Page 54 of Crossing the Line
Mr. Exciting
Paisley Grove
Our first stop is a quaint neighborhood in Queens where the branches of trees curve over a quiet street. James gets out of the SUV in front of a gorgeous townhome, and then Hercules takes the wheel. I ride shotgun. We talk some more about what I read in those letters. Like, my grandmother and Garnet definitely had a lot of passionate sex. They cracked jokes together too. It was as if they had their own funny language. I told Hercules that my grandmother, as I’ve known her my whole life, has never been a humorous person.
“She told him everything about herself. Like I never knew my grandma lost her mother at an early age and that she was raised by her older sister. That kind of stuff. Very intimate.”
Hercules reaches out for my hand, and I gave it to him. “What should I know about you, PG?”
I relax against the soft leather seat, feeling complete contentment. “There’s not much to know.” I turn to gaze at how the moonlight outlines his perfect profile. “I have no secrets other than you.”
Hercules chuckles and squeezes my hand tighter. “Don’t worry, PG. I plan on making an honest woman out of you.”
I chuckle, thinking he’s always made an honest woman out of me in my fantasies and dreams.
We arrive at a street festival in Long Island. Hercules explains that the festival sprang up unexpectedly, and the only people who know about it are those who can see it with their own eyes or those who received an invite from someone who knows about it.
My heart pumps at a feverish rate as Hercules and I stroll down the boardwalk of Rockaway Beach. If it weren’t for the multicolored lit bunny ears we’re wearing on top of rainbow wigs, people might recognize us—well, mainly him. Hercules always stands out like a sore thumb. He’s tall, and the way his dark-gray pants caress his manly rear end and strong thighs distracts every woman who passes us. Not to mention his black button-down shirt made of expensive cotton material that shows off his biceps.
I can’t imagine being Hercules Lord, a man whose genetics put him squarely at the top of the food chain as far as good looks go. However, Hercules doesn’t seem to notice how others regard him. He’s focused on me enjoying myself. And I am certainly enjoying myself.
It’s as though we’re smack-dab in the middle of Disneyland’s festival of lights. We’ve played plenty of carnival games, like the one where the players lineup and shoot a clown in the mouth with water. Apparently, this causes a balloon to expand, and the first player to pop his or her balloon wins. Hercules wins of course. And since we’ve just arrived, we give the oversized panda bear to a little girl, who is over the moon about being given a stuffed animal that’s almost bigger than she is.
Hercules promises to win me a prize bigger than the one he gave away, but I say, “Being with you is the biggest prize I can ever win.”
We stare into each other’s eyes yet again, waiting until the urge to kiss has passed. Then we stroll past all the sights and sounds of the lively festival as though we’re very good friends who like each other a lot—like, a whole lot.
Every now and then, we stop to play another game. I win one, to the huckster’s surprise. I’ve covered a large red circle with four metal rings. Apparently, the game is made for players to lose more than win. Upon my victory, Hercules and I find ourselves fighting the urge, yet again, to celebrate with a kiss. I hand my prize over to a cute little boy who’s frustrated because he can’t seem to beat the circle. I take a few minutes to show him exactly how I did it. Then Hercules and I watch as the kid wins his own prize.
After that, Hercules buys me my first funnel cake ever. I take a bite, and he grins as he watches me devour the rest. I’ve never eaten anything that fast in my life. I tell him how incredibly delicious the fried pastry was, so he buys me another one. But I take my time eating the second one as we stroll down the boardwalk, admiring the light-art masterpieces. We discuss which ones move us and why. Hercules so easily strikes up conversations with artists. Some of them have galleries in the city. He promises them that we’ll visit them soon. Each time he says “we,” I feel as if we’re an item, and maybe tonight we are. Or maybe visiting art galleries is something friends do.
Then we dance. The night on my face—bliss in the air—I’ve never been happier. And wow, Hercules is an amazing dancer. His subtle hip swings are seductive and distracting. If he were giving me a striptease, all he’d have to do is take off his belt, and that would be it—job done. I’d be ready to grab him and beg him to make mad passionate love to me.
I put my mouth to his ear, and he raises his chin, waiting to hear what I have to say. “People are looking at us because of you.”
Then he puts his mouth next to my ear, and that sends more tingles through my sex. “It’s you they’re looking at, PG. You’re sexy as hell.” He takes me by the hand. “But we should go before someone recognizes us and puts us inMag Rag.”
I chuckle. “You meanTop Rag Mag. Why can’t you ever remember that?”
The look on his face is my answer. He doesn’t remember the name of the magazine because he doesn’t respect them.
And now my hand is in his. Everything inside me pumps harder as we walk back to his SUV, which is parked along the curb in front of beach homes. We stand in front of the passenger-side door. My head is tilted back and against the window. His face is over mine as our breaths crash into each other. We’re silent. Our desire for each other is at an all-time high.
“I’ve been needing to kiss you,” he whispers.
I swallow as chills simmer through me.
Hercules carefully wraps one arm around me. I can’t step back or away from him. Instead, I let him guide me against his hard body. It’s the dancing. He turned me on with his sexy moves. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do with him right now. He could bend me over, lay me against the seat, and pump into my wetness from behind. I’d blow him. I’d do whatever he wanted.
“But I know that if I push you to go too fast, you’ll pull away,” he says. “And I have a lot more nights like this in store for us.”
I close my eyes, exhaling a shuddering breath out of my nose when I’m no longer in his arms. He reaches around me, the back of his hand his against my hip, his solid cock against me, as he opens the passenger-side door.
* * *
Later on,in bed, I picture Hercules standing before me, at the door of his SUV, as Mr. Man mechanically brings me to climax. I scream in pleasure, but once my orgasm subsides, I throw my vibrator down on the empty mattress beside me. An orgasm did nothing to ease my yearning for the real thing. It’s not the way he looks or the sex we’ve had that makes me want him so much. It’s our conversations that I love, and the way I trust him makes me want to be with him forever. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea to hang out with Hercules as I have been doing. I don’t think we’re capable of seeing each other platonically.
My cellphone beeps, and I flip onto my stomach to reach out and see who just sent me a message. I flip back onto my back after reading the screen.
