The Sun and the Moon (Giving You ... #1) (8 page)

He increased the pace to an incredible speed, and I could tell that he was getting close, because his cock felt even thicker and fuller. He gasped a final sigh and said "Fuck, Amelia," and then collapsed into me, arms wrapped around me, holding me up and pressing me into the wall.

After a few moments, he pulled out, kissed my neck, pocketed the condom, and tucked himself back in, pulling his pants up, but not buttoning them yet. He grabbed my panties for me and straightened them, helping me to put one leg in and then another. Then he helped me straighten my skirt, and tucked in my blouse. He buckled his pants up and tucked in his shirt, looking at me intently.

I was overwhelmed.  After more than a year of no orgasm and a sexual history of crap, this man could get me to orgasm in just a few minutes flat in this storage room.  Um yeah, I’d like some more, please.

Even though he was bossy, he cared for me throughout. He cradled my head and my ass. He didn’t forget about my purse. He helped me get dressed.  I didn't know what the rules were for sex in a coffee shop storage room with the manager, but I knew that I liked it.

I managed a heartfelt, "Can we do that again?"

He laughed. "Abso-fucking-lutely. Text me your address, and I'll be there Friday night."

"I can do that," I responded, smiling shyly.

After he smoothed my hair and I messed with his, he gave me another kiss, this one sweeter, less desperate, but not less intense. "You look gorgeous. I'll come at seven and bring dinner. We'll go slowly. We'll explore. I guarantee that it’ll be pleasurable."

"Okay," I agreed, and I reached up and kissed him again, his warm pouty lips on mine. After we stopped, he pulled back, smiled down at me, and then reached around and unlocked the supply room door.

Luckily no one was in the hall, so I didn't have to worry about how disheveled I looked. I hoped that no one had heard us.

He picked up the bathroom key attached to the serving spoon, deposited it on the counter, walked me all the way out of the store to my car, and then kissed me goodbye.  I took off, noticing the sun along the water and singing along with the radio the whole way home.

Four Cosmos

IT ALL CAME CRASHING
down on me that night, as I ordered my fourth cosmo with Marie.

I had felt a buzz, an energy, my entire drive back to Santa Barbara. I was happy, basking in the relaxation from my orgasm from Ryan, reveling in feeling something, anything, and excited about my date with him on Friday. The experience of getting up close and personal with the Sun God seriously rocked my world. Yummy yummy. Taking the rest of the day off of work cemented my good mood. It was like I had forgotten that I was ever depressed.

If you don't realize that's incredible, I'll tell you: that's incredible.

After going home, relaxing, and showering, I changed into dark jeans and a silky, dark purple camisole with a soft dark grey cashmere belted cardigan and stilettos.  Then I took a taxi to meet Marie at the trendy watering hole on State Street that we frequented.

Already one sheet to the wind by the time I walked in, Marie greeted me with a squeal. She could be a bit loud. Worse when she was drunk. I loved her, anyway. She had saved my life, literally. I'd do anything for her. She was a tattooed, pierced, opinionated, vegan dynamo. Skinny, busty, foul-mouthed, with a limitless heart and hair that changed colors on a weekly basis. Today it was pink-ish, to match the cosmos. Beautiful and loud, she attracted plenty of attention from the group of frat boys sitting at the next table.

I proceeded to catch up to her, alcohol-wise, and grilled her about her recent activities. By the time I had downed cosmo number three and had ordered cosmo number four, I had told her everything about Ryan. Everything.

I thought that her shriek could be heard on the moon.

"YOU SLUT!" she screamed. The closest frat boys leaned in to listen.

My heart stopped. Ohmigod. She was right. I was a slut. I didn't know anything about him, and I had slept with him.

Wait.  A misnomer.  There was no sleeping involved.

No bed either, for that matter.  

Correction: I had sex with him, standing up, and I'd barely spoken three sentences to him. Total slut.

Fuck.

Still.

Lawyer instincts kicked in, and I defended myself.

"I am the farthest thing away from a slut."

"I KNOW!" she yelled.

"And there's nothing wrong with being a slut."

"I KNOW!" she yelled.

"So why are you yelling?" I yelled back at her.

"I DON'T KNOW!" she yelled.

I was getting nowhere but drunker and drunker. The frat boys looked at each other, and at us, like they were going to speak, but instead they just grinned identically. Shit.

But then it dawned on me: I was banging the pool guy, so to speak. He just happened to be a surf bum/coffee shop manager, instead of the pool guy/gardener/plumber/repair guy/fireman, but I still belonged in bad eighties porn. Professional woman gets all her bedroom fantasies fulfilled by laborer.  Now I know that's not a very nice thing to think. I've already admitted that I'm a snob. But this made me feel like I was using Ryan just to get over my depression.  And if he was the pool guy, then I'm just using him.

Here's the good part about being a lawyer: I know how to argue.

