Thank you to those who took the time to share their thoughts on the prior chapters. This is the first story I've written completely from Ranger's POV, and it's been interesting trying to think from a male perspective.
Just a quick chapter that includes the Janet Evanovich Fan Fiction FB group's October writing prompt. Standard disclaimer applies.
Chapter 3
I walk into my apartment and drop my keys in the silver tray on the sideboard. My body is humming with tension and frustration, and I know I'll have a difficult time falling asleep tonight. I'm honest enough to admit that most of it stems from the sexual tension and frustration from earlier at Steph's apartment.
I know it's my fault it's come to this. Steph was raised to be a good Catholic girl and was groomed for a more traditional life than that of the companion to a mercenary. I hadn't lied to her when I told her I was an opportunist, and I had taken every opportunity she had offered. But, if I'm being honest with myself, I have to admit that I'm more emotionally attached to her than I should be.
When the fuck had this become so complicated? Stupid question. I know when. When a skinny white girl from the Burg snuck through all of the defenses I was so God damned sure were impenetrable. That's when.
What I need is a good, no-strings attached, fuck to get this emotional shit out of my head. It's not like I've been a choir boy while she's been with the cop. At least I'm discreet. No one's caught me climbing out a bedroom window or seen my car parked at a cheap, no-tell motel.
I pull my phone from my cargos and start scrolling down through my contacts. Angelique. I haven't thought of her in years. I picture the statuesque blonde for half a second before scrolling further. Isabella. I pause, considering the hot blooded Latina with a body made for sex. Doesn't feel right. I keep scrolling. Mai. My cock twitches in anticipation of the over the top, physical sex she enjoys. Mai it is.
I picture her dark chocolate, almond-shaped eyes peering up at me as she kneels naked before me. Her dark skin and close cropped, textured hair were from her father's African heritage, but her eyes gave away her mother's Vietnamese ancestry. An evening with Mai was the sexual equivalent of a trip to the mats with Tank - a no holds barred experience that left you with aching muscles, bruises and completely exhausted. And exhilarated, you knew you were alive.
My thumb is hovering over the screen ready to connect the call when the image in my brain shifts. Dark eyes change to blue. The ebony skin of my mental image fades to ivory, and it's Steph's luscious, full lips closing over the head of my throbbing cock, blue eyes locked with mine as I slide deeper into her mouth.
Christ. I threatened to ruin Stephanie for all other men, but I'm starting to believe she's ruined me instead. I told her she had all the power. I shove my phone back into my cargo pants and head for the shower. As physically satisfying as time with Mai would be, she isn't the woman my body is craving. I strip off my clothes, turn on the taps and adjust the water temperature before stepping into the glass enclosed shower stall. I take myself in hand and let my mind return to the vision that had formed in the entryway.
Imaging Steph servicing me isn't what turns me on though. Instead, I start remembering the sounds she makes as I worship her body. The feel and taste of her as I savor every inch of her delectable body, making sure to return multiple times to the spots that elicit the strongest response. I continue to slowly stroke myself, remembering her mewling cries as she moves closer and closer to her release; begging me not to stop as my tongue moves over her most sensitive area. I recall the sensation when I feel her go over the edge, the taste of her pleasure in my mouth, the way she moves her hips upwards and grabs my head, fingers tangled in my hair, as she holds me against her writhing body. I find my own release as I recall hers, stroking myself a few more times to draw out my orgasm the way she held me firm to draw out her own.
With the edge taken off of my sexual tension, I finish my shower and head to bed. It had been a long and frustrating day. I settle between the sheets that she loves so much, remembering nights when her warm body lay pressed up against mine. No matter how hard she tries to put space between us on the nights we've slept in the same bed, she always gravitates to me in her sleep. In that moment between wake and sleep she would forget that she was trying to keep her distance.
There is no sweeter way to start the day than with her half asleep kisses. As I start to drift off alone in my bed, I'm remembering the feel of her lips moving up my neck. I imagine I can feel her lips brush against my ear, the whisper of her breath as she opens her mouth to speak. Then I hear Morelli's voice say "Good luck, Manoso."
Fuck you, Morelli.