“Fuck me, sweet Ben.”
Sweet sweet Ben so slow and gentle so strong and gentle, so warm so fucking fucking fucking warm, his brown eyes looking into hers questioning, asking if this pleasure can be real asking if this pleasure can be really found and his smile an answer, the answer yes because his smile makes her come a small one, the first small wave.
The mermaid on her arm strokes his back, the green sea vines entwine him and hold him to her, sweet sticky trap, dolphins surfing on his spine as he rides her, their salty sweat meeting and mixing, slicking them together, sticking them together, little frothy white bubbles joining his cock and her cunt.
O loves his hardsoft cock in her, loves gripping his shoulders as he moves in and out; in his ear she whispers, “I missed this.”
“Me, too.”
“Sweet, sweet, sweet Ben, fucking me.”
The “me” triggers another climax, it’s the “me” of it, this beautiful, wonderful, sweet, loving man, it’s “me” he wants to fuck, his beautiful warm brown eyes looking into “mine,” his hands on my back his cock in my pussy.
She comes again and tries to slow down but can’t, but can’t, she gives up on the control she wanted to make this slow for him make it last for him but can’t and she jacks her hips to push her clit into his pubic bones and circles her hip to grind it there his cock deep inside her.
“Oh, Ben. Oh!”
Her fingers, a crab scuffling across the wet sand, race down to his ass, search for and find the crevice, a tidal pool, she pushes a finger in and hears him groan and feels him shoot deep inside her his back muscles shudder, and then again, and then he falls on her.
The mermaid smiles.
The dolphins fall asleep.
So do Ben and O.
45
Ben gently untangles himself from her moist arms.
Gets out of bed, puts on his jeans and shirt, and steps into the living room. Through the big window he sees Chon sitting out on the deck. Ben goes to the fridge, grabs two Coronas, and goes out.
Hands Chon a beer, leans against the white metal railing, asks, “Good swim?”
“Yeah.”
“No sharks?”
“Not that I saw.”
No surprise—sharks are afraid of Chon. Predators recognize each other.
Ben says, “We make the deal.”
“Mistake.”
“What,” Ben says. “You worried their dick is bigger than our dick now?”
“
“Okay, our
“Redundant,” Chon says. “Let’s just keep our dicks separate.”
“Okay, they won,” Ben says. “And what did we lose? We got out of a business we want to get out of anyway. I’m telling you, Chon, I’m bored with it. Time to move on. Next.”
“They think we’re afraid of them.”
“We are.”
“Separate dicks?” Chon says. “I’m not.”
“We’re not all you,” Ben says. “We don’t all chew up and spit out fifteen terrorists before breakfast. I don’t want a war. I didn’t get into this thing to fight wars, kill people, get people killed, get their heads lopped off. This used to be a pretty mellow gig, but if it’s going to get to this level of savagery, forget it. I don’t want to be a part of it. They think we’re afraid of them? Who fucking cares? This isn’t fifth grade, Chon.”
Yeah, it isn’t, Chon thinks. It isn’t a pride thing, an ego thing, or a dick thing.
Ben just doesn’t get how these people think. He can’t wrap his rational head around the reality that these people will interpret his reasonableness as weakness. And when they see weakness, when they smell fear, they attack.
They pour it on.
But Ben will never get that.
“We can’t beat the cartel in a shooting war, the math just doesn’t pencil,” Ben says.
Chon nods. He has guys he could recruit, good people who can take care of business, but the BC has an army. Still, what are you going to do? Grab the KY, bend over the railing? Prison love?
“This was just a way of making a living,” Ben says. “My balls aren’t attached to it. We have some money stashed. Cook Islands, Vanuatu … We can live comfortably. Maybe it’s time to put our focus somewhere else.”
“Bad time for a start-up, Ben.”
The market a bobsled run. The credit stream a
“I’m thinking alternative energy,” Ben says.
“Windmills, solar panels, that kind of shit?”
“Why not?” Ben asks. “You know how they’re making those fourteen-dollar laptops for kids in Africa? What if you could make a ten-dollar solar panel? Change the fucking world.”
Ben still doesn’t get—
—Chon thinks—
—that you don’t change the world.
It changes you.
For example—
46
Three days after Chon gets back from the Rack he and O are sitting in a restaurant in Laguna when a waiter drops a tray.
Clatter.
Chon dives under the table.
Down there on all fours reaching for a weapon that isn’t there and if Chon were capable of social self- consciousness he’d be humiliated. Anyway, it’s tough to get nonchalantly back in your chair after diving under the table with a restaurant full of people staring at you and the adrenaline is still juicing his nervous system so he stays down there.
O joins him.
He looks over and there she is, eyeball to eyeball with him.
“A little jumpy, are we?” she asks.
“A tad.”
Good word, “tad.” The one-syllable jobs are usually the best.
O says, “As long as I’m on my hands and knees …”
“There are laws, O.”
“Slave to conformity.” She sticks her head out from under the table and asks, “Could we get a refill on the water, please?”
The waiter brings it to her, under the table.
“I kind of like it down here,” she says to Chon. “It’s like having a fort when you were a kid.”
She reaches up, grabs the menus, and hands one to Chon. After a few moments of perusal she says, “I’m going to go with the chicken Caesar salad.”