Here's the bad part about being a lawyer: I know how to argue. Even with myself.

The "I'm a slut, I'm not a slut, it's not wrong to be a slut anyway" tug-of-war continued, for a while, in my brain, and then I resolved it, definitively. Well, definitively, for now. As definitive as I could be after four cosmos and while ordering a fifth.

"Marie, he's a gorgeous guy and I’m attracted to him. He's the sexiest thing I've ever seen. I want to see him again."

"Then do it," she said drunkenly, in a slightly lower decibel level than before.

I was so glad that we got that settled. The waitress delivered our drinks.

"I love you," I told her drunkenly and mushily.

"I love you too," she slurred back at me. The guys at the next table leaned closer to see what was going to happen next.

A few hours later, the bar called a taxi for me and I went to bed.

HOSPITAL SMELLS.

Bright lights.

A needle injecting me.

I can't feel anything.

The bright lights again.

I'm crying out.

I woke up in a sweat, frantic, looking around, but I was in my bed and there was no one else there.

The next day, I decided to call in sick, nurse my hangover, and meet with my therapist. While I waited for the time to leave for my appointment, I fired up my e-reader and started reading one of the erotic novels that Christian Gray had recommended for me.  I realized something as I read the incredibly hot book: I’d never known that it was okay to get my panties wet.  It happened to the heroine four times in the book. I’d never known that was normal. My mother used to tell me to bathe myself with a washcloth so I wouldn't ever touch myself. I thought that feeling turned on was a bad thing.

I was wrong.

I’d just been hearing my mom's voice in my head all these years. I could think for myself now. I was an adult. I loved getting nailed by Ryan in the supply closet at Southwinds. I wanted to find out where else we were going to do it. I couldn't wait until Friday night.  I also realized something about the book. I had always assumed that erotica and porn were the same thing and I stayed away from both. Too naughty. But erotica was in black and white. Porn was in color. Erotica was words. Porn was pictures.  Erotica appealed to women through their brains. Porn appealed to women through their eyes. Since I was the lawyer-type, it's obvious that the way to get me all hot and bothered was through my brain. I was slowly becoming a fan of erotica.

I want to kiss you on your lips and then explore where it will go.

Hugo, are you sure you meant to send this to me?

Oh yeah, baby.

I laughed out loud, reading his text while sitting in the waiting room for my therapist. Hugo'd never change.  Then she called me in and I sat down.

"I've made some progress this week but I've also regressed." By smiling, Christian Gray encouraged me to continue. "I did your homework. I feel, uh, different. I bought the books, the lingerie, and the vibrator."  We talked about how all of that felt. Then I blurted, "I, um, had sex with Ryan at the coffee shop."

She looked at me with an unreadable expression. "How did that make you feel?"

"Truthfully? Awesome. I'm not going to go be crazy promiscuous. But it was wonderful."  She nodded. "I also slut-shamed myself." She nodded again.

"Are you going to see him again?"

"Tomorrow night."

"How does that make you feel?"

"I'm excited and I'm scared. I feel shame and fear that someone is going to get hurt or someone is not going to approve. And then I argue with myself that I don't have to feel that way."

Christian gently smiled. "Trusting and opening yourself up are healthy, but scary, feelings. When you've been depressed, it can take time to allow others in. Don't feel like you need to push yourself too hard at first. Do what comes naturally. But it's okay to feel whatever you feel. You may feel vulnerable. But trust that feeling."

On Friday, I went to work early before a court appearance and chatted with Neveah, our receptionist, before going into my office, checking my emails, and grabbing the client’s file. As I headed away from her desk, Jake came in the building and followed me down the hall to my office, chatting about the settlement in our trial and the next matters that we were going to be working on. He seemed unusually relaxed, with his hands in the pockets of his lawyer trousers, and his blue eyes dancing.

"Any plans tonight, Amelia?"

"Yes, I do," I responded, startled.

"Too bad. I wanted to know if you wanted to go have a drink with me."

I was floored and then recovered. "Next time, perhaps."

"Sounds good." He turned on his heel and left for his office.

I sat in my chair, speechless.

WTF? First Hugo was stepping it up, now Jake? Was there something in the water? Did I give off extreme female pheromones now that I had an orgasm or two this week? I gathered the client’s file and headed to court.

"All rise. The Superior Court of California, County of Santa Barbara is now in session, Honorable Hannah Morales, Judge Presiding."

I hastily put my cell phone on silent as the bailiff called the court to order. The court was packed this morning with attorneys and litigants.

Then I waited for my case to get called.

And waited.

And waited.

While I waited, I saw a text from Ryan.

See you tonight. I'm bringing dinner.

I shivered. And other parts of me felt good.

Then I realized that the judge was looking at me and calling my case. I had not been paying attention. I snapped into lawyer mode and walked to the podium.

"Amelia Crowley, present, attorneys for the plaintiff."