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EIGHT

CEE CEE

The most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen has left me sore in ways I didn’t understand and my head is spinning, out of control, not with shame nor pain or fear. It’s spinning with delight.

The things I did for him. With him. The things I said to him. He filled me with so much cum, it will be a miracle if I’m not pregnant.

So why am I not in full blown panic? Good question. I can’t explain it. I honestly have no idea. Something about him feels so right I can only pray that following my gut will not land me in a world of hurt because I’ve been there before and I don’t care to visit again.

The loft is silent now, except for the hum of the heat coming out of the ducts in the ceiling. The throbbing between my legs is still there as I shift on the bed and sit up. Thorne woke me up at 5 AM with his mouth between my legs again, bringing me to two more orgasms before I nearly passed out.

The bed is empty now and the clock reads 7:30 AM. Last night, I’d set the alarm on my phone for eight o’clock when Thorne was in the kitchen getting me some water. I still have to go to work today and something told me I would not wake up on my own this morning. But here I am nonetheless, wide awake and feeling like my world has been set on its head.

“Come on, CeeCee, up and at ‘em.” I try to invigorate myself with some positive energy, but my mind just wanders to Thorne and the things he did to me.

I’m taking you now, in a way I’ve never done before. You’re going to give me that, CeeCee. It’s mine. The throaty words he whispered as he set himself inside of me, flesh to flesh, made me cum and I nearly do the same again just at the memory. He was so intense. So real.

I kick my legs and slap my hands over my eyes, trying to get a grip on reality.

The thought that I have to wear the same clothes to work today settles in. It’s Saturday, and I’m doing a favor for one of the other dentist’s translating on a weekend. But, when I can, I help out. If it wasn’t for the patient needing me there, I’d call off. I’m dragging and just as I wince and rise out of the bed, I look over to see a note on the nightstand.

“Good morning, beautiful. As I told you last night, I have an early meeting that couldn’t be canceled—otherwise I’d be there still, warm and tucked in with you. You said you had to work today, so I washed your clothes and called in a favor with a friend of mine at a boutique not far from here. In the guest room closet (I didn’t want to wake you so I had them put in the other room) you will find a selection of clothes and everything you may need. The kitchen is stocked, coffee is made, of course there are fresh donuts…Call or text me when you wake up. There is also a number for a driver, who is waiting for you in the parking garage to take you wherever you’d like to go. Just please let me know when and if you decide to leave. I wouldn’t blame you if you ditched work today. I’d be surprised if you could walk. I can’t wait to see where this takes us, CeeCee.

Yours,

-T”

After a quick shower, I walk to the guest bedroom on the other side of the loft, peruse the closet and I’m shocked at what I see. There’s not simply a few outfits in here, it’s like an entire boutique. There are shoes and handbags as well. And things that are clearly not for work. Piles of lingerie and a few dresses tell me there are more plans for me than maybe I even realized.

As I work my butt into a pair of tight black jeans and reach over to run my fingers across the lace of a stunning sapphire blue bra and panty set, there is a tiny darkness that begins to creep into my billowy fantasy world. It’s a leftover, a past wound that’s just starting to itch again, and I force it away. I won’t let this be ruined.

I finish getting dressed and make my way to the kitchen. It really is a stunning loft. It could be a feature in Architectural Digest. The walls are covered in canvases of all sizes, some enormous and others the size of a slice of bread, all blasting the open space with wild color and images of people. The subjects are surprisingly ordinary, just people doing normal things, walking, talking, sitting and musing. But they’re painted with such stunning emotion that nothing about them is average.

I tell myself that nothing this beautiful could be bad, but the nagging doubt is now starting to fully engulf me. It’s like a sex hangover. The endorphins are gone and the bright light of day is giving me a fearsome headache.

On the center island of the kitchen there is a platter of donuts that would feed a small village, and the smell of rich coffee makes my mouth water. Not much sleep was had last night and that is only adding to the dragging emotions that are welling up inside me. I wish I could snap out of it, but it seems that once you start following your gut, it has a way of making itself known.

I fill my mug with a shaking hand, take a sip and lean against the counter, staring out of the windows, and tears start to fill my eyes. There’s a tightness in my gut, spreading out through my body, and before I know it I’m sobbing. Imagining all the ways this could go wrong. How stupid I’ve been. Coming here, letting this tattooed stranger take me in every way he pleased. His cum dripping out of me in streams.

Am I a child? Do I not think at all?

Oh, but then there’s the other part. The feelings I have for him already. The odd sense of destiny. I’m stuck between the tears and the dreams as I set my forehead down on the cool granite, and the tears continue to roll down my cheeks even as the smile spreads across my lips. I slide my purse to rest on the counter while I figure out how to tame the warring factions inside my head.

After a few minutes, the hard countertop loses its appeal as a pillow and I lift my head. A donut is what I need. A donut to help me think, help me decide whether I’m the world’s biggest idiot or its luckiest inhabitant.

And it helps, it really does.

Then, after the first one is all gone, it’s clear that a second can only increase my chances of a good mood so I pinch a lemon-frosted raspberry twist and take a bite. It’s not just a bite; it’s more like love-eating. Similar to love-making, but with a donut. Not just any donut, these Twisted Yellow Belly donuts.

I lean my elbows on the counter and close my eyes, chewing slowly and letting the sweet flavor send rockets of pleasure over my tongue and into the center of my brain that only this kind of sweetness can touch.

A sip of coffee. Another bite. More coffee.

There’s a significant amount of sighing going on as well.

Sounds a lot like some of the noises I was making a few hours ago.

This donut is not as good as the things Thorne and I did last night, but it’s a damn close second.

Okay, he’s not a bad guy. I can accept that. And that means everything is going to be all right. For the first time in my life, things are going my way.

