V is for Veronica Ch. 07

"Thank you, I'm hanging up now."

***

Going down the shore is a production, so when Rob offers me the option of staying at his dads' beach house for the following weekend, I take him up on it.

His parents, as it turns out, are in Barbados.

"Happy birthday, cupcake," Rob says on the phone as I arrive. "You even got food for your beachy long weekend. Pop took care of everything."

"You told your Dad?"

"What, you think I was gonna let you in their house without them knowing?"

"Valid," I concede. Dumb question.

"You know how Pop gets, he had someone come set up the house for you."

I shake my head. "Thanks, Rob. You didn't have to do all this."

"I didn't. I love you, boo-boo, have a good time and don't forget to use sunscreen, you are pale."

I am not anything close to pale, but I don't belabor the point.

I did it. I'm here. And there's a beach and I'm here. Mia won't arrive until tomorrow because of her work schedule but we have the weekend of lazing about and I'm actually feeling pretty excited about it.

I stand inside the broad foyer of the beach house reliving the memories. Rob's family has a beachfront property in New Jersey, so you know they got cashcash.

The first surprise I get to is in the kitchen. Gifts are lined up on the island in pretty wrapping paper. There's a huge Edible Arrangements on the counter with a hot pink cheetah print balloon that says "Happy Purrday".

I giggle like an idiot. That's so dumb.

I love it.

I pull out the card. In sprawling script it says, "Happy Birthday sweetie! Enjoy the house! Love Dad and Pop".

Well this is super freaking nice.

I pick off a piece of pineapple and chew as I look at the gifts.

Gifts. Ridiculous. I mean I'm gonna open then shits like a savage and I am beyond pumped that they're here. But it's ridiculous.

I pick up the first box. They're all wrapped in a rich plum heavy stock wrapping paper with a damask pattern and black velvet bows. It's so absurd I take a pic and send it to Rob.

I shove the pineapple chunk in my cheek, I wipe the juice on my shorts like a child and gingerly pull the bows. The wrapping job is so nice, I find myself wanting to carefully unwrap and save it. My mom will love it.

A flash of red peeks out from the black tissue paper and inside, I find a gorgeous one piece swimsuit with that iconic retro pinup look; ruching, sweetheart neckline and halter.

I almost choke on my pineapple when a small piece of paper flutters to the floor. In simple block print it says, love, Mia.

Mia got me a present? Also this shit looks designer as fuck? She does not even kind of have that money.

I stuff a couple of grapes in my mouth and go to the next one. A small rectangular box, same paper. I go faster this time, my curiosity getting the better me, and I freeze.

"What in the Audrey Hepburn is this shit?" I wonder around a mouthful of grapes. I pull out a pair of Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses.

They are fucking gorgeous octagonal fancy things and I immediately put them on. I decide against opening the rest in darkness and push them on my head. In the glasses case, in the same block print it says, love, Rob.

I don't...understand.

The next box I shred apart, wisely without anything in my mouth. A luxury beach blanket and weekender bag credited to Jon and Asa, a pair of Jimmy fucking Choos allegedly from Janessa, a lacy beach cover up from Dani, and a big ass black sunhat from Audra.

Why? I'm blown away.

Me: rob why is there thousands of dollars worth of designer shit here 4 me

Rob: omg show me

Me: rob

Rob: fucking what heffer show me the shit

Me: which ones from u

Rob: you're annoying the shit out of me show me the gifts

I sent him a video instead. And a selfie of me with the glasses.

Rob sends a video back of him and my brother singing in drunken falsetto, "I'm a hustler baby, I just want you to know."

Me: rob Im serious this is really expensive what the fuck is going on

Rob: relax it's from the outlets

Me: rob

Rob: dad sponsored you're such a pain in my ass just say thank you

Me: thank u

I knew his Dad, Langston, made a shit load of money, but I didn't realize he made like...spend several thousand dollars on your kids best friend's sister money. Like...

Me: this is too much

Rob: shut up

Rob: go swim im busy

I set my phone to charge, gorge myself most unattractively on fruit and play Breakfast at Tiffany's on the oversized bajillion inch TV.

In the fridge I find champagne, and by the end of the night I'm drunk, wearing several thousand dollars and singing along with my Bad Bitch playlist whilst simultaneously eating chips and hummus.

"Hello, I am Sofia Vegara," I say quite Sofia Vegarishly to my reflection. I raise my glass to me.

