There's a part of me that's seriously reconsidering the choice to trust him. His hands move to my feet, working out any tension he finds. I gasp as he works out a knot I didn't even know was there. Massage is definitely a career choice he should consider. When he's finished with my feet he moves up, reversing his trail until his hands are centimeters away from where I need them to be. The sound I make isn't ladylike, and I don't care.
"You're not being patient," he says, amusement evident.
My voice is more growl than girl. "Would you be?"
He laughs, and I get my wish. His mouth takes me, plunging his tongue deep inside, and my arousal comes crashing back with force. It's not slow this time, not exploring. His hands press my thighs wide as he devours me. Teeth graze my clit followed by lips and tongue. His pressing becomes pulling, and the licking becomes sucking and it inverses, reverses, beyond my control, everything driving me higher and higher as the feelings he gives me pulse deeper and deeper, the rush overtaking me as I imagine the feeling of his cock filling me all the way up and I realize I'm moaning and now I'm coming so hard I can hardly breathe.
The orgasm splinters through me, and I feel like I'm drowning in it. Those few seconds of sheer bliss are always too short. I fall back into myself, slowly blinking myself back to reality.
"Hmm … " James says, and I look down at him. "It seems like I got your pussy dirty. I guess I'll have to clean it."
I'm about to ask what on earth he's taking about when I see him reach down to the ground. He has a garden hose in his hand, and it's already running. Somewhere in my mind I realize that's why the grass is wet. I don't even have time to think. James moves the water and it's flowing over me, and I gasp because everything is sensitive. The water is cool and the flow of it feels so good. He moves the water around, and it hits different parts of me, sending aftershocks through my nerves.
I watch James, and he is utterly focused on the water and my pussy. Then his fingers move and I understand his plan. He covers the water with his fingers and suddenly there's hard pressure and- "Oh god."
He's drawing patterns on me with the water, always returning to my clit and teasing. Hard pressure, then soft, then hard again. It doesn't take me long to realize that I'm going to come again. "Please," I say, "Please. Yes. Yes." The water moves back and forth over my clit and I can't stop asking him. "Please don't stop."
The pressure slows, water moving in lazy circles over my pussy, "Are you begging me?" James asks.
"God, yes. Please. Make me come. Please."
James locks his eyes on mine, and suddenly the water pressure is harder than it's ever been. He doesn't look away as he works it over my clit and I lose track of everything. He moves the water, circles and crosses, never stopping, and everywhere it goes is sheer pleasure. I still beg him to let me come, I'm so close, God, please. Suddenly his hand stops, the water at full force directly on my clit, and I break open.
I hold onto the bench as my orgasm wrenches through me in spasms. I feel heat and I see light. I savor that indescribable feeling deep in my gut. The water doesn't stop and neither does my orgasm. I feel like it goes on forever and I'm fine staying here. I don't even feel myself lie down. The pressure fades slowly back to a gentle flow, and then it's gone. When I open my eyes again, I'm looking up at the sky. I feel his finger press against the top of my clit, dragging down through my folds, and dipping inside me. I shudder in response.
I feel James pull my skirt down over my legs again. He gets up, sits on the bench next to me. He pulls my legs over his. I feel like I should say something, anything. But I can't find my voice to say anything. Instead I lean forward and kiss him.
"You are stunning when you come," he says, and I blush.
I'm furious at my body for blushing at that when his tongue was just inside me.
"Plus," he says, with a smirk on his face, "I got you to beg."
I make a face. "Well, that won't happen again."
"Is that a challenge?"
"Maybe." I smile.
We sit together in silence, looking at the garden. I'm struck by how comfortable this is. I'm also struck by how much I enjoy it, just sitting here together relaxing.
"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" he asks.
That's a good question. I shrug, mulling it over. "I'm going to do the best I can, make the best impression I can. But that's all I can do. Then it's out of my hands."
"Good attitude to have."
I laugh. "Well, I've had a lot of rejections by now-it's mostly self-preservation."
"I'm sure you'll be great," he says.
We sit in silence again, and then we hear the front gate. My father is home.
"I guess that's my cue." He extricates himself from my legs, and leans over to kiss me. "In case I don't see you before, I wish you the very best of luck."
"Thanks." I'm blushing again. Dammit.
He saunters away and there's no way I'm not looking at his ass. I should go back inside. I should move away in case someone saw him walking away from this direction, but I don't. I want to sit here for a while longer, keep the moment going as long as I can.
So I do.
11
Vera
The Harrison foundation's office is in a glitzy part of L.A. filled with boutiques and high-end restaurants. I'm pleasantly surprised by the relaxed nature of their offices. They have many windows, and everything is filled with natural light.
The interview itself feels like it is speeding by, but I think it's going well. The founder of the company, Rebecca Harrison, likes my work. As we get further into it, I realize that she is especially interested in my ELIH designs. The Harrison Foundation, in addition to their more high profile projects, does a significant amount of charity work.
When we've finished she asks if I'd like to visit one of their sites under construction. Of course I immediately accept. Seeing designs and concepts is one thing, seeing a building come into existence is a whole different ball game. The design we're going to see is a new town center, surrounded by houses, stores, and apartments. While we make our way over there, Rebecca tells me more about their charity work-which is also tied to this project. "It's hard," Rebecca says. "You have to balance the cost of the pro-bono construction with projects that are profitable, but we do what we can. I've chosen for the time being to focus on people who have lost their homes-particularly veterans and their families who have lost their houses due to medical bills."
"That's great," I say.
"I'd like to expand the criteria we use at some point, but we're not at the place where we have the capital." She glances over at me and smiles. "We're not a juggernaut like your father's company."
I laugh, trying to hide my nervousness. "That's really okay with me. I'm looking for something a bit smaller and more personal."
"Well we certainly are that." She turns off the main road. "Anyway, several of the homes under construction in this neighborhood are part of our charity initiative. We contract the work to people who specialize in low-income housing. They know how to stretch the money further than we do, and that allows me to take on a couple more charity projects every year. Every little bit counts when you're helping families survive."
We're driving through the bones of a neighborhood now. The skeletons of houses rising here and there. Here on the edges of the neighborhood things are just getting started and it looks more like a wasteland than the suburbs, but I can already tell it will be a nice place to live. Deeper into the neighborhood the houses become more finished, closer to being livable.
Rebecca slows down and points to a house on the right. "This is one of our pro-bono houses."
It's a nicely designed house. The framework is for a two-story house, and it looks like the windows and doors have recently gone in and the siding is mostly completed. "Looks like it will be beautiful," I say.
"I hope so."
Just then, a construction worker comes around the house carrying several two-by-fours, and I have to keep my mouth from falling open. It's James. James is working on this house.
My mind goes blank-why is he here? He works construction as well as landscaping? I mean … the fields are certainly compatible, but …
Everything inside of me tells me this doesn't make sense, but I don't have time to puzzle it out. We're driving on and into the town center, which is a beautiful confection of textures and color, a subdued color scheme of greys and blues along with stone and glass. It looks finished-minus retailers in the storefronts.
"This is gorgeous," I say.
"Thank you." Rebecca pulls into a parking space in the vast empty lot. "We're hoping to use this as a model and show towns the benefits of creating built-in communities. If successful, I'd like to think we'll build them all over the country." She walks me around the town center, and it's impressive. In the back of my mind I'm still freaking out about James, but I force myself to focus-this is more important.