Smack! He slaps my naked cheek causing a sharp, warm pain then he slaps the other, my bottom tensing under this onslaught. Over and over he smacks my quivering globes as the heat builds between them.
“Mine,” he murmurs. I feel his fingers insert themselves into my pu**y, moving back and forth. “And this is mine.”
He lines himself up and with a solid full thrust, impales me on his cock. I cry out at the sudden stretching of my channel and my voice echoes all around the garage. Between the stinging of my ass cheeks and the rough pounding of my insides I am lost in a flurry of pleasure and pain. He grabs my hips and pumps his c**k into me, his balls making slapping noises against my backside as I lay bent over the seat.
I still taste his pr**cum in my mouth and my br**sts are rubbing against the harsh fabric of the vehicle sending my entire body into the chasm. Occasionally he withdraws almost all the way out, then slaps my ass cheek again before pushing himself entirely back in. My body is now raw from his hard c**k delving into me over and over. I feel his stretching and pulsing inside of me and I start squeezing him, encouraging his lust. He grabs me harder, pulling my hips and pushing them to force himself even deeper inside me. Short stabs punctuated by long, slow withdrawals take me off balance.
“Please,” I whisper, unable to take much more of the rough pounding. I hear him growl in a guttural moan as I feel his seed squirt deep inside me. My bottom is still stinging from his slaps as he removes his cock, then rubs the head over my slit.
“Mine,” he says in a breathless whisper and somewhere I feel that word lock around my brain too. Holding me down by the back still, I feel the head of his c**k go up and down my crack then stop right on top of my anus. The small puckered opening quivers at the stimulus.
“Also mine.” He chuckles as I lurch forward, stung by the implication. He pats me gently on the backside. “But not tonight.”
Allowing me to stand for a moment, he turns me to face him and kisses me again. I long to embrace him, but as my arms reach out, he is pushing my shoulders down directing me to my knees, my head once more in front of his now dripping, spent cock.
“Clean me,” he says softly and I open my mouth to obey, using my pursed lips to wipe and dry his cock, as the taste of both of us mingles on my tongue. “Good, good.”
He reaches down and picks me up, his arm muscles showing their strength. Placing me back in the SUV, he closes the door. I’m too shell shocked to do much of anything. He lowers the tailgate just long enough to get a blanket from the back, and then climbs inside. I notice his pants have been re-zipped and his smile is broad and peaceful.
Mark places the blanket over my shoulders while kissing my cheek and nuzzling my ears; he gently brushes his fingers through my hair.
“You’re so beautiful, Julia. I’ve wanted you for so long, you beautiful brilliant star.” He kisses me gently on the forehead then wraps his arms around me holding my body as I cry, releasing all my confusion and tension. We rest nestled like tender lovers for a time.
Eventually he taps me on the shoulder and tells me it is time for us to go.
“I don’t understand something, Mark,” I say when I have energy enough to talk. The truth is at this moment I really don’t understand anything. “I know by taking this risk and trusting you I will get my job back, but what are you getting from all this? It surely isn’t about the sex.”
“I am getting a chance to shine light in the darkness and recover the Holy Grail from its ancestral hiding place so it belongs to me alone,” he replies with a wry smile.
“Don’t worry about what I’m getting, Julia. I promise that it’s worth it.” Mark opens the car door and helps me to my own car. Guiding me gently by the arm, he places me in the front seat of my vehicle. When the seat hits my sore bottom, I yelp and a little smile escapes his lips. He promises to call me and steals away as quickly as he appeared.
I drive home in a haze, lucky the hour is late and the traffic is low. The stretch of lifting myself out of the car and walking into my apartment is almost more than I can bear. My body is empty of all its strength, and my mind is full of questions.
What did he mean “Holy Grail”? How can someone f**k me so hard then kiss me so gently? Am I a toy or am I his lover? Is he my savior or is he my friend with benefits? Where do we go from here?
I drop into bed after a shower and although I’m sore and swollen, I feel so full and wonderful inside. Never in my life could I imagine myself allowing a man to speak to me as Mark did, and I certainly have never offered anyone the kind of service I willingly gave him. It’s all a puzzle to me.
Right as I’m drifting to sleep, I hear the annoying undeniable ringtone of my cell phone telling me there’s a text message. That doesn’t make any sense. It’s nearly midnight and since I’ve lost my job my texts have gone from forty a day to zero. I get up and cross the room, every step reminding me of the rough rear-entry pounding my pu**y just endured. When I look at the phone, the cover is supposed to show me the number it comes from.
The number is 555-555-5555.
It’s an old reporter trick, of course. Pretty much anyone in publishing, news, or secret keeping knows how to set their phone up to register the 555 number as a way of masking their identity. I was taught the trick in college as were most of my staff and friends. So, whoever sent me this message wants to be anonymous. Let’s see what they have to say.
Flicking the screen with my thumb, I choose the little text icon and the spinning circle appears for just a second before the message shows up on my phone. A chill goes down my spine and I am suddenly wide awake. There are four words on my screen.
“Do not trust him.”
I stare at the phone in disbelief. You’ve got to be kidding me. Don’t trust him? I’ve not only given him my trust but also my hope and my body! My world spins as I realize how little I really know about Mark Stone. He and his brother Blake co-manage Sandstone industries but they are more like business partners than brothers. He handles active accounts. He believes in Lynx. He believes in me. He is the good guy and Blake is the snake.
Wait. That last one is not knowledge. It’s assumption. I’m assuming he’s the good guy because he hasn’t done anything openly bad. But that doesn’t make him good. He is certainly profiting off my situation for his carnal pleasure. And yet, it’s my pleasure too. He didn’t have to try to help me. He could have thrown me out of his office that very first night. As far as the sex goes, a man like Mark could have any woman in town, it’s not like he needed to coerce me into having sex with him. In journalism school, we would call this all conjecture. No proof. No proof he’s good. No proof he’s bad.