Drifting: a driving technique where the driver intentionally over steers, causing loss of traction in the rear wheels through turns, while maintaining vehicle control and a high exit speed.
A five-part pointless crap that's set BETWEEN CHAPTERS 17 AND 18 (not 18 and 19, as I previously said.) Ooops and sorry. :)
Warning: Not all smut. Really.
Thanks to Monika (Lulu M), zombie killer, who goes by Lulu_M5 at twitter, for kindly volunteering to beta.
On the plane going home, I sat next to a woman wearing a burka. Black cloth covered her entire face, pulled back into a tidy butterfly knot. She wore a flowing robe, also black, and carried a small suitcase. I smiled at her, and even though I couldn't see her lips, I knew she smiled back. The corner of her eyes crinkled, and the burka fluttered. She had pretty eyes, and looked like a fairly pretty woman, but with the burka on, I couldn't know for sure. A part of me balked at the idea of covering women as a social necessity, but the chauvinist pig crowed about how fortunate it was for her husband to be the only man who saw her face.
I wondered what she was doing on my flight to Atlanta. Japan wasn't big on the burka, and the US, even less. I couldn't imagine anyone being comfortable wearing the thing. But what if the woman actually liked the burka? What if she wanted only her husband to ever see her face as a token of her loyalty and devotion? And yes, I know that society and religion probably conditioned her into liking her burka. I'm not a complete idiot. But weren't all relationships, secular or nonsecular, dictated by social conventions to some degree?
She didn't have the perpetually harassed face worn by a lot of her modern, less constricted sisters. Her lips may be hidden, but she didn't seem to have qualms at smiling back at me or tipping her head in gratitude when I helped her stow her bag away in the overhead bin. If her clothes or her fairly expensive-smelling perfume were any indication, I'd say her man was taking care of her properly. And if she was jetsetting from Tokyo to the US with no visible chaperones/jailer/dom/kidnapper, I'd say she was better off compared to other women whose husband/father/brother didn't follow their country's patriarchal, and some say medieval, practices.
Thinking about the woman's state of possible unhappiness ultimately led me to think about the reason I'm jetsetting across the pacific a day ahead of schedule. By all rights and expectations, I should've been drinking myself to a stupor in some bar in Tokyo, singing terrible karaoke with the heads of Cullen Industries' latest acquisitions. But, no, the moment my schedule cleared, I'd let my dick take over and hopped on the first nonstop flight available to Atlanta.
Atlanta is clammy in May, despite the weatherman's promise of clear skies and sunshine. The thin jacket I'd worn in Japan failed to keep me warm as I stand at the curb near the exits marked "Arrival", waiting for my ride. Right on time, a Bentley glides in front of me, the latest of its kind. I get in and say hello to Felix. I ask about his life as he pulls from the airport as smoothly as he'd come, and without prompting, drives me toward downtown Atlanta.
Traffic is moderate, and I count the seconds before he drops me off in front of Bella's decrepit building.
"See you around, boss." Felix grins at me as soon as we arrive, unable to resist the dig. He has a place nearby, a charming old brownstone that has the appropriate equipment and breathing space for his wife and small children. He's lived at the house for close to a year now–running interference whenever I'm in the area and keeping an eye on Bella when I'm not.
I don't usually tolerate a joke on my expense, not unless it's from Bella, but I have to admit it's rather amusing. A year ago, I'd suggested to Bella that we move somewhere more convenient, like Kirkwood or East Lake, but she'd defended her autonomy like a crazed zealot that I hadn't dared bring it up again.
The elevator is broken, so I take the stairs to the fifth floor where Bella's apartment is tucked at the farthest side of the building. I let myself in. I am, after all, a cohabitant of the place, worthy of my own key, an exchange I consider fair for the perceived loss of my manhood. The apartment, a sad two-room affair that not even the most cutting-edge furnishings can rehabilitate, is silent. Bella's things are on the table, her boots on the side of the floor, her discarded coat slung haphazardly on one of the chairs. There's a half-eaten sandwich near the kitchen sink, so I know she's in the place somewhere. Felix had reported that she'd just come home from a bust with her detail, and that she'd earned enough praise for her work involving drug dealer. Bella, my Bella, is now a full-pledged, gun-toting, hard-ass FBI agent. The irony is vast and amusing.
