We Are Made of Stardust - Peaches Monroe #1 (32 page)

Our timing was perfect, because we’d just pulled up in front of my house, and after all that sexy licking, I needed a good rogering.

In my most dramatic, breathy voice, I said, “Would you like to come in for a nightcap?”

“I have to be back on-set in nine hours, which means I can only come in and fuck you for eight and a half straight hours.”

“Then I guess we’ll skip the nightcap and get right to the fucking.”

He growled as he pushed open the door. Cool, moist air filled my lungs. I stepped out to find it wasn’t raining, exactly, but the air was dense with that misty Pacific Northwest humidity that hangs in the air, like rain in slow motion.

Dalton took a moment to give instructions to Vern about picking him up in the morning, and then we ran together into the house.

Shayla wasn’t home, because she was working a split shift and closing the restaurant. I knew she’d be a while, since the staff usually partied together on Monday nights after closing. (And Tuesday nights, most Wednesdays, every other Thursday, alternating Fridays, plus Saturdays if someone’s birthday fell within the previous or following week.)

“Here we are again,” he said as we entered my bedroom.

This time, I was mindful to close the door in case my roommate came home. There’s absolutely nothing shameful about riding your studpony and calling him Lionheart, unless of course, someone finds out.

The overhead light was too bright, so I clicked on the adjustable lamp I used for reading in bed. That was a little too bright for nude viewing of someone who eats carbohydrates, so I peeled off a damp layer, the green lace tank top, and draped it over the lamp.

“Mood lighting,” I said as the room took on a cool, green cast.

Dalton pulled out the drawer next to my bed. “Good. We’ll need all of these.”

I clapped my hands. “Balloon animals?”

He stripped down without delay. Grinning, he said, “I’ll show you balloon animals. Get those sexy little fuck-me-in-the-ass denim shorts off and bend over that bed.”

I gulped, and then I did exactly as ordered. Naked from the waist down, I gathered my pillows for support and bent over.

He came closer, and I freaked.

“Music,” I said, standing upright again and running to the dresser. I pushed the books off my stereo, and set it to the playlist I usually used for… let’s just call it relaxing.

The sultry sounds of Justin Timberlake (don’t judge me, I know you like him, too) came out through the tiny speakers with the surprisingly big sound.

His voice bordering on stern, Dalton said, “Stop stalling and get your sweetness over here. Time for those dirty porn things you requested.”

“Eep!” I returned to the side of the bed and bent forward.

“Just one, small adjustment.”

Something hard tapped against my heel. I lifted my foot, and he slid a good-sized hardcover book under my right foot, and then repeated the same with my left foot.

“Perfect,” he said, tearing open a condom wrapper.

“Eep!” I repeated, my whole backside exposed and practically quivering with excitement.

With my pulse pounding in my ears, I awaited a tap at my back door.

He didn’t go straight for my puckered kisser, though, but massaged my clit and very wet slit with his fingers. His touch felt so good, as always, and soon he replaced his fingers with the head of his sheathed cock. I moaned with pleasure, my body flushing with heat. My muscles relaxed, and I could feel myself opening like the loading bay doors, ready to receive. He could drive his big truck in… any time.

He nudged harder and filled P-town with his cock.

First he stroked in and out of my pussy, his hands firmly on my hips. He paused to withdraw and slide his length along me, between my lips and bluntly across my clit. The whole area between my legs became one throbbing hotspot of sensitivity.

He took me to the edge, but neither of us slipped over. We were holding out, but not holding back. Not vocally, at least.

“Oh, Lionheart,” I moaned.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re wrapped around my dick.”

He thrust hard.

“Lionheart!”

“You want more? You want me to fuck you like a porno-pony?”

“Yes! Fuck me, you porno-pony.”

And then… then it was party time.

He slowed down, thick and almost ready to unload deep within me. Slow to the point of stillness, he pushed up the white and black camisole I was still wearing, and his hands stroked up and down my back. He kept grinding into my pussy as he rubbed my back, which was so sexy, like I was an extension of his cock, my torso branching off from his body at the hips.

