Blind Side (4 page)

“I’m married,” I yell as I twist on my foot, facing the object of my desire once more.

“It doesn’t matter, remember?”

“It has to.” I shake my head and dig my feet into the gravel, trying to find something to hold onto, but everybody knows that rocks scatter. There’s nothing firm beneath my feet. My strength and ability to do what’s right is fading fast. “I took vows,” I scoff, verbalizing the disdain I’m feeling inside, hoping that hearing my own voice aloud will persuade me to leave this alone.

“Vows that are irrevocably broken.” He rushes to me, as if he’s saving me from a certain grim fate. There’s no way he could possibly know, but the urgency in his touch says otherwise.

“I never said—“

“The implication is there.” He shakes his head and places a hand on each of my cheeks. “I can see it in your eyes. When you talk about him, whoever he is, you’re dead inside. But when you look at me, there’s passion, and that’s the most freeing feeling in the world.”

“Freeing?” I throw my arms up against his, knocking them away from me. “It’s fleeting,” I scoff, but the anger I’m spitting is directed at myself, though there’s no way he could possibly know that, but he already seems to know everything else, and then something more.

“Isn’t that the point? For one night only, throw all the fucks to the wind.” He bows his head sheepishly and sighs, and then there’s this long, drawn out pause, like he’s about to say something. He doesn’t. Not for the longest of beats, until finally he raises his head and bites into his lip. “Live again.”

And he looks at me like I haven’t been looked at in what amounts to forever. I’ve been looked at with mistrust from strangers, and contempt from those who know me. But he looks at me. Really sees straight through me, and the vulnerability lights the fuse within me.

“Okay,” I say with a barely-there nod, my resolve shattering in a fit of carefully timed explosions from within.

His brow furrows. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I assure him and press my palm against his chest, feeling for the first time the muscles beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Thin though it may be, it’s draped across his chest like a barrier that I crave to rip apart. “Are you just going to stand there—“

“Or?”

Stop interrupting me.

“Fuck me,” I say dryly, void of emotion, but I’m not hollow anymore. Not at this moment. I’m free.

H
e leans
across the short distance between us and lands a kiss against my lips, but it’s short lived. I raise my hand against his chest and push him backward. “I didn’t say,
kiss me.
I said fuck me.”

“No kissing?”

I nod an affirmative nod, my feet sinking in the gravel beneath us.

He takes a step back, and eyes me from my feet to my face, a slow calculation. I stand before him, watching his eyes as they pass over me, undressing me like candy.

In my twenty-four years on this Earth, I’ve never hooked up with anyone in the traditional sense. It took seven dates with my husband, back in high school, before I’d let him get past second base, and another few months until he rounded home plate. He’s been my one and only for so long that I don’t know how this is supposed to work, and it’s equally unnerving and thrilling. I’ve been called a whore and a slut, an unfit educator. I’ve been dragged out into the public square by people who only know me as an accessory to my husband or the classroom. It’s liberating to finally be who everyone believes me to be.

I avert my eyes when his gaze falls upon mine, unsure of what to do. So, I take a step forward to him, an attempt to break the ice and get this ball of adultery rolling.

“No.” He commands, and raises his palm. “Stay there.”

“Okay.” I obey him, reveling in submission.

He lowers his hand to the hem of his shirt, and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion, exposing steel cut abs and the physique of an aspiring model. He’s cut from a different cloth than the men I’m used to surrounding myself with in the faculty room.

His fingers flirt with the lining of his jeans, tracing a path to a row of buttons, the first of which he pops with one agile flick of his finger. Then, he lowers his eyes so that he pulls me in with dark orbs. But the gaze doesn’t last long, as my eyes fall to his fingers as he pulls the remaining buttons free. The jeans, loose around his hips, exposes a thin fragment of his skin that’s untouched by the summer sun, and is painted a pale white.

I watch him as he undresses, kicking off his sneakers, and freeing his legs from denim. With nothing left covering him except a pair of tight, black boxer trunks, he eyes me once more.

I grow nervous. More nervous than before, the kind of nervousness that ticks away like a time bomb planted deep within the bones. Moments tick by in slow motion, and with every passing second, I wonder how much time is left until I’m on the run.

“Undress,” he commands and shifts his weight backwards against the car. “I want to watch.”

“O…okay,” I stutter like a meek housewife. What the hell has become of my life? I used to be so strong, and now my strength is a trait long thrown out the window, to be felt only by the sight of it in the rearview mirror.

I lower my hand to the plaid shirt I’m wearing and pop the row of buttons systematically, with my head bowed down from either shame or embarrassment. I can’t be sure which. I drop the shirt to the ground and when I’m free from the thin purple fabric, I pull the plain white cami over my head, so that I’m exposed standing in jeans and a black bra.