This is how my night goes. Well mostly.

The sound of a key in the door has me jumping out of my skin.

I panic. I'm drunk in heels, a bathing suit in Not My Dad's house with sunglasses on at 9 pm. Oh and the hat. I have the hat. I fly behind the marble island holding the wooden skewers of the edible arrangements like a dagger when fucking a dude walks through the door.

I shriek.

Key whips around with a jump. He's clutching a bouquet of roses and a small package. "I'm so sorry, it me Rakeem I know the owners, I'm just gonna—"

He trails off as I straighten from behind the island, setting my wooden lethal weapons down on the marble top.

"Key?" I pull off my sunglasses. My heart is going crack my freaking chest open.

His face is ashen and his eyes are wide, but he starts to laugh. "My goddamn life flashed before my eyes boo, you can't do that to me."

His???

"You're not supposed to be here until tomorrow, I thought?" He clears his throat.

I shake my head, mute. I am biting the inside of my cheek so hard.

He closes his eyes with strained patience and I drop my gaze.

But the eyes sweep over me, taking me in and leaving a trail scorching down my body. "You look..."

"Stunning," he finishes softly.

"Why are you here?" I blurt. Good. Nice opener.

He blinks a couple times. Like I was interrupting his thoughts.

"I was dropping off your gifts," he murmurs, the smooth skin of his cheeks shining with embarrassment.

I can't breathe. I can't breathe. He's in dark jeans and bright white sneakers, and for once not in his work clothes. His t-shirt is crisp and black and form fitting in all the best of ways, bringing out the cool undertones of his dusky skin.

He looks so fucking good.

His hair is styled differently, the many slender braids tumbling over his shoulders instead of being bundled back with a tie. They're growing out a bit, his roots inky and soft, backlit from the gentle light of the foyer. As always, his beard is razor sharp and close cut.

I can't stop staring at him. He's so fucking sexy, it's wrong. He's fucking sexy in his work clothes and gorgeous cleaned up like this. And most beautiful in the mornings next to me.

My stomach flips when he wets his lips.

What do I do? I wait for the lord to take me into his embrace. When he doesn't, I pull the hat off, and slip out of the heels, placing them in the shoe box on the counter.

"I thought you seemed tall," he jokes awkwardly.

I laugh a little and hold them up. "I got spoiled."

"Good. You deserve it," he gazes into my face and I can hear ringing in my ears.

"Stop standing in the foyer, come in," I say too fast as I inch around the counter. I can smell his cologne from here. The urge to touch him is so strong I pull on my fingers to distract myself.

He's here.

"This is, ah, um. This is for you," he clears his throat handing me the vase of red roses and the box.

The roses smell amazing. I set them down after huffing them deeply and turn the package around in my hands. It isn't particularly big, and it's wrapped in regular birthday gift wrap with balloons instead of damask.

"Can I?" I peer up at him to find him searching my face and my voice dies in my throat. I'm having heart palpitations. I'm going to die. Am I dead already? Maybe I'm dead already.

His eyes are on me. He nods slowly with a far away expression.

I peel back the paper and choke back a sob/laugh thing.

It's a pair of socks. With frogs. But like little Puerto Ricans coquí frogs.

I look up at him, blinking back tears.

"I double checked. No holes," he comments, blushing again. I follow his gaze to all the designer shit. He rubs the back of his neck shifting from foot to foot.

"Fuck that shit. I have a balloon that says happy purrday, new frog socks and you..." I suck in a breath when his eyes snap to mine, stealing the rest of my sentence out of my throat.

I clutch the socks. We're just...staring at each other.

"Is it okay to tell you I miss you?" he murmurs.

"I'm falling apart freaking dying without you," the champagne says with my mouth. I clamp my hand over my dumb mouth before the champagne says anything else.

He looks stunned, like I hit him. My eyes water. I hate how easy I cry. His eyes are sharp, intense. When he steps closer, the room temp climbs ten degrees.

His fingertips, rough and calloused, gently tug my hands away from my mouth. My left he brings to his lips to kiss the center of my palm. My right he places on his shoulder. Like he do.

I

fucking

die.

My heart is beating hard against my chest and my blood rushes through my ears.

Another kiss, this time on the heel of my palm and a third on the inside of my wrist. He looks at me over his dark rimmed glasses with his mesmerizing eyes and curly lashes and I can feel heat pooling deep in my belly. I stroke his cheek and he presses his face against my palm.

