Authors: Kimball Lee
“We need to join your family, let me wash up,” I say and her eyes fly open as I lift her and set her down onto shaky legs. “You okay there, beauty, can you stand on your own? We gotta do this, look at me Scarlet,” I say and slide my fingers across my lips and then suck the heart-shattering taste of her from them, it’s sooooo sweet and good, and pure torture not to fuck her here and now. “I’m gonna eat that perfect pussy of yours and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t walk for days, you understand?”
Her eyes sparkle like fresh honey and all she can do is nod as I turn on the faucet, move her in front of me, wrap my arms around her from behind, my cock pressed against her ass, and wash our hands together under the warm flow of water.
“I don’t like to wash your smell and taste off, beauty, I like you on me, and I
love
me inside of you, but we gotta be good for now. I don’t know if you want me anymore, but your body does, and I plan to take care of that good and slow, you okay with that?”
“Y-yes,” she squeaks out and I laugh because Scarlet is rarely at a loss for words, but I understand, the sex, our bodies together, we’re intense, and she’s about to find out just exactly how intense sex can be.
“I want you to keep the car, no arguments, alright?”
“I can’t keep it, it’s too much,” she says and I back up, dry my hands on a linen towel and watch her watch me in the mirror. Her eyes can’t stay focused on mine, they drift down to the outline of my erection and she licks her lips. A shot of pure adrenaline pours into my veins and I feel my cock jerk and I want to forget those people waiting at the table, it would be so easy just to bend her over the sink and pound into her, I probably wouldn’t last two minutes, I’m so keyed up. “Hey, look at my face, beauty. You want my cock?”
She nods eagerly and steps forward, her hand grasping me through the thin fabric of my pants. It takes every ounce of will power I can muster to wrap my fingers around her wrist and move her hand away.
“You’ll get it in a little while, but tell me you want it, and that you’ll keep the car, and tell me we’re not over each other.”
“I want your cock. I’ll keep the car. I am
so
not over you,” she says and her voice and body are trembling as she looks in my eyes, straightens her dress, picks up the remnants of her panties, and starts to toss them in the pristine little trash can.
“Good girl, let’s go have lunch, I have a proposition for you,” I say, taking the panties from her, I hold them to my nose for half a second and my cock twitches again, fucking bliss and agony, then I stuff them in my pocket. “You have another pair of panties in your purse?”
“Nope.”
“
Fuck
, let’s eat and get out of here fast.”
*
Scarlet…
I love my dad like crazy but I can’t focus on anything he’s saying to me after what just went down with Holt in the powder room. Holt is
here
, he came to my graduation, bought me car—a Jaguar convertible, no less!—best of all, his eyes and body language speak volumes about how this thing between us is far from over. And OMG he looks like a scrumptious, hunky dream in a suit and tie! He’s Clark Kent, Superman in disguise, and I’m definitely toast, ready to forgive and forget, get on my knees and worship his body, his beauty, his effortless skills at making me come faster than the speed of light. I’m his hopeless fan-girl and not one bit ashamed of it because he’s the kind of man you don’t let slip away. Obviously he feels the same way or he wouldn’t be here looking like he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in months, handing me the keys to a seventy-thousand dollar car, and ready and willing to face my parents, or more to the point, my highly annoying mother.
I should be pissed off at him because I’ve been an emotional zombie since the last time I saw him, when it seemed that a horse was more important to him than being supportive in my time of need. Turns out he was there for me and he thought I was down for a do-over with my ex. Of course he could have asked if that was really the case instead of sending a curt text inquiring about my dad’s health and a little thumbs-up when I texted that all was well. I just told myself that Holt and I were supposed to be a one week fuck-and-run, even though it felt more like an actual hit-and-run when it ended so abruptly. So why waste time holding a grudge when all I’ve wanted for the last two months—fifty six days, practically to the minute!—is to have him kissing, touching, pushing, pounding
me
, period. I’m not holding anything against him, except for my body, that is. I’m plastering every inch of myself against him ASAP! I’ve gone through hell wondering how it went so wrong between us, convinced that I’d gotten in way over my head, and for him I was nothing more than an easy piece of ass. But that isn’t the case and glory hallelujah, because Holt Corrigan is worth the wait and the pain, and as ‘fairytale’ as it sounds—just like it did from the very beginning, my heart
knows he’s
the one.
