.”

He nods in understanding and grabs his shoes. “Why aren’t you getting dressed?”

“I’ll wait for you to leave with them and then sneak out after.”

“No way, come with. It’ll be fun if you’re there.”

“Where?” I squeak. “The ceremony? With your parents?”

“No better time to meet them than the present.”

“Meeting them was not in the proposition.”

“New amendment.”

“I don’t think you can keep doing that.”

“I think I just did.”

“I’m even not showered!”

“Wash your face and brush your hair and you’ll look stunning.”

“You mean go without…”—I’m incredulous—“makeup?!”

“I don’t mind at all. You’re more beautiful without all that anyway,

“Yeah, that would be like going without clothes.”

“You don’t need those either—in fact, I’d prefer you without them. I mean, if it’s a choice.”

Ten minutes later, Stone and I are sliding into the backseat of his folks’ white luxury Escalade.

I’m wondering how exactly he talked me into this. Then I remember.
Oh yeah, he had his penis in my vagina earlier. And that makes me irrational.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Emelie,” Stone’s father tells me via the visor mirror. His accent as thick as Stone’s.

“Thank you, Mr. Wright.”

“Please, nothing so formal; we save Mr. Wright for business meetings. Call me Jack.” Jack has short dark hair like Stone’s and the same Paul Newman-rare blue sea glass eyes.

“So, coffee, huh?” his mom—a beautiful elfin fairy just like his sister Glenda—asks, turning her head to get a good look at her son. Her hazel eyes narrow suspiciously.

I freeze.

Stone is quick. “Yeah, Richie got some new flavored Green Mountain Blend he wanted to try while he discussed the Gateway contract. Emelie met us there this morning. Sorry I lost track of the time.”

“How is Gateway shaping up, anyway?” Jack asks.

I gaze over at Stone, wondering how long he can keep this going.

“Knowing Richie, he’ll have the paperwork signed before the weekend.”

His dad laughs. His mother doesn’t.

“Are the two of you dating?” she inquires seriously.

I start to shake my head when I hear Stone’s answer.

“Yes,” he replies, easy as a sunrise.

His mother gushes as she turns in her seat. Her blonde ponytail bounces. “Really? Oh, Emelie, it’s so wonderful to meet you!”

Now I’m panicking.
Dating?

She continues, “I’m Linda. Forgive me if I’m—”

“Crazy,” Stone finishes for her.

“Don’t be cheeky!’ she scolds him with an angry expression before gazing back at me with adoring eyes. “I was going to say a little overzealous maybe.”

“Stone never brings friends—” Jack says.

“Or dates,” Linda coos, “to these types of events.”

“To any events,” Jack agrees seriously with his eyes on the road.

“Or to meet us, ever,” Linda marvels. “Except in high school. But that was forever ago.”

“Okay! Enough with the history lesson,” Stone breaks in.

“What do you do, Emilie?” his mom continues, undaunted.

Loaded question. “I’m a retired dancer.”

“Retired at your age?” Jack says with disbelief.

“Em was a principal for the New York Ballet. She got injured,” Stone says.

“Em, huh?” Jack smiles and I can see who Stone inherited his cocky grin from.

“She can answer for herself, Stone. We talk to you every day,” Linda lovingly complains. “I’m so sorry about your injury. Sounds a lot like what happened with Stone when he was playing footy. Missed out on his scholarship and everything. What do you do now, dear?”

“Emelie works at the dance studio.”

“Stone! Hush!”

That breaks the tension for me and I chuckle.

“Ugh!” she remarks, frustrated. “He was naughty and unruly as a child and never grew out of it.”

Oh, if she only knew how naughty and unruly he is!

And I think he definitely
grew into
it
.

The ceremony is very nice. Stone is more of a celebrity than I originally thought—and not just for dancing or taking off his clothes. Looks like he and his family’s company often donate property and supplies to Habitat for Humanity.

Stone says a few poetic words before pounding in the first symbolic nail.

I swear, I can feel that man imbedding himself into my heart as surely as he secures that nail into the wood.

“I want to dance with you,” he says abruptly during rehearsal a few days later.

“You are dancing with me.”

“I mean I want to dance a duet.”

“Why? It’d distract from your practice and be a complete waste of time.”
Why would he even suggest this?

“Dancing with you could never be a waste of time.”

Immediately this discussion scrapes over my mind like fingernails on a chalkboard.

“It would in this case.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer.”