Kemper waits for me patiently, but his teeth sink impatiently into his lips. I take notice of the gulp making its way down his throat, but still he waits. His eyes shift to my fingers as they fall to the button of my jeans. Soon, I’m sliding out of them and kicking them free from my feet.

Now the two of us are on equal footing. Standing off the side of the road in our underwear, with a respectable four feet of distance between us. It feels smaller, more claustrophobic than it is.

He curls his finger at me. “Come.”

I do as commanded, my bare feet taking careful strides over the rough gravel, until I close the distance to a mere few inches. He cuts the space between us in half again, and his breath dances along my skin. Warm when it’s exhaled, and visible in the air like a billowing cloud when it lands against me.

My heart races, and that’s before his lips are pressed against my neck. Short kisses first, and then a mouthful of skin, leaving a trail of wetness along my flesh. One strong arm circles my back and he pulls me close, molding our bodies together.

His cock pulses through black trunks. Through my panties, I can feel him against me, his hardness throbbing between the weight of our two wanting bodies. His hand glides to the small of my back, and I arch into his body harder, deeper while his tongue continues a line of assault against my neck, tracing a path to my ear, and ending with a gentle nibble that sends shockwaves through my body.

His other hand falls to my back, and he scoops me up in a quick feat of strength, spinning me around in one motion and planting my ass against the hood of the car. My head reels, chasing the blur of entropy like a scent long gone stale.

He parts my legs with his knees, and drops a hand to my panties. It’s been ions since sex has revolved around my own pleasure, and it’s been almost just as long since I’ve been with anyone other than my own hand.

Lips against my neck. Teeth against my ear. A strong, guiding hand against my pussy. I let out a stifled moan. Kemper pulls away from my body, still holding me tight with his arms, and grins. Oh, how he fucking grins.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he coos with bated breath, and for whatever reason, it reeks of real sentiment. “So fucking sexy,” he purrs as his fingers comb through my hair.

I’m not prone to agree with him, but I’m not about to say that out loud and damper the mood with self-doubt. Confidence is the key, and I’m about to take matters into my own hand. I raise one heel up to the top of his trunks, and then lower it, pulling down his trunks with my foot until his taut ass is bare against the September night air.

He pushes his body harder against me, the fabric being pulled down his ass and tightening its hold on his throbbing cock. It’s his turn to moan, and that he does as he cries against my neck. “I want to fuck you so bad.”

“Then what the hell are you waiting for?” I push against his chest. “Make me forget.”

He says nothing in return, but rushes into action, stepping away from me and pushing his trunks down. His erection springs free. Hard, long, and thick. I reach for his cock and stroke it with one hand as he steps free from the trunks. He throws his head back and moans softly as I caress my hand around the head, running a finger along the slit.

A few strokes more and I’m pulling him closer to me, using his impossibly hard cock as a leash of sorts. He’s too lost in the throes of ecstasy to speak properly, but inaudible words are thrown from his throat.

“W… Wait,” he stutters as he pulls away from my touch, showing signs of nervousness for the first time since we exited his car.

“People could see us,” I say, realizing perhaps for the first time that if someone would drive by, over the crest of the nearby hill, we’d be caught red handed for the world to see.

“The car?” He asks with a nod, but he doesn’t wait for a response before he rips the door open and swings to the side, holding his hand out to me. “Ladies first.”

I take his hand and he leads me to the car. I spin on my foot, turning to face him as I climb backwards into the seat. With a display of quick dexterity, he’s pulling my panties down my legs before I’ve even settled in.

My back lands hard against the shifter. A broken yelp hops from my throat. He shifts above me and reaches into the backseat to grab a pillow, and pushes it beneath my back for comfort.

“Why do you have a pillow?”

“Sometimes,” he says with ragged breaths, “I sleep in my car.”

Good enough answer for me.
I throw my arms around his neck and pull him close to me. He moves to kiss me, but I crane my head so that his lips fall against my neck.

He kisses me softly at first, and then bites me gently. My fingers tangle in his short, tussled hair. I kick my heel around his naked back and pull him tighter against me, his cock pressing tight against my vulnerable cunt. He traces his lips along the lining of my neck, with short, wet puckers igniting me from within until he reaches my lips, and just when he’s about to kiss me, I shift away from him again.

“What’s wrong?”

“No kissing,” I beg, reminding him of my stance on the issue from before. “It’s a line—“

“That you can’t cross.” His chest heaves, his breath hot, rough, and steamy. “I get it.”

Knowing he can’t kiss my lips, he buries his face between my breasts and runs one palm underneath my tight bra, until he’s cupping me with one strong grip. My legs twist around his back and I pull him closer to me, close enough that the entire space between us is evaporated. Warm body against warm body. Parched lips against my skin.

