Shut Out (Just This Once #2) (7 page)

“You know what they say. If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad…then Muhammad must go to the mountain. That sounds like I’m calling you a mountain. You know what? Never mind.”

I chuckled lightly at his words, but choked on the next laugh that came. Joel, still standing, dropped his jeans and stood with his feet apart, drawing my eyes up to his very obvious erection, already thick and ruddy. In the light that painted the room, I could see every vein that curved down his length clear to his cock-head. His torso twisted away from the camera, and my eyes zeroed in on his piercing, prompting flashbacks of what it felt like between my fingers, on my tongue, and slipping through my folds.

He walked closer to where the camera was positioned. The camera jostled then zoomed in on the bed in the background.
Was this Joel’s bed?
It fit him perfectly. The headboard was made of large, thick pieces of wood that climbed so far up the wall I couldn’t see the top with the camera zoomed in. Heather-gray colored sheets matched the natural colors I’d captured glimpses of when I first popped the CD in.

He hopped on the bed with enough gusto to make the whole bed shake beneath his weight.

“Those thirty minutes at the Cosmopolitan got me thinking. You don’t remember much of that first night we met, but I do.”

He’s right. After too much tequila and not enough in my stomach to absorb all of the liquor that burned through my body, I was so drunk that my memory could only grasp bits and pieces of the night that united us in some weird last-people-on-Earth type of way. But what I
could
remember was enough to make even Kerri blush. His hands were warm and seemed to burn me wherever he touched—which was everywhere. His skin was soft despite his rigid muscles, but it was also the things he said and how he handled my body. His touch vacillated between soft caresses and a tough grip, making me feel like he was imprinting my soul with the touch of his hand, so I would never forget him.

“You were so responsive to my touch.”

He spread out on the bed, his face still out of frame, but the camera now directed from his lower chest down to his thick thighs and swollen shaft. Joel grabbed his dick with the same touch that I was familiar with. He handled my body with the same tenacity as he handled his own. He pumped and I watched in fascination at the thick erection that he stroked nice and slow, as if drawing it out to build up the pressure building in my core. I felt a flush descend over my body and wondered where his eyes were. The eyes I couldn’t see but remembered how they watched me. Were they imagining me now, waiting for the moment I would lose control and cave into my body’s need, or were they watching with rapt fascination at how his cock disappeared beneath his palm?

I licked my lips at the first sight of pre-come bubbling at the surface.

“Your pussy was so tight against my fingers. You don’t know how bad I wanted to fist you just to hear the moans that would escape those fucking lips. Ah, those lips…” He said “lips” like he was recalling the memory of my anatomy. His hand pumped faster, and I could hear his raspy breathing rush harder. I could no longer deny the effect seeing this man had over my body. I was a slave to the lust that overcame me. Unbuttoning my pants, I slid my fingers inside my panties, massaging the outside of my cleft.

“And, fuck, how wet you get. You could literally wring out the sheets, they were so drenched.”

His hips thrust up into his fisting hand. I moved my panties to the side to have direct access to my clit, hardened by the visual of Joel literally losing himself to the memory of me. More pre-come leaked, and I wondered how long of a video this was. I couldn’t imagine him being able to hold out much longer. I’d barely touched myself and already I could feel my insides coiling, readying for the flood of my release.

“But nothing felt as good as the first time I slid this cock into that slick cunt of yours. Do you remember now? How deep I went? You were literally gasping for breath. Begging me for mercy. Each time I rocked into you, you gasped. Are you gasping yet, Blaire?”

His words speared into me.

Honest and Primal.

Tempting.

I couldn’t see those green eyes of his, but I somehow felt them—peering into the deepest parts of me. Deeper than anyone had ever been. The words spoken weren’t meant to be sarcastic or cocky, but spoken by a man who had experience.
Was I gasping yet? How could I not gasp?
I was completely beholden to his every word, every move. I was transfixed by the rhythm of his movement, the lines of his body all working in conjunction with his pumping hand. For the first time, I became aware of the true magnitude of his beauty. Before, he was hot, fucking sexy, a mountain of a man filled with enough charm to talk even the most blushing of virgins into tossing aside their virginities like used condoms.

