Hooked (5 page)

Even though he was the one invading my space bare-assed, I was the one who stammered an apology.

"Oh . . . oh . . . I . . . I'm so sorry," I tried hard to keep my eyes from wandering to his cock, but it was impossible to miss his growing erection. "I heard a noise. And, well . . . it's my first night and I guess I . . . well it's . . ."

Morgan casually moved behind the island and concealed his ever stiffening member. Rationally, he might have been embarrassed, but apparently his cock was not. The little head had a mind of its own.

"I just came in for a drink. I utterly forgot. Well, that is, it was never an issue before." The way he said it made me feel like it was
my
fault I came out of my room and found him naked. He turned and left without another word.

I didn't take my eyes from his tight ass until the door swung shut.  The only naked males I'd ever seen in person were Nathan and Jake. Nathan had a caved-in chest, a wisp of chest hair and skinny legs. Compared to what just left my kitchen Nathan wasn't even a man; he was a mere boy. Jake wasn't much better. He had more meat on his bones, but the word that always sprung to mind when I thought of his body was 'doughy'.

My rubbery legs managed to get me to the kitchen stool without giving way. The cold steel against my bare bottom reminded me that I wasn't exactly covered myself.

I'd seen pictures of men like Morgan before. Of course I had. I wasn't raised under a rock. My waitress girlfriends were a lusty bunch and emailed stud photos back and forth all the time. In fact, I had even 'liked' a Facebook page called 'Fireman Fridays' and got to see a new hunk there every week.

But this was different. I went over the mental image, etching it into memory so I could call it up later and savor it some more. His chest was just like the firemen. The pectoral muscles stood out in perfect rounded mounds above a hard six-pack flat against his torso. I didn't know the name of the muscles that began below the six-pack but they formed a perfect 'v' funneling down to his cock.

The dark patch of hair at the center of his chest thinned down to a tiny line before it fanned out again at his groin. Not having too much to compare it with, I assumed that a cock that reached mid-thigh was probably on the large side. That is, in the short time it was just hanging. It flashed through my mind that maybe Nathan's crappy 'tude toward women and life in general was related to the equipment he'd been dealt. I had a much better understanding of the term 'pencil dick' now that I'd seen one that wasn't.

But Morgan's package was so much more than his package. The muscles on his limbs were as well defined as an athlete's. There wasn’t a spot on him that looked less than perfectly toned. The rear view was just as fantastic. His tight ass cheeks stiffened in just the right way with each step he took. It made me want to pinch them.

I sat for a long time in the dimly lit kitchen thinking about what it would be like to fuck that kind of man. I'd certainly never looked at a fireman picture and thought, "
God, I want that between my legs.
" A real living naked man evoked a far different response. At least this one did.

The clock said three-thirty. My alarm was set for five. It was pointless to go back to sleep.

***

Hey Rachel,

We're shoving off for the Bahamas tomorrow as soon as my supplies are delivered. I'm not sure where we're going, but it's on the other side of the Atlantic. I'll find out tomorrow and keep you posted. You should see this boat! It is un-be-lieve-able. Totally Gucci.  So no worries about being able to stay in touch. I'm sure the several huge satellite dishes on top will keep the wifi working no matter where we are.

Right now, it's almost 4 and I'm wide awake because I just walked out of my room (which is off the kitchen) and caught my boss buck friggin' naked in the kitchen. OMG. He looks like he should be on some man-candy calendar or something. We may have to invent a new word to describe the hotness of this guy. Obviously off limits to lil'ole me, but still.

Not off-limits is the very cute captain. Not on the same level as 'the Boss' but cute all the same in a nice-guy kind of way. Nice doesn't have to always mean boring does it?

Anyway, you can see that my mind is right back in the old familiar gutter. Hey, I can't always be about food, can I?

