Nothing More Beautiful (28 page)

I couldn’t take the anticipation any longer.
“Fuck me. I want to feel you inside me,” I said oh-so softly in his
ear. I raised my hips, and his cock, held down by my ass, sprang
up, alive and throbbing with hunger for me.

He seized it at the base, whipping me,
teasing me. I slid down, the head of his penis entered, and then he
rammed upward, filling me, breaking me, stealing my breath with the
surprise. I couldn’t believe how far his cock reached. It seemed
like it was moving around all the organs in my stomach, making
room.

And I thought doggy style went deep
.
This was a completely different experience. I cried out and he
stilled.

“Like that?”

I nodded. “But I’m on top,” I said, taking
charge, pushing him back again. I rocked my hips, shoving my
breasts in his face. He pressed them together, sucking on a nipple.
I cradled his head, picking up speed with my hips, gyrating, losing
myself in the feeling.

He sucked in air, throwing back his head. He
began panting, screaming, grunting. He returned to my breasts,
kissing, sucking, biting.

My clit was rubbing against his pubic bone,
and the faster I moved, the stronger the potent sensation got,
building, building, building—until it was all I knew.

The intensity of my orgasm peaked, and I
could feel my eyelids twitching out of control, as red filled my
vision, swarming me. My hips slowed as my mind drifted
elsewhere.

Vince’s hands slid from my breasts around to
my ass, taking over, pumping wildly, frenetically. I watched as his
eyes rolled back in his head. He screamed and screamed, nothing
coherent.

He stilled, his grip on my ass ached and
burned, squeezing as though afraid I’d slip out during his fierce
thrusts.

Our breaths were short and quick, reflecting
our happy exhaustion. He opened his eyes and stared into mine.
Rising to kiss me, he traced his fingers along my back, sending
tingles throughout my body.

“I didn’t know it could go so deep,” I
rasped. I touched far above my bellybutton. “It felt like it was
hitting up here.” I laughed, tapping the spot.

His hand settled on my thighs, smiling.
“That was . . . intense,” he breathed. Sweat
covered both of us. The windows had fogged up from our steamy heat.
It smelled hot and musky.

I smiled as I rolled off him, grabbing my
panties. I could feel his semen oozing out. “Do you think anyone
saw us?”

“Maybe heard us,” he panted. He stroked his
still impressive erection, getting the last drips of semen out, and
wiping it on his boxers.

I giggled at the thought of someone hearing
us. We dressed, bumping elbows and other body parts. He kissed my
breasts before I hooked my bra back on. “I like it with you on
top,” he said, zipping up his pants. “I felt so much closer—and how
your boobs pressed against me.”

I rubbed his crotch. “It won’t be the last
time, I guarantee that.” He kissed me one last time, clambered over
the center console, and wiped off the windshield. “Uh.” His voice
choked.

“Yeah?” I scrambled over the console and
peeked out the window. “Oh.” In the car across from us, two older
people were sitting in their car, both of their heads facing us,
eyes wide with interest. “How long do you think they’ve been
there?”

“Don’t know, but I think we should find
another place to have our picnic,” he said, grinning. He powered on
his electric motor and swung the car around, saluting the couple
with two fingers and a nod. They only stared as we passed. “I hope
they enjoyed the show.” He broke out in laughter.

I started laughing too, buckling my
seatbelt. “I can’t believe we just possibly had sex in front of
people.”

“Random people,” he added. “Besides, what
they saw was a beautiful thing.”

“Red-hot, passionate sex?” I asked, going
for the obvious.

He drew out a pause, then, shaking his head,
he said, “Love.”

VINCE WAS BUSY THE
next two
days after our park escapade. I hadn’t returned his variation of “I
love you” like he hoped—at least it seemed that way, as he was
somewhat distant on the phone Wednesday night. I left him alone on
Thursday while I contemplated my feelings toward him. Was it love?
I had fooled myself into thinking I’d loved others, and after Ryan,
it was hard to tell exactly what love really was.

Our bond was something special: there was no
doubting that. I’d even call it beautiful. But
love
? The
closeness, the openness, the attraction—was that what love amounted
to?