My breathing is shaky. I'm dizzy.

There is something so magical about him. An ease with which he navigates the world. A fluidity to his movements, his speech. But here, right now, he's unnerved and raw.

He clears his throat and straightens. "Sorry."

"I've missed you so fucking much, Key, I can't stand it—I am trying so hard to give you space—" I blurt.

"Stop," he interrupts me and I clamp my mouth shut. He reaches out and places his thumb on my bottom lip, tugging my mouth open. His voice is raw. "Stop giving me space."

I snap to him like a magnet with a hard kiss and wild electricity and he tightens around me with matching fervor.

Everything in my body comes alive.

Awash with the scent of him, the feel of his muscles beneath the fabric, hard and sinewy, I drink him in, opening my mouth to grant his probing tongue entry.

My arms tangle around his neck and I press against him, flattening my body as tight as I can while he bends me backwards. I feel the insane heat radiating off his skin. I can feel his hair standing on end under my touch.

His mouth feels so right.

We kiss like we did in this house so many years ago, intense and free. His kisses have me falling apart. His kisses make me feel like I'm water after a trek across the desert.

The way I burn makes me wonder if my entire body is going to turn to ash under his touch. I whimper into his mouth and he breaks the kiss to look at me, and then kisses me again, and then looks at me while I try and catch my breath.

"What?" I pant.

His warm hands cup my face. "I didn't know the last time was the last time, until it was the last time. If I knew I never would have let you leave the bed."

I start to tremble from the confusion again, from the intensity of emotion, and I feel the knot in my stomach return. My anxiety takes over as I evaluate the ways in which I can, and have, hurt him and begin stacking reasons to leave.

This was why there were rules. To keep us safe.

"No, Vivi, come back to me," he whispers. Key deposits closed mouth kisses on my lips and cheeks and I roll my head to the side at his nudge. The deep inhale he takes behind my ear weakens me. He's fucking smelling me. He's smelling me and kissing me and it all feels so surreal.

"What about Audra?"

"What about Audra?" he murmurs against my neck, dragging his lips down. I press harder against him. I'm literally drunk enough to insist he break up with her.

"Isn't she going to be upset?"

Key pulls away and searches my face. He frowns.

"What does Audra have to do with me and—" he pauses, and wets his lips. "Veronica, do you think I'm in a relationship with Audra?"

Okay, the way he asked that question makes it sound like maybe...maybe I misunderstood something. "Yes? You're not with Audra?"

"No, baby," he runs his thumb across my cheek.

"Not your baby," I say faintly with a smile.

"Yes," he says firmly, his eyes glassy. He kisses me again. "Yes, you are."

The emotion on his face throws me and just as I open my mouth, he kisses the corners of my lips, one and then the other, until I catch him and we're making out again, but there's so much more momentum and forward force.

I step backwards quickly, as he pushes me further into the house, kicking his shoes off. My body remembers the dance and I step in time with him so that our bodies don't separate.

He's not with Audra. He's not with Audra.

It feels like I'm waking up.

"When did you break up again?" I gasp when my back hits the marble top of the kitchen island. I yank clumsily at his shirt and he pulls it over his head from the top. I rake my nails down his bare back and feel the goosebumps rise on his skin.

"You're so fucking crazy sometimes, Vivi," he growls against my skin, frustrated.

"What?" I pant, feigning offense poorly as I fight his belt open.

The light touches feel so intense and he trails his way down to my collar bone. I roll my head back when he kisses the vulnerable base of my throat. His mouth is gentle, but his body is not.

The halter neck of the swimsuit drops at a gentle tug, and his mouth trails the pathway it leaves bare around my neck.

His body is pushing hard against mine, demanding as I pull and grasp at his braids so that his mouth is in reach again. We're sloppy and feverish, and he's impatient in a way I have literally never seen him.

"Then what was that phone call about?" I grunt as he pulls my swimsuit down to my waist and frees my tits, hard tipped and ready.

"Veronica, with all due respect, shut the fuck up," he towers over me and claims my mouth, his palm skimming over my breast sending arcs of pleasure through me down to my black painted toes. I don't have time to be shocked at his mouth, his tongue tastes too good.

"Rude," I mumble into the kiss and he grabs my hips, pulling me to him and grinding hard. An assortment of vowels tumble from my mouth into his.