Keep me posted on Lauderdale.com

Talk soon. XOXOXO

L

I hit send and stared at the screen. I was about to get dressed and go into the kitchen for some therapeutic chopping, but there was nothing I really needed to prep for. My fingers automatically typed 'Morgan Wolf' in the search box. Apparently he kept a low profile because other than the usual white pages listings there wasn't much. He and Richard had won a couple of fishing tournaments in the past few years, but there was no reference to business, schooling or any kind of affiliations anywhere. The image search turned up some shots of him with Richard and several other guys holding trophies from the tournaments.

I clicked on one of the generic white pages listings for Ft. Lauderdale and noted the relatives listed: Jackson Wolf, Francesca Wolf, Clarissa Wolf.

Jackson turned out to be the most interesting one. There was a boatload of information about the hotel chain mogul and his empire. Born in 1952. That would make him the right age to be Morgan's father. I scrolled through a few articles outlining the senior Wolf's many accomplishments, philanthropic endowments and miscellaneous appearances at this or that social function. One article talked about his interest in protecting the ocean's resources and made mention of his boat, El Lobo.

"
Ah, Daddy's boat
,
the hand-me-down
." I thought. I was starting to put together a mental picture of Morgan Wolf as a rather do-nothing rich kid sailing around the world at his father's expense. So much the better. It was a convenient box to put him in.

I had been raised to respect hard work, not silver spoons in undeserving, if beautiful mouths. I was thankful for a reason not to find him irresistible.

Chapter 4--Morgan

After I left the kitchen my cock deflated rapidly. The bastard was way too quick to respond to the sight of Lara standing there in the pale light. I had wondered what her body looked like under those shapeless chef's togs and now I knew. I figured she'd be slim so her curves took me, and my boy, by surprise. The tiny little top rode high above a waist that looked like it would easily fit in the span of my hands and made the curve of her hips seem like a juicy, swollen pear. I was amazed that someone so tiny could look so ripe. I knew I stared for too long, but it was impossible to tear my eyes away.

Her breasts had an ever so gentle slope down to her tight puckered nipples. I could make out the dark outlines of her areolas under the nearly sheer fabric straining over generous globes that begged for a couple of hands to wrap around them. I'd almost forgotten what a nature-made tit looked like. Most of the women I knew looked like they'd literally had half of a perfect cantaloupe sutured into their chest.

The miniscule triangle covering her pussy told me she wasn't shaved there. I could see the dark shadow under it. Actual pubic hair was almost never a feature of the women I knew. Every so often there'd be a landing strip or an itty bitty triangle. One chick had a little heart-shaped patch. I'd always told myself I liked the bald pussy thing, but somehow the thought of burying my face into a sweet little bush sent the blood rushing to my dick.

I popped open one of the bottles I had managed to hold onto and drained it dry. Closing my eyes only made the image of Lara clearer. My hand wandered down to my cock. It was twitching again as I recalled the image of her standing nearly naked and within my reach.

I gave myself permission. Head against the pillow and hand between my thighs I played a mind-movie starring a brown-eyed girl.

Her pink rosebud of a mouth shone in the pale light. She had licked her lips, readying them to slide over the head of my cock. I watched as she ran her tongue around the head flicking the ridge, driving me wild to be inside her. She was teasing me, torturing me slowly as she popped the swollen end in and out of her mouth.

A small hand worked the base of my shaft, up and down with a little twisting motion that made me swell even more. When she reached under my erection to take my balls into her hand, they undulated inside the sack. She rolled them softly around with strong fingers and I felt the sharp edges of her nails graze the skin behind them.

At last she took me deeply, sucking hard on my length and taking more of me inside her than I could have imagined. The humming sounds of her pleasure as she worked me in and out vibrated on the rigid flesh and I arched my hips, fucking her face and locking my eyes on her tawny gaze. I moaned a deep growl when she quickened the pace and I felt the brink of orgasm approach. She sensed it and moved away from me. She was drawing my pleasure out; taking me to the edge and pulling me back.

