James and Melanie Ch. 01

"Reconsider, boss," I plead. But I'm quickly losing the capability to do anything but moan. He's hammering up into me with long, punishing thrusts. He grunts with each one, snatching himself almost all the way back before shoving into me, ragdolling my body around the foot of the bed.

That pinching pain of him bottoming out makes my eyes roll back in orgasm. I quake and arch, then go completely limp. While he readjusts his angle, snatching my left leg to hook it over his shoulder, he says, "You shoulda fucking moved, Melanie."

"Mmm. Mm. Mm. MMM." He's fucking grunts and moans out of me, but aside from his panting, he's silently reaming me out. "Fuck. Fucking harder."

"Yeah? You missed this dick, sweetheart. I know you did." My lower body is no longer on the bed, and my hips are cinched between his hands like a vice. He's plowing into me, slapping against my puffy lips and making everything jiggle. He finishes in me without ceremony, and I kind of wish I could feel him splash warm against my walls.

"I wanted to cum again," I whine.

"You didn't do what I told you," he accuses, pushing my leg off of his shoulder. He reaches over to the top of the bed to throw away his condom. "Come clean me up and maybe I'll help you out."

I stare at him, lower body wrecked and immobile for the time being. "You fucked my legs asleep, you come here," I demand. He shrugs and sidles up my body until his dick is at my lips. I get to work, craning my neck to lap the cum from around his length, swirling my tongue around the tip, until it's as sparkly as it was before I took it for a spin. He moans long and low before I tug on his dick with soft fingers. He knows what I want and shifts forward so I can tongue his balls.

"Now, again," I order, pumping his dick in one hand, stroking his balls in the other. The view from here is intoxicating. Quincy is the color of roasted almonds, thickly muscled, and harboring a cozy layer of fat over his body. Cuffing season material, not really suited for whatever it is we do. He doesn't know it yet, though.

"Aiight, then take your ass on over to the top of the bed. On your knees, and hold on." Country twang has seeped into his voice. He must be really excited.

I grip the solid oak and spread my legs, listening to him roll off the bed to take a long drink from a water bottle on his nightstand and rip open the second condom of the night. Between my legs is still a sopping mess, but I want to be dripping when I leave.

"Okay, sweetheart," he says, crawling up behind me before stroking a warm hand over my butt. I just pushed the string of my thong to the side to fuck him the first time, but now he eases the little straps down my legs and kisses one cheek before letting his fingers graze over my sticky pussy lips.

He slides two fingers casually up inside me. "Nini, you know, this is a once-in-a-lifetime pussy." I make a hiccuping sound in my throat as he slides a finger out and over my clitoris. "So goddamn wet."

"Yeah, so wet that I want you to fucking come on already." I try to shove myself back onto his finger but he grabs my cheeks in his hands and spreads them apart, suddenly driving his tongue as far up into me as it will go, fingers running circles around my clit. "Ah- fuuuuuuuuuuuck it, Q." My walls clench around his tongue as I cum. He holds me still with one hand on my back and laps me clean, diving in and out of me with his tongue and using the moisture to trail slippery fingers over my clit again. My arms shake against the headboard, but I don't let go.

"Q? I must got you fucked up, baby," he teases. I used to call him that on the nights we went home drunk together and had wild sex on every surface in his home. He spearheads his recovered pole back into my center, making the headboard bang against the wall in my straight-armed grip. For a few minutes, all I hear is a steady slap slap slap from our skin coming together, and the headboard tapping against the wall.

Then he rips my hands away from it. "Hands and knees now, Ni," he says. "I'm gonna put you to sleep."

He hovers over my back to deliver short, hard thrusts, hands braced on my shoulders and bouncing me off of his dick.

"You always try, Q," I wheeze.

He chuckles and slows down to stroke and cup my behind once more before pressing down between my shoulder blades. "Try, try again," he agrees. "Let me see something." He increases the pressure until I get the idea and drop my upper body down, face turned to the side on his damp sheets. The whole room smells like sex and sweat.

"Look all you want," I moan. I grip the sheets as he reclaims the indentations he's probably cratered into my waist, like memory foam. This one's going to be rough on me.

"How about this?" Quincy starts sawing in and out of me, and the position he's got me in has me too stimulated to try and bounce back. I can only moan from my chest. "Yeah, lay there and take it," he commands. His thrusts never change pace, only contributing to the white hot feeling at the center of me.

He picks up speed, and I don't stop moaning. "Quincy, baby. Fuck me. Fuck that pussy."

He sounds animalistic now, and as he drives me into the mattress, I reach under myself to rub erratically over my clit. This time, I wail, just like the woman in the video yesterday, and barely feel him collapse over me, shooting warm into the condom.

. . .

"Quincy." I'm laying on my side, back against his chest, after we end up demolishing half of the pan of crab legs I brought over.

"Yeah, Nini?"

"You fucked me good."

He snorts. "I know."

I try to turn my head to look at him and give a half-smile. "But I'm not sleep."

"Girl, then just let me sleep," he grumbles. He draws me closer to him, hand rubbing circles over my round ass. We've been stark naked all night, and he bent me over one of the dining room chairs to eat me out and drill into me again after dinner. I finally got to swallow his load after cumming. To my surprise, some bruises are showing up on my skin, which he tried to seem apologetic about. I told him to go ahead and puff out his chest.

I stay quiet next to him, and his hand finally comes to rest around my waist in sleep. I eventually fall asleep to the rhythm of his steady breathing.