His hand crawls from beneath my bra and travels south, caressing a path across my stomach and down my hips, and then maneuvering to the inside of my thigh. My legs widen to allow him access as he finds my opening and pushes his palm against my most vulnerable spot. I cry soft moans against his neck, reveling in the empowering serenity of wanting and being wanted.

He runs a circle around me, taunting me and teasing me. He wants to make me scream, to beg, and that’s just what I do.

“Fuck me,” I plead. “Stop teasing me and fuck me.”

One finger sinks into me until he’s knuckle deep, and then somehow, he pushes further in. Soon enough, another finger joins and he works me thoroughly, stretching me wide and preparing me for the fullness of his aching erection.

He swivels on his knees, the position he’s found himself in can’t be comfortable, but it beats exposing ourselves for anyone to see. He pushes my legs apart, and braces one hand beside my head, burying his fingers deep in the side of the seat to steady himself.

This is it. The moment of no return.

I glance down to see him pawing at his cock, and then ripping a foil condom wrapper in his mouth. I hadn’t even thought of protection in the midst of this dangerous seduction, but thankfully one of our heads is in working order. Though, maybe that’s because he has two. I’m hilarious, I’m aware.

He rolls the condom onto himself with precision and agility, pinching the tip. He’s a seasoned pro, and I’m an amateur, despite an inkling in my stomach that I am the older of us two.

His eyes shift to me, dark and heavy, ready and waiting. They speak to me just the same as if his lips were moving, questioning if I’m ready.

“I’m ready,” I whisper to him.

His eyelids flash over his eyes in a quick blink, and my hand caresses his sweaty cheek. He pulls me in with his glare, and I’m too lost in his innocent, but raw, beauty that when he presses himself against me, I’m not prepared.

I throw my head back and dig my nails into his back as he sinks into me. Slowly, his cock rocks into me, tearing me apart from the inside. He’s thick. Thicker than my husband. Almost too thick, but this pain is only temporary.

My pussy swallows him whole until his pelvis rocks against mine, and he holds himself still, his biceps quivering and his eyes engaged in a struggle to stay open, but for some reason he wants to watch me. But I can’t do the same.

Before I can protest, he’s pulling out. Slow and steady, like a bow being primed until the head of his cock meets the warm air. And then back in again, separating me as he rocks into me, faster and a little harder.

I close my eyes, trying to enjoy the ride for what it is. But I can’t keep them closed, no matter how hard I try. He’s making love to me, and I just want fucked until I don’t feel a thing.

He reads my mind, another display of his unmistakable ability to do so. He situates himself above me as he continues gentle thrusts, picking up speed and power with every shattering maneuver.

Fucking me. Driving me insane. Freeing me from the weight of the world one caress of his cock inside me at a time. This is what freedom feels like, but it’s all too much.

“Not like this,” I force the words from my throat, spinning out of my mouth like flying gravel on a dirt road.

He stops, but he’s still inside of me. “What’s wrong?” His eyes barrel down straight at me.

“I can’t do this.” I attempt to shake my head, but there’s not enough room to do so. “Not like this.”

“Okay.” He nods and takes a quick shallow breath before pulling his cock out of me, and shifting into his seat in a sitting position.

“That’s not what I meant.” I roll over onto my stomach with one quick, but clumsy maneuver. My feet knock against his face, but he deflects the blow with agile reflexes. I crane my head over my shoulder, where his feral eyes are already settled on mine. “Like this.”

He takes no time shuffling to his knees, his head propped against the ceiling. He’s too tall and too big for this to work in any sort of intimate setting, but nothing about this is intimate.

He lines his cock up against my pussy and drives in. I throw out a yelp contaminated with a moaning cry.

Missionary is intimate, too intimate.

The dirtier this feels, the more innocent it becomes. It’s sex and nothing more when I’m on my hands and knees. When I’m on my back, and he’s on top of me, watching me as he fucks me, that’s when the guilt settles in. I don’t want to feel guilt. I want to feel release.

He rocks into me with long, gentle thrusts at first, but before I can count to five, he digs his fingers into my hips and takes hold. Everything changes. He’s pounding from behind with reckless abandon. We fuck like animals, with one primal desire—release.

My head is thrown against the window with each knee-buckling thrust, and I can feel his fingers digging deeper and deeper under my skin in the same way I can feel his cock filling me to the hilt.

It’s not long before the world begins to spin, and everything in sight becomes muddled in a dark blur. Turbulence of the soul, that’s the only way to describe it. A quaking that builds from within the heart, and rushes through the bloodstream, hemorrhaging in all the right places until I let out a scream that steals my breath.

“Fuck,” I cry out as I push myself all the way back against his cock, reveling in the fullness as I begin to ache a beautiful ache. This is the point of no return. This is freedom. This is where I break, tightening around his impossibly hard shaft as I ride out my first man-served orgasm in over a year.