We Were One Once Book 1 (7 page)

I close the distance
between us and put my hand out for her to hold, but she shakes her
head, her voice huskier, “On your knees, Trust.”

I laugh. “Red, that was a
one-time thing.” She starts to shake her head again, but I put my
hand between her tits and shove her hard backwards. She doesn’t let
out a sound as she drops onto the sofa. I grab both shoes and toss
them, then yank off her jeans in one tug. She’s laughing again,
sprawled out for me—legs spread, arms wide. She has no shame. She
knows she’s beautiful.

I smile seeing her pussy
waxed clean. Her lips are on full display. Her tight round cheeks
are off the edge of the sofa. I lower to my knees, and she places
her legs over my shoulders, smiling at me. “Knew I’d get you on
your knees.” I slap her thigh, not too hard, more playful but with
a nice smack to it. She yelps teasingly and tilts her hips up
towards my face.

“Ask nicely.” I grip her
thighs, liking how her muscles fight against the strength of my
hands.

“Please!” She bites her
lower lip, keeping it cinched under her white teeth, watching me
and flaunting her pussy with a small pumping motion. I can feel her
thighs tense more against me; her stomach is flat and muscled.
“Pretty please!”

I slowly lower my face to
her right thigh, kissing and licking my way towards her pussy. Her
skin is silky and sweet tasting. Her hands reach for the sides of
my head, but I lift my face. “No. Hands off.” She pouts and smiles
at the same time, dramatically raising hands over head to grasp the
top of the sofa. I continue my kisses up and over the top of her
smooth skin. I smile when she tries to grind against my mouth as I
head back down her left thigh.

“Tease!” It’s a fake whine,
but it’s filled with lust.

“You weren’t specific, Red.
You’ll have to ask nicely to get exactly what you want.” I flash a
wicked grin, keeping my lips pressed to her leg, nibbling her thigh
slightly. I have to laugh at the frustrated narrowing of her eyes
though.

“Then by all means, I’ll be
very specific for you. Please place your mouth on my pussy, licking
every inch you can reach with your beautiful tongue.” I start to
head towards her pussy again, but she stops me, “Wait…I’m not
finished.” I smile and raise my eyebrows. “I want your tongue
darting in and out of me fast, I want your tongue like a straw
around my clit while you suck me deeply, and I want your tongue
flat and hard against me like I’m the best fucking ice cream you’ve
ever tasted, Trust.”

I smile, impressed with
her. Most women are too shy to talk this way, even with a guy they
know. Grace has no such limitations. “Yes, ma’am.” I lower my lips
to cup over her pussy, pulling the smooth skin into my mouth. I’m
rewarded with a small gasp from her. She’s swollen and wet already,
turned on by her own words. I glance up and her head is pushed
back, eyes closed. I let myself get lost in her.

My tongue works perfectly
through all of the acrobatics she wanted, adding a few of my own. I
stop her orgasm twice, though, forcing her to hold on a little
longer despite her attempts to push against me, to move her hips to
fuck my mouth. She’s small, but strong. Her gasps and moans are
getting stronger too. Finally, she lets out one long and loud,
“Please.” It’s a plea full of need and frustration, her head
shaking side to side against her upstretched arms.

I pull her off the sofa a
little more, cupping her ass with both my hands. I’ve been ready
for her, almost painfully hard. Keeping her legs on my shoulders, I
push my cock to just inside her wet lips. “Is this what you want?”
I won’t be able to tease her for long; my own need is getting to be
too much.

“Yes!” She pushes against
me and the sofa at the same time, forcing more of me inside her.
She’s being a very greedy girl, but I can’t pull back now. I
squeeze her ass, stretching her apart more and slamming into her
with all the need I feel—with all the need I’ve felt since I first
saw her. She screams out and grinds against me. I can feel her
tightness around me. I’m pushing against her, forcing my way inside
her deeper, but she bucks and continues grinding hard.

We fuck each other—her
pushing against the sofa, me pulling her to me. When she comes,
it’s in waves that squeeze my cock and force my own orgasm to
stretch longer. My deep moan drowns out her long cry and final soft
mewing.

I stop pushing against her
but keep her legs pinned to me. When I open my eyes, hers are
already smiling at me, her lower lip locked in her teeth again. I
kiss both her thighs before gently lowering her legs to the floor.
She stands, brushing her hair back as I kiss her stomach.
“Bathroom’s back there.” I nod with my chin toward the
hallway.

She saunters away, leaving
her clothes on the floor. I watch her ass roll and hips shoot out.
She has a great walk. I put on my boxers and head to the kitchen
for a bottle of water. I come back to sit on the sofa like she was,
slouched. She returns with a smile on her face and takes the bottle
from me. I watch her neck move with big gulps of the cold
water.

Her fearlessness, owning
her nakedness even after sex, is beautiful to me. She can see me
looking her up and down, and she obviously likes it. She hands me
back the bottle. “Sorry, Trust, don’t have time for seconds.” She
moves away from me before I can grab her.

I idly watch her pick up
her clothes to get dressed when I have a thought. “Do you always
leave the house without underwear?”

“I like to be
unencumbered.” She leans over and kisses my chest, her eyes hooded
with thick lashes, her grin disappearing. “And I like the rough
feel of denim against my pussy. Even more after rough
sex.”

I harden a little at her
words. I grab her arm but allow her to pull away. “You don’t want
to stay longer? Order food, fuck some more?”