I'm satisfied.

. . .

"Melanie, who the hell fucked you up a wall while I was gone?" Winnie asks from her seat on top of the kitchen table, right across from my future brother-in-law.

Marvin sputters into his venti Dragonfruit Refresher and I whip my head around with my spoon still in my mouth to give a calculating look at my embarrassing little sister.

"Up a wall?" I frown, mumbling around my spoon. I take it out of my mouth and drop it back into my oatmeal.

"Had to be, with them handprints on your hips like that," she snickers, eyes dark with mischief.

I make an about-face. "Oh." I forgot about those. I look down, and there they are, purplish bruises peeking out above my jeans.

"Oh is fuckin' right, who you call?"

"...Ghostbusterssss," Marvin mumbles, corners of his mouth creeping up.

Winnie giggles, and I smile at the two goofy fools. They belong together, truly. "Quincy from school called me up. We had crab legs and a good time. No walls though," I explain.

"Quincy and his big-ass back don't need a wall," Winnie agrees.

"Nope." I grin.

"Well, ladies, as much as Quincy's broad back sets fire to my loins, we got a few more things to go over," Marvin directs, gesturing to the giant wedding planner sitting in the middle of the table.

"Right, right," Winnie smiles, turning her attention back to the open book. "We can talk about walls later, Marv." I focus on the page, too, as blind as I can be to the conspiratorial looks that pass between them.

Two years ago, Marvin would've been blushing from the conversations my sister and I have, but I assume he's wise to our ways now. I've always wanted to find someone like that, who I can share the dumbest, most meaningless stuff with.

. . .

"Don?"

"Ben!"

"Oh, you two already... know each other?" My work wife, Yasmin, shuffles the papers in her hands at the door of the conference room and smiles curiously as she watches me and the guy from the liquor store exchange familiar greetings.

If the file in my hand is correct, his actual name is Mr. James Tracy, here for a second consultation session about opening a second location for his distillery. Well, that answers several questions.

"Yes, Ms. Wright, your associate and I have actually run into each other around town a few times in the past week," he explains. He's wearing another sharp suit, and I'm pleased that I'm finally in something other than sweatpants for once.

"Yes, I suppose I can't call you Ben anymore, Mr. Tracy." I smile politely and motion towards the conference table, actually looking forward to this meeting. "Shall we get started?"

Almost an hour passes as we continue where he and Yasmin left off from the first meeting, hashing out the basics for opening a second location for James' distillery just outside of the tri-state area. He had done a lot of his own research into the matter before coming to us, and brought out his own binder cataloguing actions he had set into motion and things he had yet to do. He's quickly becoming my favorite client.

"So, we're considering the fact that the warehouse you're looking into converting has a similar setup, having been in the same business as yours. Have you thought about opening up this location to tours and tastings, like the first?" Yasmin had excused herself to help with another matter a half hour ago, and then messaged me asking if I could finish up the consultation alone. Not a good look, switching up personnel, but it must be important for her to leave like that.

"I actually want this to be more of a get-down-to-business location. My first distillery helps to advertise and spread the word about my brand, but now I'm trying to meet my distributors' needs." He's the picture of "got-it-all-together", resting his forearms across another thick file and leaning in, engaging his audience. A businessman.

I flip a page to view the location again. "That would be ideal, because this isn't a tourist-friendly town either," I comment. "You're thorough, Mr. Tracy." I nod down at the paper and look back up at him, still wondering why the head of the company would be helping in retail. I don't even think his distillery produces rum.

He coughs. "Listen, Melanie, can we move on to a first name basis? We know each other too well for 'Mr. Tracy and Ms. Payne.'" He chuckles, nervously, and I smile.

"I got you, James," I laugh. "Catch me outside and I'll be as unprofessional as ever, I promise." His cheeks seem to redden and he looks back down, fidgeting with his remaining envelope. Did this motherfucker just blush? I'm intrigued, but I cross my legs at the ankles and finish up the consultation. James is a client now, as cute as he is.

. . .

"I never thought it'd end like this, Ni," Yasmin sniffs, fluttering her eyes dramatically and leaning against the vending machine. "How could you?"

"What are you talking about, Yazzy?" I lean back from studying my microwave risotto and stretch in my chair.

She drops the act and takes the few steps from one side of the breakroom to the other to plop down across from me. "You and Tracy," she smirks. "I thought I'd be blinded by the light in your eyes when you saw him."

"James? I've legit seen him once or twice around town, there's nothing scandalous happening," I say.

"Yet," she adds. "This project is gonna take about six months to launch, a lot could happen in that time." She considers. "Or after that time. I don't want you getting in trouble with HR."

"Yazzy, I'm fairly certain you spend too much time by yourself with your own overactive imagination." I made him blush though, I think to myself. Cutest fucking thing I've ever seen. "Is Trisha on another job?"

She deflates when I mention her wife of three years. "Yeah, for two more weeks," she pouts.

I cluck in sympathy. "Aw, baby girl," I say. "Wanna go out for lunch instead? We can go to the grill you like down the street." My lunch is soggy, nasty, and a sin against all of Italy anyway.

"If you're paying, Ma." Yasmin tosses her long braid over her shoulder, eyes actually shiny with tears. As silly as she is, she must really miss Trish right now.

"Of course. Let's go, sugar baby." I dump my cardboard lunch into the trash on our way out.