She sticks her tongue out at the back of his head, which makes me giggle even harder. “I’ve made prosciutto and egg breakfast pizza, with rosemary hash browns this morning. I hope that sounds good to you?”
“Perfect.”
Madden motions for me to join him at the island, where he’s laid out milk and an assortment of sweeteners next to the two nearly-full, steaming hot cups. As he sips on his unaltered, black coffee, he snickers watching me add a splash of milk and three teaspoons of pure sugar to mine. “Exceptionally sweet coffee for my sweet girl, I see.”
Bringing the mug to my mouth, I smile and nod before swallowing a mouthful of the morning go-go juice. “Mmmm…the sweeter the better.”
“Touché.” His bright blue eyes twinkle naughtily.
Sarah sets a full plate of food in front of each of us, and we both dig in as though we haven’t eaten in a week. Describing the food as ‘delicious’ doesn’t begin to do the food justice; it’s out-of-this-world scrumptious. Thankfully, the gashes on my tongue feel much better already, and I’m able to scarf down all of it without wincing even once due to pain. As I scrape my fork across the clean plate, she scoops more of the breakfast casserole and potatoes onto it, smiling widely at my obvious appreciation for the meal.
Once we are both finished with our second helpings and coffee, I run out to my car to fetch my overnight bag, happy I brought along a change of clothes. Madden and I both return back upstairs to shower and change for the day’s outing. Even though he’s thoroughly inspected every inch of my body up close and personally, and I’ve already seen him nude—though it wasn’t in a sexual sense—he excuses himself to the guest bathroom, allowing me the use of his shower and vanity area.
Not wanting to be the typical girl that takes forever to get ready, I shower swiftly, pull my hair into a ponytail, and apply a minimal amount of makeup—just a little mascara, blush, and lip gloss. Then, I slip into my favorite pair of denim shorts and a black spaghetti-strapped top, with black flip-flops. When I emerge from the bathroom, Madden is standing in his closet wearing only a pair of charcoal gray shorts as he searches for a shirt. Though I’ve seen him shirtless numerous times before and even slept cuddled against his bare chest, for some reason, the sight of him in this exact moment has the butterflies fluttering in my belly and me clenching my thighs together. I can’t help but remember the feeling of his hands all over my body as his mouth selflessly pleasured me over and over again. He’s awakened a desire in me that has lain dormant for years. For the first time since I was a hormonal teenager, I want to have sex; I long to feel him buried deep inside of me.
Feeling my eyes locked on him, he turns his head to face me, his mouth curling up in a knowing smirk. My cheeks heat up with embarrassment, like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“Wanna help me decide what to wear?” he asks.
Shaking my head, I reply playfully, “I trust your selections.”
He laughs hard as he pulls a white shirt from the hanger, slipping it over his head. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”
Turning the light off in the closet, he stalks towards me like a predator cornering his prey. Shrieking, I take off running, not sure where I’m going to go. In a matter of seconds, he catches me, picks me up over his shoulder, and tosses me onto the bed. Straddling my hips, he uses one hand to pin my arms above my head and the other to tickle my sides. I wiggle and squeal, desperately yet ineffectively attempting to free myself. Eventually, he lets up with his giggle-inducing torture and lowers his face to rest his forehead against mine. “If you keep up with that sassy mouth and looking at me like you were, we won’t make it anywhere today,” he warns lowly, pressing himself against my mound.
The internal flutters morph into a desirous ache as I suck in a long breath through my teeth. Not going anywhere wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
“You aren’t ready for that yet, sweet girl. Slow and steady, remember?” he murmurs across my lips, kissing me several times softly. Hopping off of me, he tugs on my arms until we’re both standing again. He swats my ass and announces, “Now, let’s get going. I have a day of fun planned for you.”
It’s a little after noon when we arrive at Venice Beach, and Madden grabs my hand once we’re out of the car, leading me down towards the boardwalk. The weather outside couldn’t be any more perfect; the bright sun suspends high in an endless blue sky, with the occasional white wisp of a cloud passing by, making it comfortably warm with the fresh sea breeze blowing ashore.