I hear the shower on from the inside of the bedroom, and I congratulate myself for my luck. It seems I'm just in time for some wet skin and warm water. I start to take off my clothes so I can join her. I'm about to take off my pants when she comes out with a cloud of steam from the bathroom–wet, clean and naked under a thick, white towel wrapped around her. For a moment, she stares at me in surprised silence, before breaking into a wide smile that says it all. She doesn't squeal, that will come later, as she reaches for at me at the same moment I lunge for her. Then it's a tangle of limbs, hands, mouths and tongues in spontaneous combustion.
Her taste goes straight to my cock, like a shot to the vein, and I forget what I was thinking the second, the hour, the whole fucking week before I see her. Her hands are all over me, saying offoffoffoffofff,and I oblige, shedding my shirt, socks, pants, my control and sanity. She trembles against me, nerves erupting as I runmy hands all over her, grasping, squeezing, silently screaming–nownowrightthefucknow.
She whimpers an oh,Godas I slip a finger between her legs, and Jesussfuckchristalmighty,she's so wet, so ready, like she'd indulged in a little recreation in the shower as she tends to do when she can't get my cock inside her.
At the corner of my eye, I see the bed–the huge, doublesized bed I'd managed to coerce her into letting me buy–but the wall is closer, and she's a light, little thing,and it doesn't take a fucking minute to get her up there, with my cock inside her. She gasps when I pin her against the wall, her mouth opening into a stunned ahhhh. I take a precious second to breath, drawing air from her lips. She stares at me in shocked pleasure,and all I can think is motherfuck,she'sstunning, with her eyes wide, her mouth open and her hair sticking to her face. She breaths in a series of gasps as balances herself on my cock and squirms, impaling herself further, and fuck, it feels good to be buried inside her.
She clings to me, digging her nails into my back, as I fuck her hard and senseless. She comes in short, frantic gasps , and I grit my teeth as I come in quick but unsatisfied relief. I squeeze her hard, grind myself against her, wishing I could crawl inside her skin and stay there. She slumps against me, spent for the moment, and I take the chance to manuever us to the bed, dropping us to the side. Sliding out, I roll her under.
She looks up at me with languid eyes as I hover over her, her whole body ready to be fucked again. I start on her rock-hard nipples–sucking, licking, tugging with my teeth as I squeeze her tits. I tell her how delicious they are, how sweet and pretty, how I love them in my mouth. I tell her she tastes good, sofuckinggood,baby, that I can't wait to eat her, that, God, I miss her eating her sweet little pussy, that she's gorgeous, beautiful, that I want to fuck her hard. Again and again.
She whimpers and moans when I ask her if she wants me to eat her, to lick her, to fuck her, all the while pumping my fingers into her cunt. She keens, then shudders, cum gushing out of her hole, and I go down on her, licking her clean and sucking, tongueing her pretty pussy until she screams for me, for God and stop, oh,God,stop,Edward,stop,stop as she writhes and bucks against my mouth and fingers.
"Good?" I ask her minutes later when she manages to pry me away from her cunt, screamed-out and boneless. She rests her back against my chest as she laughs in a breathless, sexy gurgle and calls me a bastard as she endures the aftershock spasms. But yeah, she concedes. It'sgood. More than good. It'samazing.
I rub my cock against her ass as I wait for her breathing to return to normal, warming myself with the heat of her body, licking her neck, nibbling on her delicate ears, palming her breasts and playing with her nipples. When she manages to breath without gasping, I ask her if she wants to taste me, if she wants to go down on me and suck my cock. Suckme,lickme,baby,please? She laughs in open amusement but rolls over to straddle me anyway and starts by plunging her tongue into my mouth.
She eases down my body, tasting sweat and skin, and it's pure torture not to move until she gets between my legs. Her tongue darts out–touching cock and tasting cum. She licks, sucks and twirls her tongue on the tip. I throw back my head and groan–loudly–to let her know how much I love her, and yeah,baby,thatfeelsgood,likethatbaby,fuck,justlikethat,good,fuck,yeah,sogood. She smiles through a mouthful of cock, taking me as far as she can, pulling back slowly and licking the head, twirling her tongue, taking me again all the way in.
"Stop," I tell her when I reach the edge of orgasm, and unlike me, she actually listens. I pull myself up, push her on her hands and knees. In one quick stroke, mount her.
It's faster, harder and brutal. She grabs onto the sheets to keep herself in one place as the bed rocks. It doesn't take long before an orgasm rips through her. She tries to buck away, but I grip her hips to keep my cock inside her. I pull her up, grab her tits and pinch her clit. She whimpers as I prolong her agony.