I groaned in frustration, wanting to come. Hot. Swollen. Wet. Wanting.

He withdrew from my pussy and rubbed the slippery tip against my pinched O, which made me say, “Oh!”

O again. “Oh!”

Between the lube on the condom and my excited juices, he slipped in easily. A whole new set of bright lights flashed on behind my eyelids.

O.

“You feel so fucking good around my dick.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Can you take it all?”

Nervous giggles.

“Laughing?” His tone was light with amusement. He grunted, “I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

He thrust deeply, his balls hot and prickly against my pussy now.

With encouraging grunts from me, he sped up.

“Harder, faster,” I said. (Classic!)

He really gave it to me, harder and faster and harder again.

Our bodies slapped together amidst animal noises for a spell, and we changed positions a few times, finally getting into a more relaxed situation, lying on our sides on the soft bed.

He kept grinding into me from behind, sending stars all through my body. I propped one leg up for access, and he reached over the side of my hip to find my sweet wetness with his fingers. With a gentle touch, he played me like the world’s tiniest bongo drum, and then worked me like his fingers were a tiny bulldozer trying to flatten a stubborn anthill.

I came with a wail, alarmed at the force. I broke like a dam, and, ladies and gentlemen, it was a gusher.

He grunted and pulsed, coming right after me, and I enjoyed the sensation of his firehose blasting into its sheath, deep within me, but with all the gushing, I was just a little alarmed that I’d somehow broken my vagina.

After he withdrew from my backdoor, I cupped my hand down there against my pussy to catch the strange flood of mystery fluid. I wriggled my way off the bed and darted straight out the door and into the bathroom next door.

What. The. Fuck.

I’d half-expected to find a gusher of blood in my hand, from my period starting early, but it was just colorless, odorless fluid. Not urine, but something else.

I sat on the edge of the tub and pondered this new discovery.

I was a squirter?

I’d heard of girls shooting out fluid during deep g-spot stimulation, but hadn’t exactly believed.

Dalton tapped on the door. “You okay?”

“Fine! Gimme a sec and come join me in the shower?”

Uh… sure, I was fine. Never mind that I felt like a teenage boy who just had his first wet dream and was scared, confused, and possibly aroused again. I had a squirting orgasm?

“Sure, I’ll join you,” he said. “Should I bring anything? Are you hungry or thirsty?”

I stared at the interior side of the old, wooden door. It had been orange and blue when we moved in, and we’d repainted everything inside, but skimped on a final coat. You could see the blue through the cream color. It really needed another coat.

I put my face in my hands. What the hell was I doing? Distracting myself from this scary situation by thinking about paint. That wasn’t good.
Eyes wide open.

“Peaches?”

“Just give me five minutes. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” I looked at my blotchy face in the mirror, my eyes looking wide and frightened. “And bring me up a beer.”

“Will do.”

After he walked away, I splashed some cold water on my face and tried to pull myself together. I used the toilet and checked. Yes, my pee was still yellow, and not at all like the other fluid. My butt was tingling and happy, but not juicy, thanks to the condom. So, that squirting thing had really happened.

Huh.

I got the shower running, and a few minutes later, Dalton joined me, two unopened cans of cold beer in his hands. He pressed them against my buttocks to make me shriek, of course.

“You’re so bad,” I said.

“You make me want to be bad. Now kiss me like I’m dangerous.”

I complied, enjoying his lips on mine, in the shower, our intimacy so casual and right.

He cracked open one of the cans and passed it to me. We took turns standing under the hot water, doing the two-person shower dance.

Some of the shower water was splashing into my beer, so I drank deeply before it got watered down.

“Gotta replenish your fluids,” he said, grinning.

What was that supposed to mean? Guardedly, I stared up at him.

“Do you have to work in the morning?” he asked.

The morning. Work. My morning mocha at Java Jones.

“I ran into that girl, Alexis, this morning,” I said.

He looked annoyed. “That’s too bad. I would have thought she’d take her money and get lost.”

“How do you know her, exactly?”

His head nodded under weight I couldn’t see. “For a while, she was like my sister. Remember I told you I ran away from my parents with a woman?”

