Hello LAlaland (Lost in LAlaland) (5 page)

If he wanted to play Jupiter, I would be Venus. I was in charge, not him, and he would be at my feet.

With a growl and a mighty shove, I pushed him away from me. He stumbled backward onto the bed, and his eyes widened in surprise before lust overtook them again. It was my turn to stalk toward him—I was a lioness hunting her prey. When I reached where he was sprawled out on the bed, his eyes were filled with desire and wonder, and his erection tented his pants. Bending forward at the edge of the bed, I offered him an up close view of my ample cleavage while I unbuckled his leather belt. His breath caught when I found the zipper of his slacks. I glanced up into his eyes to make certain I should continue. The answer I found in them told me I had three seconds to remove them or he would throw me down and plunge into me.

I had them loosened and around his ankles within the allotted time. His boxers remained in place as he removed a condom from his pocket before throwing the pants across the room. They hit the wall and crumpled on top of his discarded shirt. I was a little impressed, I’ll admit. The pitching injury apparently hadn’t damaged his ability to aim and throw straight.

I slipped my panties down my legs, stopping at my ankles to unbuckle my sandals before removing them all. When I looked back at him, Tony was unrolling the condom over his erection. I gasped and lust shot through me. He was the perfect combination of thickness and length. Though I’d only slept with Russell before my marriage and with Kristoffer during, I had been with several men since my divorce. Some were long, some were thick, some were ridiculously well hung, but none of them compared to Tony. He was exemplary.

Too bad I’d be stepping away after my night of orgasms. He had nothing to offer me that I didn’t already have, and nothing good could come of me letting down my defenses for this man once again. He’d had his chance years ago.

Tony sat up and reached for me, stretching forward to brush our lips together. I allowed him to kiss me for a moment before I pushed him back down onto the bed again. I crawled up his body, straddling his waist, and grasped his cock in my hand, brushing it against my dripping folds.

His groan reverberated through my body, causing my pussy to pulse with desire. “Fuck, Wini . . .” he moaned as I teased us both. “I can’t take this, baby. I want you. Take me deep.”

Tony’s words melted me, though I hated being called
baby
, and I had no strength to taunt any longer. I gave in and sank down onto his cock, taking him one inch at a time and allowing my pussy to spread and open to him. Finally, he was fully sheathed inside my body. The fullness of the coupling stole my breath. We fit together exquisitely.

He stilled my hips for a moment, screwing his eyes tightly shut and taking deep, labored breaths.
Yes, you’re mine now.
I had complete and total control, and he was right where I wanted him.

When Tony finally allowed me to move, I swayed over his body like one of the belly dancers I’d seen in Morocco when I’d been there for a fashion show. I moved my upper body first, lifting one hand into my hair while the other cupped my breast, and let the motion carry through my body like an ocean wave. Gyrating my hips, I took him deeper. God,
so
deep. I was a goddess—at least that’s what he told me over and over as he groaned and fucked me.

His thick, swollen erection pumped into me as we moved together. I’d dreamed and fantasized about this moment for years. I’d made him want me as I had wanted him. He sat up and pulled me higher in his lap, squeezing and kneading my breasts with his long fingers.

“Mmm,” I moaned as I ground my pussy harder against him. God, he was good. Even my dirtiest teenage fantasy could not hold a candle to the real thing. But fuck all the make-believe. He wanted
me
now.

“Shit,” he cried out. Suddenly, I found myself on my back as he took the upper hand, hovering above me and slamming into my body. “Fuck, Wini . . . I’ve waited so long to do this to you.”

My writhing stilled. What?

“What do you mean?” I asked, pulled from the carnality of the moment by his shocking confession.

“I’ve wanted you for years.” His reply came through gritted teeth.
He’s
 . . .
what? No. No. No!
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I was here to take what I wanted—what I couldn’t have back then. I was the seducer now, and he was my toy. He wasn’t allowed to have desired me before and was certainly not allowed to speak of it if he had. He’d had so many opportunities back then. This was all for me.