My chest was tight with every rush of breath that escaped my lips. Joel’s skin was flushed as he angled his legs toward the camera, showing me his full monty. Continuing to stroke himself, he moved his other hand to cup his balls, giving them a tug that made him moan louder.

“I wish I was there right now. You know what I’d do,” he groaned, pausing a moment to gather his breath before continuing, “I’d open up that pretty little pussy and I’d whisper things. Things only meant for your body to hear. Would you like that, Blaire? I’d be so close, you could feel my breath fanning across your cunt. I’d be able to see every little drop leaving your cunt and sliding down your ass onto the sheets below. Do you feel that need? I do. I’ve felt it since the first moment I watched you orgasm. I’d never seen something so sexy or so beautiful, Blaire.”

Joel was losing control. His fluid movements were more erratic, his chest climbed faster. He groaned long and low, like a sigh almost, except heavier. His hand clutched tighter and then he erupted. Long jets of come spilled over his hand and onto his stomach, his milky white essence shining brilliantly against his sun-kissed skin. He continued groaning and I rubbed harder, strumming my clit between my fingers until I felt a tingling sensation traverse my body, spiraling until it reached a point my body could no longer contain, at which point I orgasmed. Joel’s name fell from my lips—a quiet gasp that seemed amplified in the quiet of the room.

“Fuck, Blaire, look what you made me do.”

Joel’s laugh filled the room, and just as I thought he would get up to clean up or turn the camera off, he did neither. He sat up against the pillows, his face still out of shot and said, “Blaire, I’m sorry I should have told you the minute I knew. Please meet me. Please. We can meet wherever. Please don’t make me send you more videos. I will, but I’d much rather be making videos
with
you.”

“Huh, never going to happen,” I said aloud.

“I just want to get to know you. Don’t make me pull the ‘no living relatives’ card. I don’t want you feeling sorry for me, but if it’s all I can get out of you, I’ll take it. Please, Blaire.”

With that, he walked back to the edge of the room, where the camera was most likely propped up on some bookcase or dresser and turned off the camera. My screen faded to black before returning back to the ocean desktop image. I sat staring at my monitor while catching my breath and wondering what to do next. Although I didn’t mind getting another one of his videos, I couldn’t let him continue. If only for the simple fact that he was putting us both at risk the longer he continued these attempts to get me to meet him.

After I washed up, changed my clothes, and got settled in for the night with a bowl of popcorn and a glass of wine, I pulled out my phone, eager to just get it over with. I could have texted. Could have made things easier on myself by not actually speaking with him, but I wanted to hear his voice. I missed it, like I missed him, and the video was a poor substitute.

“It seems I finally got your attention,” Joel said in answering.

“You could say that. Although, that seemed kind of the point.”

“It was a hard one to make, but desperate times. You don’t make it easy on a guy, Blaire. I’ve never felt so…rejected before.”

“Well there’s a first for everything. Look, I’ll meet you, but that’s it. I’m not promising you anything.”

“Great. Where would you like to meet? We can go anywhere you want.”

“Have you ever been to that Mexican place off Charleston? You know the one by Smith’s?”

“No, but I know what you’re talking about.”

“Meet me there. Tomorrow at one. This is it, Joel. If for some reason you don’t show up—”

“I’ll be there. I promise. I’ll be there.”

“Goodnight, Joel.”

“Goodnight, Blaire.”

I may have watched the video once or twice more before I went to bed that night.

Chapter Seven

The same white Mercedes that was waiting outside my home over a week ago was now sitting in the parking lot of Ernesto’s. Ernesto’s was off the beaten path, a place not usually frequented by corporate workers with only an hour for lunch. Aside from us, only three other cars were parked just outside the restaurant. That didn’t stop me from inspecting the surrounding area. Not that I was going incognito or anything, but if anything felt off then I was definitely going to be skipping lunch.