“She was someone in the porn business, right? I mean
adult film
business.”

“Don’t be politically correct on my account, but, yes. Her name was Katherine. Everyone called her Kiki. She had more charisma than common sense, and like an idiot, I went straight from trying to date two high school girls at once to losing my virginity to a porn star.”

I ran my free hand over his wet chest as he took his turn under the shower. “I hate that she took advantage of you when you were young.”

“We all take advantage. It’s what people do.”

A lump caught in my throat. I never liked it when someone said bad things about human nature. It was as if they were paving a future bad road with excuses.

He continued, “Kiki was Alexis’s mother.”

“Was?”

“Kiki hung herself.”

I put my empty beer can on the edge of the tub, then turned back to hug him. I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He looked genuinely sad. “Kiki hung herself the week after I moved out and broke up with her for good. I said I was done with the adult film industry, and I honestly wished her the best. I thought she was going to be okay, but she wasn’t right in the head.”

I gazed up at him. Now we both had our arms wrapped around each other, and I couldn’t tell you who was supporting whom. I worried that if I let go, we’d both fall away.

“I thought of Alexis as a sister,” he said. “We were practically the same age, so I couldn’t see myself as a father figure.”

“She seemed so angry at you.”

“People misplace their anger. Her mother’s dead, so all that pain had nowhere to go. Grief is like a heat-seeking missile, and it burrows into the nearest heart.”

“It’s been a few years, though. She needs to move on and leave you alone.”

“When you’re famous, people refuse to disappear. Even when you give them money and they promise to be quiet, they keep coming back.”

I thought of the NDA I’d signed that day and pulled back.

Was I just a future problem for Dalton Deangelo?

Was that how he saw me?

Dalton had been staring down at our feet in the tub, and now he looked up at me. Water from the shower streamed down his face, and his eyes were red, but I couldn’t tell if he was crying.

Despite my fears, I felt my eyes water with sympathy tears at his pain.

“What about your parents?” I asked.

“My mother died of a drug overdose two years ago,” he said.

I mouthed the words “I’m sorry,” though my voice was cut off by emotion.

“Not as sorry as I am,” he said. “It was my hush money that fueled her utter collapse.”

The water cooled down, the hot water tank in the basement reaching its limits.

“And your father?” I asked, hating myself for my insensitive curiosity.

“The checks keep clearing, but we’ve not spoken directly since the fight we had the day I left with Kiki.”

I stood shivering as the water turned from cool to cold. I reached around Dalton to turn off the tap, since he hadn’t seemed to notice.

He chuckled, his voice hollow in the echoing bathroom now that the running water was stopped. “I told him I was going to be a big star one day, and I’d buy a big mansion and they’d beg me to live in the guest house.”

I pulled two towels from the cupboard and handed one to him. He seemed confused, then after a few blinks, started to slowly pat himself dry.

“I’m sorry about everything with your family,” I said.

“Your parents seem so perfect. I was watching them at the wedding, and during the speeches, they kept looking at each other with so much tenderness.”

I laughed, thinking of their current argument over my father’s ratty old recliner, and now the buckets being tossed down on the bushes.

“There’s more than meets the eyes,” I said. “I know I’m lucky, though. They’ve been more than understanding. They saved my life.”

“How?”

My throat closed up, and then I was crying, barely able to catch my breath.

Sometimes, it just hit me like that.

I moved my jaw, thinking about telling him, but then I remembered the paperwork I’d signed that day. I’d signed
his
NDA, but he hadn’t signed mine. So he didn’t need to know. Nobody did.

“It’s been a long day,” he said gently, pulling me into a damp hug and wrapping his big towel around both of us.

“A very long day.” I smiled, the waterworks finished.

“Sleep with me,” he said. “Join me in the darkness, walk through my dreams, and hold my hand in the morning light.”

I nodded, because what can you say after something as beautiful as that?

We spent a few minutes brushing our teeth and getting ready for bed, just like a regular couple, then I climbed into my bed next to a very sleepy-faced, droopy-eyelid-having Dalton Deangelo.