I counted the weeks since the car accident.
Nine. It had only been nine weeks since I had first laid eyes on
him. Could you fall in love with someone in nine weeks? According
to romantic comedies, of course you could, but I didn’t believe
that, and I knew no one who did.

Still . . .

Something existed between us that I’d never
felt before, something deep inside of me that gave me confidence
and pushed me into new realms, and not just sexual ones. Sure, I’d
always been confident outside of sex, but now I felt more
whole—more complete with Vince in my life. I decided while sitting
at my work desk to tell him that. I didn’t have to say “I love you”
yet, not if I wasn’t ready . . . if he didn’t
understand, then it wasn’t love we shared.

While I dwelled on all this, I rolled the
marble back and forth across my desk. My break had been over for
ten minutes, yet I couldn’t stop. Listening to the sound eased my
nerves.

Suddenly Vince barged into the office. I
fell over in my chair, crashing to the floor. Vince ran over and
helped me up, yelling my name. “Sorry. The
hinges . . . I thought I needed more
force.”

“Just greased them,” I said, a little out of
it. I examined his disconcerted face. “What’s wrong? What is
it?”

He lips really didn’t want to say it.
“I—uh—I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just be direct.”

His words worried me, and an internal alarm
went off, bracing for a spontaneous breakup. “Okay?”

“Maci, Bridgett stole something from me.” He
paused, waiting for my reaction.

I burst out laughing so hard, I nearly peed
my pants. “Bridgett stole something from you? Are you crazy?
Bridgett might look a little edgy or whatever with her fishnet
stockings, heavy eyeliner, and colorful eye shadow, but she’s smart
and respectable, and certainly not a thief. I mean, come on, what
reason does she have to steal?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. But two
days ago, I started putting together my memorabilia room, you know,
the bedroom upstairs with all the boxes in it.” After a nod from
me, he continued, “Well, when I came to the box with my basketball
cards, I noticed that a binder was missing. More importantly, the
binder with a certain Michael Jordan rookie card worth over
$100,000. I think that entire binder was worth about 300
grand.”

“And why do you think it’s Bridgett who
stole it?” I folded my arms across my chest, grinding my teeth.

“I don’t
think
—I
know
.” He
extracted a flash drive from his pocket and plugged it into the USB
port on my keyboard. When it loaded, he opened it up, scrolled down
the files, and then clicked on one labeled “Parking Lot-3-15-14.” A
video began playing: footage of the Envoy’s gated parking lot.
Suddenly Bridgett appeared, walking to her car, then stumbled, a
little too tipsy. She dropped her purse. A binder flew out of it,
and Bridgett scrambled to pick it up, shoving it back into her bag.
Vince rewound and paused the footage with a clear shot of the
binder. “See?”

I stood there, dumbfounded. “But why would
she take it? Business is steadily picking up. She’s not a
klepto.”

“As far as you know,” he interjected.

I shot him a nasty look.

“Anyway, I called around, and finally
located the Jordan card at a pawn shop down in Tigard,” he said.
“Apparently she hocked it for twenty grand. The guy was really
surprised when she came in with it, to say the least, and clearly
took advantage of her rookie-card ignorance. I had to buy it back
for $90,000.”

I shook my head. How could this be possible?
I knew Bridgett. She was one of my best friends. We owned a
business together, for fuck’s sake!

Vince regarded me with a lost look. “So,
what do you want me to do?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my throat dry
and abrasive.

“Well, considering she’s one of your close
friends, I haven’t called the police, but we need to do something
about it.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, ready to pound
my face on the desk. “I guess we should confront her.”

As if her ears were burning, Bridgett walked
in, her mouth open, and stared at us. “Oh, hey,” she said like
she’d just caught us doing it. “Hi, Vince. I didn’t know you were
here.”

He nodded at her. “Just stopped by to talk
to Maci about a problem.”

“Oh? I hope it’s nothing serious,” she
croaked. After clearing her throat, she took a step back. “Well, I
should—”

“Wait, hold on,” I cut her off. “Come look
at this. Maybe you can help us out.”

“Me?” she squeaked. “How could I help?”

I waved her over. “Just come here and look
at this.” Vince stepped aside as she plodded up to my desk. As she
crept within range of the screen, I pointed at the image. “What do
you make of this?”

