“Okay,” I rose and walked slowly to the elevator and rode it down, eating my own macarons that I’d brought for him, before finding my way back out into the city streets. It would never get easier making payments like that but I reminded myself of the big moment, walking into that shitty office and slapping down the last and final wad of cash and being able to say “see ya later, suckers!”. I dreamed of that moment; it kept me moving, back to the subway, back to my side of the city, where the smell of macarons had been replaced with egg rolls and fresh garbage.
Macarons helped me with my first payment here, a few months ago. They’d help again with this confusing feeling in my head, around my heart. With my hand bandaged and a plastic bag wrapped tightly over the top, I stood in my microscopic kitchenette and made French macarons until 2am, willing myself to forget about Brooks.
As soon as I apologized, I’d forget him. Now that I had something to avoid, I’d be baking a lot more.
I’d need to add macaron ingredients to my budget.
8
Brooks
Sun poured in through the glass wall of my bedroom, crawling across my legs and chest like fire, and I squinted away from it. I grumbled, reaching across the pillow to the remote on the nightstand. I hated being woken up by the sun forcing my eyes awake, why the hell did I build a house of glass? With one eye closed and one grumpily open, I fumbled with the plastic rectangle until ah, the ceiling opened and the curtain descended, slowly but surely covering me in shade and darkness. Just how I liked it.
Rolling onto my back, I stretched my legs and rolled my neck, forcing my eyes open to another day. Just as I was about to roll out of bed and get on with it all, again, I remembered.
Britta.
All that thick, golden hair woven in a tight braid down her back, those full pink lips and bright green eyes. And the freckles. I never knew I liked freckles until I saw her, how they got darker on the bridge of her nose. The way her cheeks went flush under my gaze. That body, too. Closing my eyes, I could see her full breasts straining under that white cotton top, the little peaks of her nipples. I bet she’d never had them licked or bitten, or at least I hoped she hadn’t. I wanted to taste them, taste her, and be the only one. She was a natural beauty, radiating some genuine kindness and warmth that I’d not yet discovered in my forty-eight years. Unique and kind, tutoring a mere stranger’s kid for nothing in return. She said she’d needed this job, too, which led me to believe things hadn’t been easy for her. With an alcoholic mom and her obvious sense of responsibility, something told me she’d yet to do anything enjoyable for herself in life, she’d been too busy thinking of others.
I’d love to give her an enjoyable time.
I’d love to lace my fingers through her hair, stare down into those green eyes, find her worries and take them from her. My lips would meet hers and god she’d taste so sweet, like the way she smelled—purity and heat. Kissing her mouth, tracing the curve of her jaw, down to her neck, my tongue would discover every inch of her hot, sweet skin. Little moans would get trapped behind her pink lips as I pushed my hands under her top, letting her perfect breasts fill my palms. Oh, that feels good, she’d purr, her hands filtering through the sides of my hair, as she let my palms wander down. She’d be shy and try and resist but eventually, I’d pull those shorts down and find the seam of her, my lips and tongue sweeping through it, tasting her, making her melt under my touch.
A mix of morning wood and the fantasy of Britta had me hard, so I reached down and held myself, tightly.
“Oh yeah you like it when I get this hard for you, don’t you baby?” I said aloud, imagining myself now standing with beautiful little Britta on her knees before me. Can I taste you? She’d ask, innocently, sweetly, that long hair of hers draped over her breasts, pink nipples making their way through. She’d be nodding eagerly, hungrily, her tongue out, waiting for the head of my straining cock. Hand wrapped tightly around myself, I stroked hard and quick, imagining I was in her mouth, her tongue teasing the underside of my cock. At first her eyes would be shut, but then as I rode her face quicker and harder, she would open her eyes, watching me glide in and out of her with awe. Little gasps of pleasure transferred from her tongue to my cock and just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, she’d reach up and gently, cautiously, cup my balls with her palm.
Fuck, I growled, spilling out into my boxers, on my belly, rope after rope of warm spend coating me.
This is why I changed my own sheets.
After I came, I showered and trimmed my beard, going over the list of things I had to do that day. I had a meeting in the city in a couple of hours, I needed some dry cleaning picked up, and I had a conference call later in the afternoon. But I had time. And time is all I needed to lay a plan into place to get to know more about Britta.
As I was halfway down the stairs, the doorbell rang. When you live on a hill and your house has not one but two gates keeping people away from you, your doorbell isn’t something you hear very often. Glancing at my watch I saw it was not even 7am. Whoever it was had the gate codes, which narrowed it down to my business partner, who