“I still can’t believe you haven’t been down to the coast since you’ve been here,” he remarks. “You realize it’s less than an hour drive from Burbank, right? Wait…do you live in Burbank? I guess I assumed you did, since your office is there.”
I reply, “I live in Woodland Hills,” without even realizing I’m sharing more personal information with him than I have with anyone else in a long time, “and yes, I realize how close it is. It was pretty cool out when I first moved here, not really ideal beach weather.”
He smiles down at me as we stride across the street. “Well, I’m kinda glad you didn’t. Now I get to be the one to show you all of these California landmarks.”
There’s no time for me to respond before we’re engulfed in a sea of people, causing me to tense up immediately. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones with this idea today, but after a little finagling and twisting through bodies, we make it out to the other side of the mass unscathed, but as always when I’m around people I don’t know, I’m on high alert.
“Wow, it’s breathtaking,” I proclaim, the infinite sheet of deep blue water laid out before me causes me to forget my anxiety for a brief while.
Madden loops his arms around my waist from behind and sweetly kisses my neck. “It doesn’t hold a candle to you, Blake. Let’s go put our feet in the sand before we walk around.”
I follow him down to the beach, sliding my feet out of my flip-flops and stepping onto the soft beige sand, surprised at how cool the fine grains feel as they slither between my toes. Unable to suppress the kid in me, I begin to skip and twirl around spiritedly towards the surf, frolicking in my first Pacific Coast experience, which is much more frigid than I expected. Acting just as silly as I am, he runs behind me and lifts me up over his head like we’re auditioning for Dancing with the Stars. I’m pretty sure if anyone’s paying attention to us, we win the most ridiculous couple award, but I couldn’t care less about what anyone thinks; I feel more alive in this moment than I have in over four years. The security and comfort I experience in his presence is a huge turning point for me in my attempt at this new life.
Once we’re finished making fools of ourselves, we walk up and down the boardwalk, taking in all the diverse sights and sounds of Venice Beach. At first, I attempt to scan the crowd to look for faces I recognize or appear suspicious, a process that’s become second nature to me. However, there are so many people milling by it’s downright impossible, and I soon give up and focus on the different things Madden’s pointing out to me.
Strolling past the shops and restaurants, a mixture of fried food and marijuana scents hang densely in the air as I look around with wonder. Never before have I seen such an eclectic group of people in one place. There are average-looking couples and families, skateboarders, young men playing basketball, body-builders, fire-breathing street performers holding snakes, and everything in-between. Tattooed and pierced skin is more common than not, and I didn’t know hair could come in so many different hues. The graffiti on the benches and walls isn’t obscure spray painting done by some neighborhood kids; it’s true art. Vibrant colors in creative, inspirational pieces—both realistic and innovative—are everywhere I look, and I’m amazed by the entire environment.
We walk the length of the path, and then turn around, making our way back to where his car is parked. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, I’m surprised to find we were there almost four hours; however, my rumbling stomach doesn’t let me forget how long it’s
been since we ate Sarah’s breakfast.
Placing his hand on my thigh, he looks over at me and flashes an authentic, charm-the-birds-out-of-the-trees, Madden grin. “We’re going to go have some dinner now, and then we’ll head over to the pier. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on experience of the carnival at nighttime.”
“You think the dangerous rides and twinkling lights are going to make me feel young and innocent, and arouse my appetite for something other than food?” I tease, recalling his words from the night before.
“Ah, my funny girl is back. Do I need to remind you just how funny I can be?” he says as he squeezes my leg, threatening another tickling attack.
“No! You need to drive and not kill us!” I cry out, giggling at the recent memory.
He leaves his hand where it is, but redirects his concentration to the road while I sing along to the radio. In no time at all, the famous Santa Monica Pier comes into view, and he parks in a public lot across the street. He explains the restaurant is right up the road, so we can easily walk to both locations, leaving the car in one place for the evening.