Her eyes blew up. She stared at the image in
silence. Then, after a minute of awkwardness, she broke down in
tears, collapsing into my chair. “I had no choice, Maci. I had
to . . . had to do
it . . . the business.” It was difficult to
make out much between her sobs.

I looked at Vince, nodded at the door, and
gestured like I was drinking from a mug. He took the hint to get a
cup of coffee and left. I patted her back as she continued to weep.
When her tears began to subside, she raised her head and met my
gaze. Makeup had run down her face and transformed her into a
frightening monster. I handed her a tissue, holding back the
laughter that wanted out.

The situation called for more severity. I
gave her a hard, interrogative look. I received only silence.
“Why’d you do it?” I finally asked, my voice stern.

“For the business,” she mumbled.

“The business?” My face contorted into a
glare. “The business is fine.”

“The business is not fine,” she snapped, but
then eased up. “Sorry. Sorry. You keep thinking that business is
picking up, but it’s always about the same, and the same means
we’re losing money. Lots of money.”

I shook my head. “Business
is
picking
up. I’ve been monitoring the numbers.”

“Face it, Maci, in another two or three
months, we’re out of dough—no pun intended.”

I waved off her attempt at cuteness.

“I saw that without an infusion of cash,
we’d be shutting our doors, and it’d be over.” She stifled another
round of tears, sucking in a deep breath. “Then I saw those cards
and knew they’d be worth some money, and it’s not like Vince would
miss a few thousand dollars, so I took the binder. I only sold the
one card. It was Michael Jordan, so I knew it was worth some
money.”

I pulled up one of the visitor’s chairs and
sat across from her. “
Stealing
, Bridgett? We were that
desperate? The credit union—”

“—wasn’t going to give us any more money,”
she cut in. “As far as I saw it, it was that or go under.”

I rubbed my forehead, a small headache
coming on. “I just never pegged you as a thief—and did you really
think you wouldn’t be caught?”

“I figured he has a lot of business people
over, he gives a lot of tours, and after a while, he’d give up
looking for it. Or maybe he’d think he lost it in the move. Stuff
like that happens.” She was trembling as she spoke, her voice
broken. “Look, I’m sorry, Maci. Really, I am. What do I do to fix
this?”

“Well, for one, we have to give the money
back.”

She cringed. “Oh, God, Maci. What have I
done? I’ve ruined our business and our
friendship . . .”

“Every friendship has its bumps,” I said
softly, though my anger wanted to tear her apart. “This is our
first. Granted, it’s a huge one, but I think we’ll survive. We’ll
work something out with Vince, and we’ll get another loan somehow.
Don’t worry. It’ll all work out. I’ll handle it. I’ll talk to
Vince. I don’t think he’s at all eager to press charges or
anything, so you’re in the clear
there . . . It’s gonna be a long road
trust-wise, but we’ll get through it. We’ll be okay.” I got up and
rubbed her back as she buried her face in her hands again. “I
think, for now, you should apologize to Vince, then just take the
rest of the day off.” My tone conveyed that it wasn’t a
suggestion.

She nodded. I retrieved Vince, and Bridgett
gave him a sincere apology, tears still flowing. She left soon
after that, when she seemed stable enough to drive.

“I’m so sorry about all of this. It’s not
something I ever saw coming,” I said, shutting the office door.

He smiled warmly. “Would be pretty hard
to.”

“So I guess I’ll get you the money as soon
as I can.”

He wrapped his arms around me and held me
loosely, our eyes lost in each other’s gaze. “Don’t worry about the
money. Call it an investment.”

“I can’t let you give me money,” I said, my
words more barbed than I intended.

“People will always need to eat,” he
replied. “Investing in restaurants is always a smart move,
especially with one as delicious as yours.”

“Smart move?” I laughed. “Most restaurants
fail within their first year.”

“I’m an optimist.” He leaned in and kissed
me.

“Still, I can’t take it.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to turn Bridgett
in,” he threatened with mock sincerity.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” His grin gave him away, but deep
beneath it I could sense that he wasn’t going to take no for an
answer. “I’ve invested more than $20,000 in other companies, and I
like none of them as much as yours.”