Page 19 of Curveball
The shower head has several settings, so I reach up and adjust it so a single hard stream of water pulses down, and with a slight adjustment in my stance, the jet hits me just where I like. Just where Ineed.
I close my eyes, tip my head back, and in a heartbeat of time, a vision of a naked and fully erect Max is entrenched in my imagination, standing tall and in full view. The broad expanse of his undoubtedly chiseled chest, the firm muscles of his forearms and biceps, the well-formed length of his calves, and his thick athlete’s thighs. The pink mushroom tip and pronounced ridges of his long, thick shaft.
I reach out to hold his erect cock in my palm and wrap my fingers around the soft skin of its girth. He’s solid and smooth, and I bend my knees to kneel, to take him into my mouth, but then I’m stopped and he’s guiding me in a low, husky timbre.
No, baby. This time is for you.
The sound of his sexy, guttural voice in my mind is so real, I startle and open my eyes, expecting to find him standing before me with the shower curtain slid open. But he’s not there—of course he’s not. I close my eyes again and will him back to joining me in my scene.
His tall, chiseled form moves out of my hold to envelope me from behind, that heavy cock I wanted in my mouth so hard and wedged at my hip. With his arms wrapped around me, the weight of his large, calloused hands cover the backs of mine and slide them higher rather than lower, rounding the weight of one breast and then the other. He’s here with me as I glide my open palms over my aching breasts and then move down my abdomen.
No, let’s do that again. Your beautiful tits want to feel extra good.
My breathing is growing labored, my heaving breaths echoing in this confined space. My core is heavy and throbbing. I put one hand against the tiled wall to hold myself upright.
I sweep my breasts again, this time pausing on each to pinch the hard nipples between two fingers, and arcs of pleasure pain rush straight to my clit. My moans of frustration and unbridled lust are loud but I’m the only one here to witness them. Well, me and Max.
Now, lower, baby. I want to see you touch yourself.
I can’t resist him. I let my hand cruise back down the soft flesh of my stomach, and my pussy perks up. She’s got an idea of what’s coming and she’s ready to purr. I’m moving so much—arching and stretching—that the solid stream of water that felt so good a few minutes ago is now useless. I flip off the faucet and turn so my back’s against the cool shower wall, then lift my foot to the lip of the tub, right beside my vibrator. The air around me is warm and steamy, my body swollen and throbbing when my hands continue their slide downward, and I rub myself between my thighs.
Max has been quiet, but now he speaks up, urgent and demanding, his words filthy and erotic.
Jesus, Palmer Girl, just look at you glistening for me. I want to eat that pussy right now, put my mouth on you until you explode with pleasure.
My knees want to buckle, and I lock them so I don’t collapse in a naked heap.
But my hand has been listening to Max and is on board with his desire, shoving him down till he’s crouched at my feet, his mouth fastened against my swollen pussy lips and sucking, his tongue lashing against my pulsing clit, his eyes locked on mine.
My hand, holding the vibrating wand on its barely there setting, moves slowly, then faster against my flesh, alternating firm strokes with circular pressure. It’s Max’s mouth, Max’s talent, thenoh fuck, Max’s fingers taking control.
My legs are quaking, my breathing harsh, the noises coming from my throat ragged andloud. I’m close, so close to orgasm, so in need of this release I’m not sure I’ll survive.
As Max continues to nip and suck at my swollen, greedy clit, he inserts two long fingers into my channel and strokes while his thumb continues with endless circles of alternating pressure directly on my aching bundle.
I turn up the vibrator, one notch, then two, applying it directly to my swollen clit while his fingers curl upward and stroke the tender ridges of internal flesh. The pressure inside me intensifies, contracts, surrounds me, submerges me, and I melt into a hot, screaming, sweaty heap in the cold ceramic tub, and bring my soaked fingers to my mouth for a taste.
Good girl, says Max.That was fucking beautiful.
I haveeight more missed calls by the time I emerge from the bathroom, dressed and oh-so-blissfully relaxed, and move to the kitchen to guzzle a bottle of water. I might even be pleasant to Alejandro when he calls back. I turn the phone volume back onand drop the device on the counter. Surely, there’s time to pour a glass of wine before we hit number nine. Wine sounds really good about now. I’d just moved to the kitchen table and taken a first sip and a time check when the ringer blares and his name and contact photo fill my screen exactly on time. Four minutes flat since his last missed call.
He’s already annoyed when I click to answer.So, something else is going well today. The sarcasm in my thought lifts my already languid spirits and makes it almost easy to hold my tongue when his opening gambit is a complaint.
“Mija, how many times must I tell you, I miss your face. Please pick up the FaceTime when I call.”
“Not at your beck and call, Alejandro. And I’m not going to FaceTime with you. Now, do you need something, or are you just calling to spread cheer?”
“Today, my daughter, I call with exceedingly cheerful news.”
And, oh hell, my orgasmic bliss evaporates.Poof!I’m torn between a feeling of basic cringe and one of pure dread. These days, his jovial mood could mean anything.
“Alejandro, I can’t imagine you know anything that I want to hear. I think, after all these years, you’d understand that.”
A couple of months ago, he got home plate tickets to the Dodgers’ opening game and wanted to fly Dylan to California for the weekend.Thank you, but no.Last summer, he wanted to order Dylan a new pickup truck from one of his Ford dealerships and have it delivered.Hell no, and hard pass.
My son was not happy with me for not-so-politely declining that offer. He’s still naïve enough to imagine his grandfather as generous. I’ve known the man long enough to see him for what he is—controlling and manipulative.
Even those prior excesses don’t prepare me for today’s announcement.