I watched her rise slightly and position my cock between her breasts. Taut nipples tangled in the dark curls at the base, pink against black. Squeezing the creamy globes around my shaft, she enveloped me in her soft flesh. I was so engorged that the head was nearly purple against her perfect paleness. I watched as I disappeared again and again into the channel of bliss she made for his pleasure. The sight ignited me.

Pearly drops were starting to leak from my head and she used them to lubricate her chest, painting the soft sides of her beautiful mounds with my fluid. She looked up at me and smiled like an angelic devil before she plunged me back into her warmth.

I was ready to fuck her. I ached to be inside her and feel the wet heat of her pussy. Sensing the time was right, she pulled herself further up my body and impaled herself on my shaft. There was no preamble. She bucked against me, riding me hard and fast, grinding her clit into the bone when she had me as deep as he could go.

Time left the room. My eyes clamped shut and I listened to the sound of her cries as she approached her climax. When her body began to pull at my cock from deep inside and her thrusts became short and sharp, I knew release. I felt her swallow the great jets of my explosion with each wave of her orgasm. I growled my pleasure as she drank me in.

I pulled hard on myself and milked my cock until jets of hot, sticky semen shot up and splattered back against my belly. I couldn't remember the last time I'd jerked off. There were so many willing recipients for my come that it was rarely necessary.

I got up and sponged the sticky cream from my body and couldn't help but feel a little sheepish. It was the same adolescent feeling of having done something forbidden. It actually felt better than the last few encounters I'd had with a flesh and blood woman. There was no one in my bed requiring small talk. There would be no awkward moment of departure.

There was only a lovely fantasy. I relaxed and drifted off peacefully with a picture perfect image in my head. Softness surrounded me, misty and warm.

It seemed I'd been asleep just minutes when I woke in a drenching, cold sweat.

I sucked in great gulps of air as my consciousness struggled to right itself. The dream was as vivid as they always were. Over the years, the variations became less and less predictable as my subconscious added more and more experiences to the material it had to work with.

As a child, the dream was almost always the same but just as terrifying. The kind hands, the soft brown eyes, the hair, always trundled into a tidy bun. The white uniform. The silent protest and the helpless submission.

Only this time, the sweet face tending my fabricated illness was Lara's. It angered me that the angel of my waking fantasy dissolved into a life-sucking countenance of pity.

Dreams can seem amazingly real; at least mine have always been so. As a kid, my dreams weren't always awful. Sometimes they'd take me far away to homes with wide green lawns where bikes and balls were strewn in every corner. Those were the times I'd hated waking up. I'd conjure golden retrievers begging at the table and tuxedo cats lounging on sunny windowsills. My sister was always there, only she was never the sickly, pale Clari. In boyish flights of fancy my sister was as sturdy as the big imaginary oak where she would swing and yelp with delight as I spun her around on an old truck tire. In the dark world of my nights, she ran through summer sun and winter snow, golden and glowing with the God-given energy of a healthy kid.

Endless hours of television and an enviable library of books helped me populate my subconscious with families fighting over drumsticks at Sunday tables, playing board games together on pizza night and, most bizarrely of all, camping in great mountain forests. Funny, when I finally got the chance to sleep under the stars, the reality didn't even come close to the fantasy.

The violet blue of first light meant I thankfully didn't have to fight for sleep anymore. I threw on a pair of shorts, brushed my teeth and splashed some water on my face. I studied the stubble on my chin and wondered if I should clean myself up for Phoebe and 'the girls'. When I decided that those chicks would probably be into fashionable scruff, I picked up my razor and returned my face to baby-bottom smoothness.

Women have always told me I'm handsome. Some have called me beautiful. Funny, but when I looked at myself --past the exterior--I never saw a good looking man. I always saw a weak little boy. My skin is tan and my muscles are strong, but there's a pale kid underneath with skinny arms. The kid's never far from the next fever, the next headache, the next rash. The kid doesn't catch big fish 'cause he's never well enough to go that far from shore. The kid doesn't have any friends because he might catch something from them. The only friend he has is a dark-haired little girl who's just as pale and just as frightened as he is.