Idol Urges (4 page)

With a long plunge, he pounded into her, once.

“Again!”

He repeated, driving forward, her back bruising against the hard floor through the thin sleeping bag. She ground against him, the pressure increased. Tilting her hips to position her clit against him, she cried “Harder!”

He thrust his hips and crushed against her, giving her the contact she needed. The frantic tempo of the beat inside her blocked out all conscious thought. Tremors shot from her pussy through her body. Her nails scraped the concrete floor as she pulled him even closer with her legs—begging for relief.

Her orgasm shook her, taking her over the edge and out of the place her body occupied. She contracted around his cock. The pulse of her swollen flesh pulled at him. Robert threw his head back, bucked with the last force he had and grunted.

When he rolled off her, the cool air blew across her damp skin. Her breathing slowed and she gathered her clothes.

Without a word, Robert dressed as well, and then he kissed her.

The kiss did nothing for Wendy. It’s wasn’t a floppy—fish, Jeremy kiss, but she no longer needed Robert or his body. And it wasn’t even close to a Franco kiss.

“Should we go back to the party? Or do you want to take a walk?” Robert asked.

“No thanks, I have studying to do.” Wendy stood up and tucked in her blouse. Guilt pricked the back of her conscious, but confusion clouded her thoughts too much to focus on it.

“But, uh.”

“Robert, you’re a nice guy. I just got a little hot there. Thanks, it was great. But I gotta go.” She didn’t wait for him to respond. She grabbed her shoes and her bag, and darted out of the shed, half jogging through the yard to the sidewalk.

She didn’t stop to put on her shoes until she had run a block away from the party. She’d have to call Susan tomorrow to explain why she left without saying goodbye. Hopefully, Robert would keep it to himself. Maybe Susan would believe her if she said she and Robert spent a nice evening talking and then she went home.

What’s come over me?

Twice in two days she’d attacked a man. Had breaking up with Jeremy sent her into a fit of desperation? What if these urges took over her life?

A few minutes later, she stepped up her own walkway. Her mom had left the porch light on. Wendy slipped her key in and carefully opened the door. She sidled inside, careful not to squeak the door too much and wake her mother. She couldn’t face her tonight.

Her mother, feet up on the couch, was reading a paperback novel.

“Mom, what are you doing up so late?”

“What are you doing home so early? You left for the party just over an hour ago.”

“Oh, yeah. It wasn’t that great. Just a lot of beer, and Billy and his friends playing violent video games,” Wendy piped in a strained voice.

“Sorry you didn’t have a good time. Want to watch that movie now? They won’t turn off the cable for another week.”

“No thanks. I need to take a shower. There was so much smoking there, and I think some beer spilled on my pants.”

“Oooh, yes, there’s a big black stain on your blouse. Looks almost like motor oil. Here, give it to me. I’ll spot wash it right now.” Her mother swung her feet off the couch.

“No, no. I’ll take care of it.” Wendy dropped her bag and dashed into the bathroom before her mother could come any closer. Wendy could still smell Robert’s scent, and she certainly smelled of sex.

She turned the shower tap all the way up, not bothering to calculate the cost of a full tank of hot water, scrubbing her scalp, every inch of her body and any trace of what had happened. She was always so good about controlling those urges. Even when she had wild dreams, she would wake up and shut the outrageous ideas away.

Since the day her father left, Wendy vowed to never let her emotions or desires rule her. She would always be in control. She wouldn’t go down the path her father went. He woke up one morning, decided he couldn’t handle the responsibility of a wife and daughter and set out to “follow his passions.” They never heard from him again.

Wendy’s wants wouldn’t dictate her actions. She and her mother had real needs, desperate basic needs, and allowing herself to be swept away by her frivolous desires would never do.

She prayed Susan wouldn’t find out about what happened. Robert probably wouldn’t say anything. He seemed like a decent guy. He had merely let some tramp take advantage of him.

Once she had used all the hot water and toweled off, she rinsed her clothes in the sink and tossed her torn panties away, shoving them deep into the wastebasket.