We walk the few blocks north to Bar Pintxo, a quaint little place located right on the corner of Ocean and Santa Monica Boulevard. Madden opens the wood-framed glass door for me, and I step inside the charming tapas bar. The interior of the restaurant is lined floor-to-ceiling with bottles of wine, but the open kitchen and closely arranged pub-style tables give it a casual, lively environment. We snag the last available table on the small outdoor patio, relishing in the late afternoon ocean breeze while we people watch and enjoy delectable Basque-inspired pintxos and traditional tapas. I allow Madden to order, assuming he’s been here before and knows what’s good, as I once again investigate my surroundings. There are only four tables on the patio, and two of them have been pushed together to seat a large group of thirty-something women, who other than whispering to one another while continuously gaping at Madden, don’t threaten me at all. The other table is another couple close to my age, who are so involved in each other’s conversation and holding hands across the table I’m not sure they’re aware any of the rest of us are sharing the space. Many people are passing by on the street in front of us, but no one is paying any attention to us.
Companionable silence falls over us as we make quick work cleaning the numerous plates spread across the wooden table. We opt not to indulge in any wine with our meal since we will soon be spinning around, dropping from great heights, and turning upside-down and every other way possible. After Madden pays the bill, we stroll down Ocean Avenue back towards the historic Santa Monica Pier stretching out over the expansive Pacific Ocean.
Much like Venice Beach, the pier is crowded with a wide variety of people in every age, nationality, and walk of life imaginable, which makes it extremely hard to perform my mental inventory of those around me. Again, I’m forced to let it go and pray no one has followed me here and that no one will recognize me. All I want is to blend in with the rest of the crowd. Many of the families with small children are walking in the opposite direction than we are—leaving their day of fun as nighttime quickly approaches. Small restaurants, tourist shops, and street vendors are sprinkled about, but with our already-full bellies and no need for Route 66 t-shirts, we make a beeline to the rides at the end of the landing.
Madden purchases the unlimited ride bands, and once they’re securely wrapped around our wrists, he smiles down at me and asks, “This is your day, so where do you want to start?”
“The rollercoaster,” I answer definitely.
“I’m impressed. No dipping your toes in; you’re going to dive right off into the deep end, eh?
“I’m a good swimmer.”
Grabbing my hips, he pulls me up against him and presses his lips to my forehead. “I bet that’s not all you’re good at,” he rumbles roguishly.
I spin out of his arms and grin goofily. “You bet right. Now let’s go.”
He links our pinkies together and swing them back and forth like an adolescent couple on their first date as we walk towards the West Coaster. A forty minute wait and three minute ride later, I can’t wipe the permanent smile off of my face. Rushing over to the next ride, we then take the Pacific Plunge—a spectacular, nine story free-fall, followed by an attempt to tame the Sea Dragon—a swinging wooden ship painted like a scary serpent.
Adrenaline pumps through my blood stream, releasing massive amounts of endorphins, and my entire body is bustling with excitement. While we wait for the electric bumper cars, I lean back on Madden’s strong frame, and immediately, the feel of his body pushed against mine stirs a heated buzz shooting from my gut, directly south between my legs. I release a throaty moan, barely audible over the noisiness of everything going on around us, but I know he either heard it or felt the vibration, because he pushes his hips into my lower back, then lower as he begins to casually rub his hardening cock up and down between my ass cheeks.
“Is that what you were looking for?” he sensually whispers into my ear.
My panties are drenched with my desire, and suddenly, I’m ready to leave—forget the bumper cars, carousel, Ferris wheel, and anything else we haven’t yet made it to. I rest my head on his shoulder and gaze up at him, allowing my eyes to do the pleading.
“Not yet, my naughty little girl. Let that fire build for me.” He nods his head forward, indicating it’s time to move up in the line, and I reluctantly pull away from him to go get inside my Sig Alert Ev car. Over the next several minutes, I relentlessly pound my car into his every chance I get, hoping to release my building sexual frustration, but instead, the jolts from the colliding cars make me think of Madden pushing himself inside me. I’m a breathless mess of lust by the time I climb out of my orange rover, and I’m not sure I can make it much longer.