I’m lost in my reverie when a harsh knock on the door snaps me out of it. I look back and forth through the enormous empty space, not quite sure what it is I’m looking for. I’m all alone in here, after all. But it’s a natural reaction for some inexplicable reason.

Another three knocks and I stand straight up. Maybe it’s a delivery. My silly romantic girl voice whispers there may be a swoony surprise behind that door, and that becomes all I can think of. My mind fills with images of white roses, a bouquet so big it takes two delivery men to carry it inside.

I step nonchalantly toward the door as though someone was watching, measuring my steps, trying to be coy even with no one here to notice.

“Coming!” I call as I tug down the pink sweater I have on and smooth my hands over my breasts.

My hand on the doorknob, I toss my hair back and put on an innocent, unsuspecting expression.

And the Oscar goes to….

As soon as the knob clicks, door slams open, catching me in the shoulder and knocking me nearly off my feet.

“Who the fuck are you?”

A man with eyes that remind me of a caged animal steps through the door and slams it behind him, stalking forward, forcing me back. My heart races and my arms wrap around my center.

“I’m…” I don’t bother finishing because I suddenly realize I don’t need to tell him who the fuck I am. “Who the hell are you?”

He’s wearing just a t-shirt and a pair of stiff, green work pants. Unlaced boots drag on the cement floor with each step as his head swings wildly back and forth.

“Thorne, you pussy! Can’t return my calls, so I came to you!” he yells and I’m not sure he even remembers I am here. He’s snapping his fingers. Over and over as they hang down at his sides. His steps are solid and seem to be made with more effort than is necessary to move around in here.

I look at the open door, then roll my eyes at myself. For a second, I still think about the flower delivery. By now, I figure the flowers aren’t coming and maybe I’d be better off on the opposite side of that door than in here with this twitchy fella.

A lump lodges in my throat as I inch toward the door. I’m surprised I can get my feet to move at all as waves of heat and fear bombard me. I have no purse, no money on me, and I’m not wearing any shoes, but even weighing all those unfortunate elements, staying inside here with whomever this gentleman caller may be, leaving still wins by a mile.

“Hey!” he shouts as my hand grips the handle of the door. I don’t turn around, I turn the knob and jerk open the door, hoping to get out there before he can stop me.

Boot steps thunder behind me and before I can squeeze out of the loft a flat hand slaps the door and it slams shut.

I don’t wait for his next move. I just duck under his arm and move toward the kitchen thinking of where I left my stupid phone.

“You Thorne’s squeeze of the day?” The man catches me by the wrist, jerking me back.

“Don’t fucking touch me asshole.” I may be sugary sweet on the outside but I can take care of my business.

I tug my arm but he only tightens his grip. When that doesn’t work I try to stomp on his foot. I wish I’d picked a pair of the four inch heels in the closet instead of slipping on my usual canvas flats.

His face is twitching and he’s blinking his eyes ninety going south. Drugs have not been a part of my life per se, but I’m worldly enough to know when someone is substance impaired. His eyes are nearly black, the pupils so huge and his eyelids keep drooping then snapping open.

“I’ll fucking touch you.” He smiles and it turns my stomach. There’s no humor in it, it’s a threat. “Thorne likes to share. He and I go way back. Surprised he didn’t tell me about you. You’re a little higher end that he usually likes. Bet you taste good. You look fresh. The fresh ones always do.”

His hand is cold but slick with sweat and I jerk and pull until my wrist slips from his fingers. I tumble forward from the momentum and smack the side of my ribs into the edge of the counter, knocking a Red Velvet Cream Cheese donut off the pile.

It rolls down and off the edge, hitting the floor with a very final sounding thump. I shuffle around, keeping away from him as I look for an opportunity to run.

“Babe. Thorne and I are good friends. You don’t need be scared of me. I’ll be good to you. Better than him. That’s what they usually say when we share.” He purses his lips and makes a sick kissing noise.

“God, you’re an asshole, you know that? I’m sure you do, but figure you need a reminder.” I’m poking the bear, but I can’t help myself sometimes. “And you smell like one too.” I know that was the wrong move when he loses his grin and his head twitches back and forth.

He steps up his pace toward me, but I spot my purse on the counter next to the refrigerator.

Only the best of book boyfriends make you fried eggs at midnight, by the way, and only the very best do so after leaving you in a puddle of rapid fire orgasms.

I calculate, shift my body left and he counters right. I try it again, taking two side steps the other way and he follows. Dumb ass.

“Okay, okay, okay. So…” I slap my hands down on the counter and give him a look. He’s surprised by the talk, shocked out of his senses a little, but I use it to my advantage. “So, if I’m understanding you correctly, you and Thorne are close friends?”

“Very close.” He sucks his teeth and smacks his lips together, but he stays put so I play on.

“And, you tend to have the same taste in female companionship?”

He tips his head back and forth before answering. “Er… So to speak. Ya.”

“Got it.” I slip my foot to the left.

I’m playing it cool, but I’m far from it.

My heart is about to slam through my chest wall and the muscles in my back feel like tightened springs.

His eyes narrow and I note their droopy lack of focus. He looks like he’s about to nod off so I take a big step toward the goal line and that wakes him up.

“Oh no.” He’s alive again, stomping around the counter and lunging for me. “You’re not going nowhere.”

I throw myself in the other direction. Next to my purse is a copper skillet that Thorne used last night to make me fried eggs at midnight.

One hand grips the brass handle of the frying pan, the other my purse, and I swing both around. My purse hits him first, then I wind up again; the damn skillet is so heavy so I barely get it up to shoulder height but it’s a direct hit on his forehead.

It knocks him sideways and I don’t stick around to gloat. I’m out the door and down the stairs, wondering if karma is having fun.