I used my force to roll us back over. When he was underneath me again, I pressed as hard as I could against him, forcing my hips down to meet his. The tightness was forming deep in my belly, readying itself for explosion. A teenage girl’s fantasy of making love with a boy she craved would be translated into a woman fucking and climaxing and squeezing around the gorgeous man’s cock—taking.

Tony reached down to where our bodies met, touching my wet flesh as it swallowed his body, and rubbed my swollen clit. Fireworks exploded around me. It was unlike any orgasm I’d ever experienced, and it was far better than my vibrator had ever produced. Perhaps it had been the years of pent-up sexual frustration, or maybe my natural attraction to him, but this climax was phenomenal.

I was vaguely aware of my name leaving his lips over and over again as he spilled into the condom. We stilled, slowly coming down from the euphoria and bliss.

Gingerly, I climbed off his relaxed body, and he whimpered at the loss of contact with my warmth. I was nearly lost to the orgasmic haze, but I forced myself to focus on the task at hand—getting the hell out of his room. Scooting off the bed, I bent to gather my clothes. My suit was wrinkled but wearable, and my right shoe was halfway under the bed.

“Wini? Please . . .” he mumbled, trailing off incoherently and reaching out for me. “Stay. Please?” I glanced down at him. His eyes fluttered closed and his extended hand dropped to the bed.

I rolled my eyes. Men. So tired after sex. At least it helped make the escape a bit easier. Quickly and quietly, I exited the room, marching down the long hallway and as far away from him as possible. It wasn’t a walk of shame, but of triumph. I’d won the battle.

Chapter 4

My locker refused to open, and I was pretty sure that I was putting in the correct code. For the twelfth time, I spun the dial to the appropriate numbers—first one direction and then the other—until it came to a stop. Unfortunately, every time I attempted to lift the latch to open the darn thing, it wouldn’t budge. With a growl of frustration and tears threatening to spill from my eyes, I rested my forehead against the metal door.

“Do you need a hand?” A cracking, squeaky, pubescent male voice registered from behind me and pulled me out of my pity-party. I spun around and came face-to-face with the cutest boy I’d ever seen. His hair was as dark as midnight, and his eyes bright blue as the noontide sky—a full day wrapped up in the world of a teenage boy. I looked him over as though I’d never seen a male before. He was about my height with the physique of an athlete. Something was drawing me to him, but I wasn’t sure what it could be.

When I didn’t answer his question right away, he spoke up again. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” he asked. Nodding, I bit the corner of my lip and swallowed hard. Was it that obvious? Since elementary, I’d been going to the all-girls school about a mile away. I wished it wasn’t that apparent to everyone that I didn’t belong. “I had a hell of a time during my first year here, and I know these lockers can be annoying, but I think I found the trick.”

He took a step toward me, and I scurried out of his way like a scared kitten. Chuckling, the boy reached for the locker, pressed his left hand on the top of the metal while he lifted and pulled on the latch with his right, and the door swung open.

With a sigh of relief, I threw my books inside when he stepped back, and then I turned to him. “Thank you very much for your assistance today,” I told him. The amused look on his face and the way his eyes twinkled told me that I’d done something wrong.

“What school are you transferring from?” he asked, letting his eyes roam over my conservative, but brand-name clothing.

“St. Margaret’s . . .” I trailed off softly, watching as his eyes sparkled with humor and understanding. Something else flickered in them, like a fire igniting.

“Did you have to wear those little plaid skirts?” he asked, leaning in closer to me as his eyes glazed over.

Wait, what? “Excuse me?” I asked. “Everyone had to wear uniforms.”

He blinked heavily and pulled himself from wherever his mind had gone, and cleared his throat. “Well, I guess that explains the formality then.” Offering only a shrug, I shut my locker and began to make my way down the crowded hallway. “I’m Anthony, by the way,” the boy said, introducing himself. I hadn’t realized that he’d followed along behind me. “Anthony Ricci. What’s your name?”