“So you named your daughters for colors? Holly green and Scarlet red?” Holt asks my mother, and I’m sure he’s trying to get my family to look away from my flushed face, disheveled hair, and hands that can’t stop toying with the silverware.
“No, no,” Mother says, smoothing her fingers over her pearls as she lights up under his emerald gaze. “I was eighteen when we had Holly and only dreaming of becoming a novelist. I was in love with Truman Capote’s work so she was named for Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s—the novella, not the movie. By the time Scarlet was born I’d made a name for myself in historical romance and I was infatuated with Margaret Mitchel and her incomparable
Gone With the Wind
. I was determined to be original so I spelled her name differently than the character in the novel. It wasn’t until I received her official birth certificate in the mail that I realized that Scarlet O’Neal sounded almost the same as Scarlett O’Hara, silly me. Do you read, Holt? At all?”
“Yes ma’am, most nights. Not romance though, I’m afraid. Cormac McCarthy, Elmore Leonard, Larry McMurtry, mostly. Jim Harrison is my favorite.”
“Oh, how… surprising!” She says, and I roll my eyes and Holly shakes her head with disgust at the level of our mother’s shallowness.
“So where was Gigi today, I didn’t see her at graduation? You, Penn, and Gigi not together, that’s certainly odd,” Daddy says as he and Holt dig into their steaks. Holly and my mother scarf their grilled lamb chops, and I pick at my salmon.
“I already told you, Daddy,” I say, annoyed, but not at him—at the humming between my thighs, the damp, wrenching ache that won’t go away, my NEED for Holt to satisfy me soon and completely, and with more than his magic fingers. “The miraculously persuasive Gigi pulled some strings and took her finals a week ahead of schedule. Her mother wasn’t coming for the ceremony anyway, so she went to the Kentucky Derby with Jon-Wylder McCauley and his older brother. The horse won and I guess she’s still with them, she’s kind of been out of touch.”
Yeah, and Gigi assured me that Campbell never goes to the races, but he went this year, and the few texts I’ve gotten from her were hot enough to burn up my phone!
I think but don’t say a word, that’s their affair, so to speak.
“I heard on the news about the McCauley’s horse winning,” my mother says, she’s interested in the conversation again since fame and dollar signs are involved. “What is that horse’s name, do you know, Holt?”
“Yes ma’am,” he says and my frigid-as-fuck mother blushes and smiles like Miss America when he aims that little-boy smile and slow, southern charm in her direction. She’s so two-faced, trashing him in favor of Corey every time we talked on the phone after Daddy was home from the hospital and I came back to San Antonio to finish my last semester.
“Pridey is what he’s called,” Holt goes on, he already understands that my mother is a gold-digger who doesn’t think he has anything to offer but his looks and a mouthwatering physique. “His registered name is Midnight’s Shining Pride. It was his sire, Pride of Midnight, who passed away the night Scarlet left…. When Mr. O’Neal was admitted to the hospital.”
“Call me Chandler, please,” Dad says, and I can see that he’s curious to see if Holt can handle Mom.
“You know more than just football, then? Did Scarlet tell you that Chandler ruined his chances to play pro ball way back when? What is it that you gave up a lucrative NFL career for, Holt, building things out of used wood?” My mother asks, greed overrides vanity and her words are sharp, my father leans in with his forearms on the table, staring her down.
