Page 38 of Sweet Chaos
Boneless, her elbows gave out and her back collapsed against the mattress. With the flat of my tongue, I gave her long, slow licks until she rode out her orgasm.
Arms braced on either side of her head, my mouth moved up her body, and I pressed my lips against hers. She kissed me hard, reaching for the towel around my waist. With a tskk, I pushed her hand away and stood up.
“You don’t get to touch me. Not until you’re ready to fuck me or wrap your lips around my cock.”
Her jaw dropped at my crude words.
“Night, Starlet.” I strode out of my bedroom and left her lying on my bed.
Sweet dreams, baby girl.
I came, I saw, I conquered, and then I left. Correction. She came, I left, blue balls intact. And I wasn’t even mad about it. I licked my lips. They still tasted like her.
14
Scarlett
Athrill of pride shot through me when the petite brunette handed me her money for the denim jacket. It was from my Surf Voodoo collection—a medicine man in a top hat riding a killer wave. I rang up the sale and handed her the change and her purchase in a white bag with the blue Firefly logo. Before she left, we chatted for a few minutes and she promised to check out my website.
A few minutes later, I was refolding T-shirts when Ryan came out of one of the shaping bays in the back, an energy drink in his hand. He took off his Firefly ball cap, ran his fingers through his blond curls and replaced the cap on his head as he ambled over to the sales counter and picked up the most recent SURFER magazine.
“If you wanna take your break, I can cover the front of the shop,” he said, not lifting his head from the pages of the magazine he was thumbing through.
It was quiet now, an afternoon lull so I took him up on his offer. “Thanks,” I said, shooting him a smile on my way to Remy’s office.
The door was open, and she was on the phone. It was the landline, so I knew it was business-related. Remy handled all the orders for custom boards and was the spokesmodel for the brand. Careful not to disturb her, I grabbed my denim jacket and bag from her office, waved goodbye and left quietly.
Sunglasses on to ward off the sun’s glare, I strolled down the tree-lined main street. It had all the charm of a Mediterranean seaside town with the chill factor of SoCal, the white stucco and blush pink facades housing trendy boutiques and surf shops and open-air restaurants perfect for people watching. While I’d been away, in San Francisco and Seattle, I had missed this town. Today it was a balmy seventy degrees and my skin was warmed by the sun on my face.
As I stepped up to the counter at Sweet Creamery, my phone rang. I was tempted not to answer but I did. “Hey Mom. Just a sec.”
“Can I get Cookie Monster in a waffle cone please?” I asked the lady behind the counter. It was my favorite, a mix of Cookie Dough and Oreo.
“You got it,” she said with a smile.
“Ice cream?” my mother said, sounding horrified. “Do you know how many calories is in one scoop of ice cream?”
“Nope. And I don’t care.”
“Your waistline does. You’re not exactly skinny.”
“I’m not fat either.” Okay, so I had hips and a butt, but my body was toned from surfing and my stomach was flat. Ugh, why did I even let her mess with my head? I exchanged an eye-roll with the woman behind the counter.
“Mothers,” she said under her breath with a shake of her head, her dark corkscrew curls bouncing. She set the cone of blue ice cream in a stand and I handed her a twenty. After pocketing my change, I mouthed ‘thank you’ and took my ice cream, continuing my stroll, with my mother’s voice in my ear. I wended my way down the hilly street that funneled to the beach and the pier while she talked about… I had no idea what she was talking about.
“She just went into a boutique on Melrose.”
“Who did?” I asked, taking a few licks of my ice cream.
“Cecily,” my mother replied, exasperated.
That halted me in my tracks. “Um, how do you know this?”
“I’ve been tailing her. Do you think I should get a nose job?”
Oh Mom. “Your nose is perfect. You don’t need a nose job.”
“What does she have that I don’t?” She sniffed, and I imagined her sitting in her car, parked outside a boutique in LA, watching my father’s mistress. Why did she torture herself like this?