My fingernails tapped against the steering wheel while I second-guessed again what I was actually doing meeting Joel—out in public, no less. Finally resolving to exit the vehicle, I got out and made my way to the entrance. Just inside the door to the right was the hostess stand, with rows of tables and booths behind the woman who stood at the podium ready to seat me. A bar on the left hid a few high-top tables.

“How many?” the young woman asked. She looked barely old enough to be out of high school.

“Oh, I’m here meeting someone.”

I barely got the last word out before I felt him. Joel lingered there in the archway of the bar section. After motioning to Joel, the young woman put down the menu she’d gathered and smiled at me as I made my way over to the bar.

“I’m not drinking with you.”

“Is it because you can’t control yourself around me or because you have to get back to work?”

I passed him to sit at the table, where there were already two glasses of water resting. Joel’s hand found its way to my lower back, shocking me with the warmth his body always seemed to possess.
This is just lunch.
Joel guided me until we both took our seats, and I immediately took a sip from my glass, eager to shake off the few degrees my body temp climbed just at the sight of him.

He wasn’t going down without a fight. That much was obvious by his choice of clothing. When we had spent that week together and even in the pictures I’d seen of Joel, he always looked super casual, very comfortable—oftentimes wearing board shorts and a tank top. He looked like a California surfer boy, except buffer. But now, the man who sat in front of me was anything but surfer boy. This was CEO extraordinaire. This was Edward Trevaunt’s son.
He looked every bit the multi-millionaire he was.

I busied my mouth, sucking back water like a warthog at a watering hole, all while drinking in the sight of the man in front of me.
Joel wore a light blue and green striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, displaying those forearms that were almost as big as my calves.
A quick glance at his watch told me he was wearing the price of my Honda on his wrist.
And then I remembered his tan pants and the way they hugged his thighs and the quick glimpse of his ass I’d captured before he led me to our seat.
How am I supposed to make it through this meal?
Especially knowing what is under all of these clothes?
I had watched that video at least ten times from the time I opened my mail that day to the weekend; I thought my computer would explode if I pressed play one more time.

“Blaire?”

“Yes? Yes. I’m sorry, did you say something?” I shook my head, trying to shake off the litany of thoughts starting to run rampant—most of them involving some variation of the video. I felt my cheeks flame and my ears grow hot with embarrassment.

“You were staring.”

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to.”

“I don’t mind, but did you want to look at the menu before the waiter comes back around?”

“Sure.”

Joel mentioned me staring at him, but that didn’t stop him from doing the same as I opened the menu to reaffirm what I wanted. Ernesto’s was my go-to spot if I wanted Mexican food, so I was definitely familiar with the menu, but being around Joel made me flustered, and I needed something to do with my jittery hands.

“Are you ready to order?”

I put the menu back on the table and there stood a short man with charcoal colored hair and brown skin tanned red—a product of the Vegas sun—looking down at me, waiting for an answer. With a reassuring look from Joel, I answered yes and we both proceeded to give our orders: enchiladas for
me and steak
fajitas for him. The man gave an enthusiastic nod to each of our orders, and moments after he left, another woman came by to set down chips and salsa in the center of the table.

I didn’t wait for Joel to speak before I took a couple chips from the bowl. I didn’t know what made me so nervous, aside from the obvious, but I didn’t want to be the one to start. Maybe whatever he had to say would be quick and we’d sit in silence for the remainder of the lunch. Maybe after a few minutes of talking we’d realize that this was pointless and we both would be eager to leave without making it past chips and salsa.

The truth was, this was more like a date than I wanted it to be. At least to my nerves it was. I was obsessing about what to say, who would speak first, what I wore to work that day—all of the symptoms of a date were there, despite how much I tried convincing my mind that this would be the last time I would see him, especially in a non-work related context.

“Thank you for having lunch with me. I know it wasn’t easy for you to come—”