“Do we need to rehash that tired tale, Caity? Let me just spit it out so Holt will get the gist of our marriage, excuse me—our ‘arrangement’. Holt, thanks to football I had a full ride to Georgia Tech but I blew out my knee in the final game of the first season. Caity and I married right out of high school and she was pregnant with Holly when they revoked my scholarship. We divorced for lack of money or love, I can’t recall which, they’re both the same in my wife’s opinion. Fifteen years later when we both had our acts together— I’d made my mark in investment banking, and Caity was a full blown cult figure in the world of pulp fiction—she agreed to remarry me so we could form a family unit for Holly. Nine months later my gift-from-above Scarlet was born, my daughters are my life, you see…. And the fairytale continues to unravel to this day,” he says, smiling bitterly and raising his glass to my scowling mother.
Holly and I both groan, “Mother, Daddy, pleeeezzz don’t do this now.”
“That’s why I quit,” Holt says, quickly bypassing the grim vibe hanging over our table. “I buy historic structures scheduled for demolition, dismantle them and put the pieces back together on my clients land. But yeah, I gave up a career where most players get their bodies permanently messed up by the age of thirty, I gave it up to do what I love. I made enough money in the two years I played and did endorsements, and how much is enough, right? Ten million, twenty, thirty? How much money does a man need to be happy in one lifetime?”
“Good man, good choice, go for happy and hang on to it by any means, if you’re lucky enough to find it,” Dad says, clapping Holt on the shoulder and winking at me.
“I keep up with personal finances by reading the financial journals that are a necessary part of my husband’s career,” Mother says, her eyes turning even more ruthless, and I wish to God I was sitting next to her so I could clap a hand over her babbling mouth. “You don’t
have
to lower yourself with manual labor, Holt, if I recall, your net worth is upwards of thirty million dollars.”
“I wanna hear about Holt and horses,” Holly interrupts, further squashing the sour tension between our parents and Mother’s quest to make Holt feel beneath her.
“Well, the first memory I have from childhood is riding Midnight’s mother, a mare named Pride and Honor, racing through the mesquite thickets on the Corazon Perdido,” Holt says, he rolls up his sleeves and leans forward with his forearms resting on the white tablecloth, and I can tell that my sister and mother are as riveted as I am at their sheer size and roped muscularity. “She was a beautiful mare, pitch-black with powerful legs that never seemed to get tired of running. She ran in hundreds of races and the only reason she never took first place was that she was crazy-wild and threw every jockey just before the finish line. They retired her early to the ranch and used her as a brood mare. Pride of Midnight was her first colt, he went on to win the Preakness and the Kentucky Derby as a three year old, and came in second for the Triple Crown. I got grounded and usually a taste of my father’s belt across my back when I’d sneak out to the stables and ride her without permission. I rode bareback, no saddle, no bridle, just unlatched the gate to her stall, climbed up on the railing, held onto her mane and took off. She loved it and she’d run like the wind, that was the fastest horse I’ve ever seen. I think she knew that a kid like me didn’t expect her to win, didn’t want anything at all from her but to feel her muscles working like magic as I held on and we flew over the ranch land.”
Holt seems far away and sad when he tells that story and I feel a clutch of love for him that makes my heart feel like a silver spike has lodged in its center.
“That sounds like an idyllic childhood, except for the part about your father’s belt,” My dad says and Holt clears his throat and finishes his drink in one long swallow.
“Not really,” He says abruptly, and he motions to the Maitre’d who nods vigorously and scurries over with a tray of champagne flutes and a bottle of Dom Perignon. “We should toast to Scarlet’s graduation, getting a degree is a great accomplishment.”
“To Scarlet!” everyone says, lifting their glasses and sipping.
“I mentioned to Scarlet that I have a proposition for her,” Holt says and my mother, sister, and I nearly choke on the champagne. “A job offer that will tie right in with her aspirations in Interior Design.”
“I thought you were coming home to Atlanta to work in my design firm, Scarlet,” Holly says, her eyes narrow, but then she smiles. I can tell that she weighed my options quickly—work as my sister’s assistant or work with Holt—and she’s no fool, she knows which option I’ll pick.
Of course I’ll choose the hot, gorgeous, huge man who has sublimely wrecked my body and heart, the man who is rough with his hands and mouth and cock, and gentle with his words and deeds. The man I haven’t stopped thinking about for a single second since the first time I laid eyes on him— duh!