She slipped into sweatpants and an old shirt and walked back into the living room. Her mother had dozed off, the paperback lying face down on the floor next to her. Wendy placed the lap blanket over her mother and tiptoed to her room.

The entire evening lay ahead of her with nothing to do. She went back to her original plan—study for her chemistry midterm.

Pulling out her book and the practice test, she steeled herself for the torture. Attacking the first problem on the practice test with a vengeance, she surprised herself by knowing exactly how many moles of carbon and sulfur were needed to balance the equation.

The rest of the problems seemed to solve themselves. The knowledge had been in her head all the time, but she could never get to it. Now it flowed freely, and her pencil scribbled its way down the page.

Even before she checked her answers with the solutions in the back of the textbook, she was confident that she got most of them right. A smirk spread across her face. If she did this well on the midterm, she’d get an A and bring her overall grade up to at least a B, maybe even a B-plus.

She turned out her light and slid into bed. She had redeemed the evening in the end. She might have humiliated herself and might not ever be able to face Susan again, but at least all her studying paid off and she had finally mastered chemistry.

****

If the resort didn’t call Wendy in to cover a shift, she spent Saturdays catching up on chores with her mother. Wendy would do the grocery shopping, while her mother cleaned the floors. Then together, they would prepare some meals that could be warmed up throughout the week. With their busy schedules it was the only way to enjoy home-cooked food.

Wendy pulled her mother’s ancient Ford Escort to the curb. Samantha Johnson struck a formal pose on the plastic porch furniture. Someone lounged next to her. The lean physique, olive skin and jet black hair belonged to only one person she knew.

Wendy unfolded herself out of the car. When her mother turned to greet her, Franco also turned. Wendy set her mind to ignore the flutter in her belly. Just because they enjoyed a good screw the other day, did not give him the right to come to her house and visit with her mother. This was what she had been afraid of.

“Hi, Wendy. A friend of yours stopped by.” Her mother’s unnaturally high voice gave away Samantha’s hope for her daughter.

“I can see that. Hi, Franco.” Wendy waved. Franco’s long stride brought him halfway to the car before she opened the trunk.

“Let me help bring those in.” He grabbed five bags. “It’s good to see you again.” He met her eyes and held her gaze for a moment.

Why did her insides have to turn to jelly when he did that?

“Thanks.” She picked up the rest of the bags and stomped up the steps to the front door her mother held open for them.

“Franco says he’s taken culinary classes and is going to start a restaurant,” her mother said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“He’s offered to help us cook today. Isn’t that wonderful of him?” Her mother gave her a huge smile and wink as Wendy entered.

“We don’t want to impose on him,” Wendy said through clenched teeth.

“It’s my pleasure.” Franco immediately unpacked the bags and assessed the ingredients.

“See, he says it’s his pleasure.” Samantha’s smug expression told Wendy she had been defeated.

Wendy joined Franco in the cramped kitchen. His strong hands deftly organized boxes and cans. She suppressed a shiver, recalling what those hands did to her body. Her mother had conspicuously disappeared, leaving her alone with Franco and her memories of what they had done.

“I see you got all the fixings for lasagna. I make a great one. Let’s get started with that. I could also make a great chili with these other ingredients.” Franco, oblivious to her glare busied himself with cooking.

Wendy attempted to avoid any contact with Franco. He smelled of ocean-scented cologne and his hair fell across his face, beckoning Wendy to reach out and brush it away. The small space and Franco’s constant movements meant they couldn’t keep from bumping into each other. The warm skin on his arm rubbed against hers. Wendy’s cluttered mind raced with visions of Franco emerging from the foamy surf, water dripping off his tanned chest.

“Ow!” Franco yelled as a can of crushed tomatoes slipped from her sweaty palm and landed on his foot.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Her pulse raced. She couldn’t keep her thoughts where they belonged. She was pathetically infatuated.

“Yeah.” He flexed his foot. “I guess it’s an occupational hazard.”

She bent to get the can from the floor at the same time as Franco. She found herself face to face with him, their lips inches apart.

“I can’t get you out of my mind,” he whispered. He fit his palm under her chin and with his thumb caressed her bottom lip

“Please, my mother’s here.” The soft tone of her voice betrayed her as his fingers combed through her hair.