I start to shrug off the lacy coverup but he catches my wrists and shakes his head. I wrap my arms tight around his neck, tasting him, keeping him in my mouth while he smooths his hands down my sides over my ass.

My clit thunders as he kneads my flesh. He pulls away and slowly makes his way down my throat, between my breasts. As the red fabric slides off my skin, he replaces it with kisses, down my belly, across my hips.

Rolling it down torturously slow, he avoids the one place I want his fucking mouth, opting instead to kiss the tops of my thighs, to tug the fatty pocket on my inner thigh with his teeth. He stops for a moment to breathe me in and I think-this. This is the moment that the Lord takes me. It's now.

But Key continues to follow the wake of my bathing suit with kisses, and my breath hitches when he reaches my inner knees, my calves and my ankles. I step out of the suit and he kisses the arch of my foot but it tickles like crazy and I almost fall down.

"Shit—Key!" I squeal, and I feel him smile against my skin and make his way back up.

Thank God I shaved.

Key leans back to look me over, and I can feel the goosebumps prickle everywhere. He's on the floor in a crouch, leaned back on one hand just so he can look at me naked in lace.

I look down at him and squeeze my thighs together. Shirtless, jeans open and bulging looking at me like I'm food.

"Vivi," he breathes out and shakes his head like he can't believe what he's seeing. It's crazy. It's just so bizarre.

He pushes himself up and shifts onto one knee, smoothing his hands up my legs. I wobble from the kisses.

When his lips brush over the triangular patch of close fuzz, I feel a flash flood between my legs and blow out a hard breath.

"Stop," I command, and he freezes immediately looking up at me.

"Stop go away, or stop wait?" he asks seriously and my heart melts.

He starts to move away and I grin, place my foot on his chest and knock him back. He loses his balance on the bougie tile floor and falls backwards.

Catching himself on his forearms, a devious grin spreads across his face when I drop to straddle his thighs and crawl up his body on all fours.

"Jesus," his eyes bug out at the sight. I giggle. Not girly giggle—crazy giggle which makes him laugh deep in his chest. I mean, until my mouth's on his and then he's busy laying back, holding my hair and head, our tongues finding their familiar rhythm.

In one fluid motion he rolls me onto my back, keeping a hand between my head and the hard tile. I shove his pants and boxer briefs down and use my feet to push them the rest of the way off.

Grasping a thigh, he hooks his arm around my leg and without stopping or slowing his kisses he pushes himself into me.

My world shatters into glittering ecstasy and for a second I can't breathe.

I break the kiss.

I break the kiss and my sudden moan bounces around the kitchen. He repeats my name over and over against my throat as he pumps, one, two, three.

For once, we're not bound to hiding in our rooms or behind the house or in a car or any of the awkward places we've snuck intimacy.

It's liberating.

So now each time he bottoms out, I let my pleasure sound out full throated. And he's bottoming out a lot. He may fuck me blind because I can't see shit.

He's tensing on me.

"Keeeeeeey," I groan, his thrusts adding many more vowels to his name.

Quiet but audible, his moans softly leave his chest and he hangs his head, his pumps quickening.

"I want to suck your cock," I burst out and he stops pumping on a dime.

"Fuck," he hisses.

I shift but he stops me, "Shi—, no, no, don't move, don't move."

He squeezes his eyes closed, struggling to breathe, and I try to stay as still as possible but like the bubbles of the way too much champagne I drank the laughter rises in my chest.

"Hmmmmm," I press my lips together and try to hold it back. I can see the grin spreading across his face despite his closed eyes and he shakes his head.

"Don't," he hisses, but the laughter is in his voice despite being on the teetering edge.

Slowly, delicately, gingerly, he starts to pull out, and in that moment the giggles sweep me up like a riptide, I clench down and—

"FUCK—" he yells, and plunges back into me hard, knocking the wind out of me with a sharp arch of my back.

Hard and fast he thrusts, spilling himself inside me, and I hear, for the first time—a loud, full throated moan.

I love the sound. It's rough, it's abrupt and powerful, strained and gritty, and he throws it across the house like a clap of thunder cracking through the air.

I wrap my legs around his waist and push my hips up and he shudders and spasms, a strangled cry tangling in his throat.

Cum squelches with a ridiculous sound that just makes the giggles come back, while hot rivers of his seed spill out down my ass onto the cold tile.

This, uh, this feels like a lot.

"Goddamnit," he eventually mutters next to my ear and yep. Giggles.