With her pussy pulsing around me, I come, loud and long, but I don't slow down, don't even bother to pull out, pumping steadily until my cock starts to swell again, and I'm primed and ready to fuck her to exhaustion. I push her down to the bed, ass up, and fuck, she's tight, even after thousands of rounds of fucking. I flood her cunt with my cum, reaching around to smear our combined cum across her pussy as she screams and wails against the sheets. With my cock still twitching, I flip her onto her back and lift her legs over my shoulders so I can touch her all over and fuck her as long and as hard as I can.
It's hours later when I manage to get off the bed for a smoke and remember I haven't eaten. I make a call to a private number to order pizza or a sandwich, whatever.
I watch her sleep from the sill of the bedroom window, flicking cigarette ash towards the pavement below. An hour rolls by before she stirs, her arm reaching out to the empty side of the bed.
"Hey." I move back to assure her of my presence, and as I rub her back, she makes a sound like a purr of a satistified kitty. "You hungry?"
She nods and then lifts her head to peer at me. "Are you staying long?"
Her voice is throaty and languid sexy.
"Couple of weeks."
She smiles at me in drowsy pleasure, and I smile back, resisting the sudden and overwhelming urge to hold and fuck her gently. It used to piss me off when she asks when I'm leaving so soon after I arrive, until I realized she does it so that she can rearrange her schedules to fit me.
"Where'd you go?"
"Tokyo. I called you from there, remember?"
"Just Tokyo?" I can hear amused disbelief in her voice, as she never believes me even when I tell her the truth.
"Just Tokyo, yeah. Want to hear about it?"
"I had meetings." Two full weeks of them to be exact. "Dad asked me to take over."
"Take over what?"
"Cullen Industries," I say, watching surprise, then worry, flit across her face.
"He's not well."
"Oh." She frowns a little as she sits up, the sheet sliding off her shoulder. The thick blanket pools around her waist,but she gathers it up to her chest quickly. I stop myself from stripping it away. "Is he okay?"
"He's fine, but he needs to take it easy for a while."
"What do you mean he's fine? What happened? How sick is he? Where's he staying? Shouldn't you be with him? Maybe I should call him–"
"You can't call him. It's too early in Germany right now," I tell her, amused at her barrage of questions. The first time Bella had met my old man, she'd immediately taken a liking. "It's not serious, just a little problem with his heart. Nothing a nice vacation won't cure. We should go and visit."
"We should, yeah." She nods, agreeing readily. She's a sucker for old people, especially old,sick ones, a trait I've no qualms in taking advantage. But there isn't a point in worrying her as Anthony Cullen isn't really that sick. His blood pressure's just a little over normal, and his heart has a slight, funky murmur, but with the right diet and proper rest, he'llbe good as new in a few weeks. Or as right as he could ever be. My father's heart hasn't been well since the death of my mother.
"So you're taking over?"
"For a while, yeah." For a long while, if Anthony Cullen had his way. I'dagreed, telling him I'm doing it because he asked me to, but the fact is, I need it. Being an appendage to an FBI agent neccesitates a change of background,and CEO to a multinational conglomerate should look dauntingly respectable on my dossier. The bureau can background-check me all they want, but they'd have to get through my industrial lawyers. It shouldn't be hard taking over my father. I'd followhis companies closely, even in prison as I'd known sooner or later, the day will come when I'm going to be called in. All I had to do was maintain Cullen Industries separate from my other "enterprises."
"Just until he recuperates," I tell her, shrugging as if it's no big deal. She pierces me with a knowing stare.
"That should be interesting," she says after a while.
"It should, yeah."
"It should get the Interpol off your back," she quips and I laugh, because nothing gets past her.
"And the goddamn FBI," I tell her.
She snorts and burrows her head into the pillows. "Good luck with that."
"Except for you, of course." Still laughing, I give in to the urge of peeling the blanket off her and sliding my hands over her back in a soothing massage. "I quite like having you on my back, and my front, in fact, I insist on it.. And I like your back, too, and your ass, especially your ass."
I squeeze, and she laughs, calling me incorrigible. Undaunted, I try to roll her over, but she squirms, pushing my hands away. "I thought you said something about food ..."
"So I did."
"Where is it?"
"You have to sing for it first."
"Is that a euphemism?"
"I don't use euphemisms."
"I don't sing."
"Of course, you do."
She sings to me, with her mind, soul and her tight body. Beautifully.
For wime09's birthday, which was a week? a month ago? last year? Teehee.