She smiles, pulling her top
down and bending over in front of me to fluff her hair upside down.
She has her jeans and heels on again too. Her ass is hard and her
legs lean. She whips her head back up and tosses her hair side to
side, not turning to me. “You’re sweet, but my boyfriend will be
home soon. I need to go.”

I laugh. I want to see how
far she’s going to go with this. We still haven’t exchanged names.
She hasn’t asked anything more about me. “So, how do I get in touch
with you?”

She grabs her jacket and
purse, turning to smile at me again from the door. “Is this really
your place?” I nod. “Then I guess I know where to reach you if I’m
in the mood for some ice cream again.” Then she blows me a kiss
before walking out my door.

I stand up, walking back
into my kitchen. I don’t keep much food stocked. I don’t spend a
lot of time here. Being in the city doesn’t provide enough privacy
for me or enough space. Torturing good screams out of a girl takes
elbow room. A whip needs its length to really crack a good cry from
eyes bled dry of tears already.

I stand in the cold air and
light of the fridge, downing what’s left of a jug of orange juice.
Grace drained me in more ways than one. I wanted to be done with
her, but she’s sticking. I keep going back to the two versions of
her I know—both cold, both distant. Both are beyond my reach in a
way.

I’m not vain. Narcissistic,
sure, but everyone confuses these two. It’s not vanity that has me
wondering why she was so willing to come here, fuck me, then leave
without even getting my name. I wonder because it’s what I’d do.
She acted like me—in it only for her own reasons, not giving a shit
about me.

I smile. That’s why she’s
sticking? It’s not the crazy shit of whatever she was doing in
Chinatown. No, it’s because today, she was like me. But is she?
Really?

I want to know.

I smile. I want to have
her. Fuck my rule.

San Francisco: Simon
Lamb

The thing about an
obsession is it takes a lot of energy and time. I think Ugo Betti
said it best, “‘Mad’ is a term we use to describe a man who is
obsessed with one idea and nothing else.” I was told I have
obsessive behavioral traits. Then I looked up everything to do with
obsession. I told the fucking shrink to kiss my ass after I learned
the most brilliant minds are always obsessed with
something.

It was Grandfather’s doing,
the shrink. He felt it was necessary after that first girl killed
herself—after he learned what I’d done to her. Truthfully, he never
understood me, but he tried his best to be a father to me. I did my
best to make him think it was enough.

Now I find myself obsessed
again. It’s not my usual obsession either.
That
I can handle. Finding a new
product, finding a way to break down a girl’s resistance, finding a
way to build her back up to an obedient singularity, finding a way
to not be bored with doing all of the above—
that
I’m used to.

No, my new obsession has
been to find out everything I can about Grace. And I am going mad
with failing. I have only come up with a paltry sum of
details.

The Chinatown apartment is
still rented under her name. All her things are still there. The
food is long rotted in the fridge, dust collected on her clothes
and bed, but rent is paid automatically each month. She never went
back to the twink store, never collected any of the astrology shit
she left behind.

The queens who treated her
like family said they received an email telling them she went back
home, but they didn’t know where that was. They both had tears
describing how distraught they were at her abrupt leaving and her
rudeness for not staying in contact. It was easy to get them to
talk. I acted in need of a good horoscope reading for my best
chances to meet Mr. Right. They referred me to a place down the
street since they didn’t have the heart to hire anyone to take
Grace’s place.

They have no idea that she
is still in the city or that she has a one-bedroom condo in Potrero
too. It’s small, a second floor unit, bright and cheery. All her
clothes in the closet are bright and cheery. It’s the antithesis of
the Chinatown apartment. The only similarity is the art; it’s all
framed children’s drawings. She hasn’t been there in months. A
cleaning service keeps it all neat and tidy for her in case she
ever returns. It still smells like her at least, like she might be
back at any minute.

She lives with her
boyfriend full-time now. That’s the building I saw her leaving.
There’s not much of her in his apartment, though, except the mess
of clothes, makeup, and jewelry she leaves lying around. The rest
of the apartment is a typical guy place—black leather, big TV,
nothing changed by a feminine touch.

She lives there but still
out of a suitcase, just a bag tossed in the corner and forgotten.
Her things are all scattered like they don’t really have a home.
Half the closet is emptied. Poor bastard, he’d tried to make room
for her, invite her in. She never took over the space.

Two years ago she became
the girlfriend to a photographer. It didn’t last, but he got her
pictures to the right people, got her started in her low-rate
modeling career. Two years ago was the start of both the lease in
Chinatown and the purchase of the Potrero condo. It was like she
knew she’d need both sooner or later.

But before two years ago,
she didn’t exist. She has no connection with anyone—no family, no
friends, no online presence, no credit history. Her SSN is a clean
slate until two years ago as well. She paid cash for her condo,
paid in full. She still doesn’t have any credit history. There are
no credit cards, no investments, just a bank account.

She has a security deposit
box too—boxes, actually—but not even I can get into
those.

I couldn’t find anything
out about her before two years ago. She didn’t exist before then.
No birthplace, no details, not even a driver’s license or ID to be
found.

So I’m back to my theories,
but each one is more farfetched than the last. Runaway from a crazy
husband? Witness protection? Fugitive? Each one only explains so
much, then falls apart.

And I am going mad with
obsession now. I’d meant to get information, and then use it to
seduce her, win her, dump her. I wanted to get rid of her once and
for all—purge her.