Walk over to where he waits for me outside the gate, he’s wearing a boyish smile like a kid on Christmas morning. “That was so much fun!” he exclaims.
“It works. The fire is burning out of control,” I mutter, ignoring his gleeful comment.
“Huh?”
“The carnival thing…it works. My fire needs extinguishing. Now.”
His azure eyes dance with amusement. “You’ll be fine a little bit longer, Blake. Let’s watch the sunset from the Ferris wheel, and then we can go home.”
“Please,” I beg. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, but I’m hornier than a pubescent teenage boy. I’ve never felt like this before. Maybe it is what he said—the excitement from the dangerous rides, the savory smell from all the fried foods, the sparkling of the colorful lights—or maybe it’s the overwhelming sense of freedom that encompasses me here when I’m with him. Finally, I’m allowing myself to experience…to appreciate…to crave. I’m not worried about who I was, what I’ve seen, or if anyone’s looking for me; the only thing I care about is enjoying myself with Madden.
“I’m not going to fuck you here,” he grumbles with a smoldering stare, “especially not our first time together. You deserve to be coddled and pampered, while I worship you like the sweet girl you are. There will be plenty of opportunity in the future to explore the forbidden act of sex in public.”
“Don’t mistake my timid apprehension for innocence or naiveté,” I advise with a bit more snark in my tone than I intended.
Obviously irritated, he runs his fingers through his hair and inhales a deep breath. Exhaling a few prolonged seconds later, he commands, “Ferris wheel. Now.”
The flame flickering in his eye convinces me not to argue, so I spin around on my heel and stomp towards the massive, circular structure erected high into the air. Neither of us say a word as we wait in line, but the close proximity of our bodies fuels the internal burn scorching through me, despite my brain’s aggravation at him for not giving me what I want.
We load into the red suspended basket when it’s our turn, and he slides onto the bench right next to me instead of across from me. The minute we move up and out of earshot from the people on the ground, he reach
es his arm over my thigh and cups my throbbing sex. His burning touch sears me through the denim of my shorts, and I gasp out loud. My eyes, wide with wonder, lock onto his lust-filled irises as he leisurely begins to caress my mound with tantalizing slow strokes of his fingertips.
“This pussy is mine. Nobody else touches what is mine, including you, unless I’ve given you direct instructions to do so,” he states calmly. His fingers ascend up my stomach slightly, only to unsnap and slide into the waist of my shorts so that the silk of my panties is the only thing separating his massaging fingers and my slippery folds. Instinctively, I part my thighs for him. “My pussy will not come unless I’m there to witness it…to savor it…to claim it.”
The ride continues to lift us up into the air, stopping every few feet to allow new passengers to load, until we are soon dangling high above the magnificent coastline. “Forget anyone or anything that has ever had the privilege of touching my pussy in the past. The thought of it turns me into a ragingly jealous, possessive, overprotective son-of-a-bitch who I don’t want to be.”
The tips of his fingers teasingly skim across the hem of my panties, slithering under the drenched fabric. “I never want to take away your freedom to say what you want or to have your own thoughts and opinions, nor do I want you to fear me in any way. Trust—both ways—is what I’m searching for, but I can’t help but feel selfish when it comes to you.” Methodically, he begins to drag his fingertip around the outer rim of my slit as the heel of his hand rotates in small circles, with the perfect amount of pressure on my clit. I know my eyes are glassed over with want, but I keep them steadily on his.
“Look,” he instructs softly. “Look at the sunset with me.” Forcing myself to tear away my gaze, together we watch the fiery sun fall the last few degrees until the endless ocean swallows it inch-by-inch until all that’s left of the blistering sphere are tendrils of muted gold, orange, and pink swirling into the dusky summer sky. “Humbling, isn’t it? Watching a ball of blazing fire disappear right before your eyes?”