“No, she’s not. Anyway, she likes me.”

His breath tickled her cheek. She shut her eyes to savor the moment.

“Wendy, I need to see you again. Alone.”

His lips brushed hers and her insides screamed to throw him to the floor and straddle his lap.

“It can’t happen.” She choked. “You’re a great guy. But I don’t do relationships, cooking dinner together, any of it.”

She shot to her feet, and busied herself with the remaining groceries. “You don’t really need to stay and cook,” she said.

“But I want to.” He watched her through heavy lidded eyes. “I’m not going to give up on you so easily. I know you. You want this.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”
Especially after what happened last night.
A nice guy like Franco would never want to be with someone who fucked strangers at parties.

“That’s what you say. Besides, I never did get to tell you about my restaurant.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

“You’re cute when you’re petulant.”

Franco’s broad smile both frustrated her
and
turned her on.

“My cousin has a business degree and he’s the brains behind it. It’s a Greek and Italian restaurant. It’ll look like a European café. My sister’s a bit of an artist and can paint a mural for us. We’ve got a loan from the bank. We’re just waiting for the landlord to agree to a lease.”

“Wow, you’ve got it all planned out.”

Wendy stared spellbound, as he chopped an onion with more speed and precision than a machine. In no time, it was browning in a pan as he worked on a bell pepper.

“Do you want to come see the place with me next Saturday? I’m going to check out the kitchen to see what the former people left. We might be able to save some money on equipment if there’s anything there we can use.”

“Sure,” Wendy answered on automatic pilot. What the heck had she agreed to? She had no free time to meet him. And given her behavior over the past few days, she shouldn’t trust herself alone with a man. The control she had worked so hard to maintain for so long had begun to slip.

Did she just agree to a date?

The satisfied expression on Franco’s face indicated that she had.

Chapter Four

“Are you sure you still want to be my lab partner?” Wendy asked.

One Monday afternoon every month, Wendy had to take off work to attend the chemistry lab. She and Gloria shared a pizza before heading over to identify an unknown compound through a series of impossible-to-comprehend experiments.

“Who else would I want to be partners with?” Gloria asked. “Besides, it was only the ends of my hair that got singed, and I needed a trim anyway.”

Wendy rolled her eyes. “I forgot to tell you, Franco stopped by my house this weekend.”

“No surprise there. He’s looking for a repeat performance. Did you oblige him?” With dramatic gusto, Gloria took a huge bite of pizza.

Wendy rolled her eyes on an even wider arc. “Gloria, my mom was there. She was the one who invited him in. He cooked for us and asked me out.”

“I can’t believe the nerve of that guy. Coming to visit you, being nice to your mom, cooking for you and asking you out. What kind of woman does he think you are?” Gloria shook her head with mock disdain. “Really, Wendy. I could see dumping the dentist, he did nothing for you. But pushing Franco away without giving him a chance. And don’t feed me that line about not having time for a relationship.”

“I’m not going to chase fantasies, never face reality, like my dad.”

“And having a boyfriend would be living a fantasy?” Gloria’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“I can’t explain it.” Wendy knew she shouldn’t explain it. She had obviously inherited some of her father’s hedonistic tendencies, and she had to work overtime to keep her sex drive in check. And she couldn’t bring herself to see Franco end up the way her mother had—heartbroken and alone.

“That’s why I joined my club. It’s a place where you can just be yourself, people accept you for who you are. And there’s always someone up for having fun,” Gloria said.

“Not interested.”

“Just come to hang out and be yourself, unwind a bit.” Gloria said.

Wendy shook her head.

“Okay, at least come for a screening. Even if you’re accepted, you can still say no.”

“You mentioned a screening before. If this is some elitist club, they’re certainly not going to let someone like me in. I’m a poor hotel maid, daughter of a single mother who was once on welfare. Can you see me in a club?”

“It’s not about money or social status. Come on, we can probably meet Dr. Romero now.” Without waiting for an answer, Gloria pulled out her cell phone and placed a call.