I sighed. This was the part that I was terrible at, getting to know people—especially boys. Spending years in an all-girls school hadn’t exactly made it easy for me to get comfortable around members of the opposite sex. But I reminded myself that he wasn’t actually taking an interest in me. He was just being nice and helpful.

Finally, when we arrived at my homeroom class, I turned back toward Anthony with a tight-lipped smile. “Winifred Chapman.”

A bright, gorgeous smirk illuminated his face. He was close enough that I could see his braces were navy instead of the black that I’d first assumed. “Wini Chapman,” he said, addressing me with a nickname that I’d never used before. My family had always called me Winifred, and my closest friends referred to me as Winn. Only moments after meeting him, Anthony had claimed a new name for me.

“It’s like the Wonder Years. It’s great to meet you, Wini,” Anthony said with his navy-braced smile. “You let me know if that locker gives you anymore trouble, okay?” When my hesitant nod confirmed that I had indeed heard and registered his orders, he shot me a wink and turned around. I stared after him until he disappeared into another classroom.

Though we very rarely spoke to each other, Anthony always seemed to be around during the rest of the school year. At one point, he’d been going out with one of the girls I was friends with. I was completely jealous of her and had acted cold toward Anthony whenever he tried to speak to me.

The next time I saw him after summer break had been our first day of high school. Anthony no longer had his braces, and his teeth were perfectly straight and white. He’d also grown at least five inches and was no longer eye-to-eye with me—a fact I became quickly aware of when he stepped into my path before I could enter the school building. I craned my neck to look up at him as I felt my cheeks bloom with color.

“Hello, there,” he said with a cocky smirk. Dang. His voice had dropped an octave, maybe two, and there was a very light shadow of newfound whiskers on his jawline. My entire body tingled from just being near him. Darn puberty.

“Hi,” I mumbled, trying to ignore the way my heart was racing and my body was floating and fluttering inside.

Crooked grin still in place, Anthony pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and held it up. “What’s your first class, Wini?” I was taken aback at the easy way my name rolled off his tongue. Sure, we’d seen each other every day in the eighth grade, but that had been three months ago, and I didn’t expect someone like him to remember me.

“Um . . .” I trailed off, blinking myself out of my haze and retrieving my perfectly straight schedule from the brand new Trapper Keeper in my arms. I cringed as Anthony pulled it from my hand, wrinkling the top as he handled it harshly, and unfolded the other piece of paper he already held.

“Oh, good!” he said as triumph lit his eyes.

“What’s good?” I asked, looking at him quizzically.

 
After another moment of studying the paper intently, eyes flickering back and forth between the two pages, he surrendered mine back to me. “Well, we have almost all the same classes. How crazy, huh?”

Blanching, I stared up at him and then down to my schedule. How in the heck was I going to survive day after day in the same classrooms as this boy? My heart rate picked up another notch, hammering staccato in my chest.

“Come on,” Anthony told me, plucking my Trapper Keeper from my arm and tucking it under his arm along with his own notebook. “I’ll walk with you to class.” I had no choice but to follow—I wasn’t yet an independent woman who could put her foot down and demand to have her own way.

As the school year dragged on, I soon learned that Anthony was a chatty guy. He loved to talk about sports—something that I was completely uninterested in at that point—but he would also ask me about myself and what I liked to do. Sometimes, ingenuous fantasies would pop into my head and I would let myself imagine that we could be a couple. Something would always manage to dash that hope, however.

We didn’t share all classes over the years, but somehow we’d always managed to have at least a couple together. Mine became more tailored to my newfound passions like history, literature, journalism, photography, drawing, and drama, drama, drama. My inner artsy-chick was beginning to spread her wings.

During our junior year, we shared our fourth period class—philosophy. Anthony would often try to make conversation with me during class, but our teacher was very strict and, after three trips into the hallway to sit against the wall like a second grader, Anthony eventually learned better. When we received the graded midterm tests back, Anthony pointed to my A and then to his D- and begged me to tutor him.