“You're full of me, Audra,” I growl, bending low and breathing across her face. “Absolutely stuffed. Can you even breathe with all of that dick inside of you?” Audra doesn't respond, her cheeks flushed pink with desire, lips slightly parted. Her body is convulsing around mine, pressing my dick against the hard pressure of the cock in her ass. The sound of rock music mixes with the guttural slap of our bodies and the rapidly ascending cries breaking from Audra's throat. It's a symphony I could listen to over and over and over again.
“Lucas,” Audra breathes, just a split second before she tosses her head back, bucking beneath me and rattling the handcuffs at her wrists. When she comes, I come, and I watch as our twisted bodies collapse together in a sweaty heap.
For the first time in years, I fall asleep with a woman in my arms.
A few hours later, I wake to Audra poking at me with her foot.
“Lucas.” She sounds near to tears. I crack open my eyes and look at Audra's twisted facial expression, red hair stuck to her sweaty skin, green eyes wide. “My arms are a-fucking-sleep. Dear God, please get these handcuffs off.” With a low chuckle, I oblige, grabbing the keys from the nightstand and releasing her. “Jesus Christ,” Audra groans, letting her head fall back into the pillows. Into my pillows. There's a woman in your bed, Lucas. The thought makes me squirm, but I can't deny how good it feels. It makes those brief and fleeting moments where I miss Isadora seem inconsequential and somewhat childish. Isadora is nowhere near Audra, not in darkness, in spunk, even in physical beauty.
My lips twitch.
“Never fell asleep in a pair of cuffs before. Ugh. And I don't know that I'll ever do that again.” Audra shakes her arms out and stretches, leaning over to peer at the clock next to my bed. Eleven-thirty. So more of a nap than anything else. Still, this was a big step for me, for the beast. “I'm going to use the bathroom, if you don't mind.” Audra leans over and presses her mouth to my neck. “Maybe take a shower?” She pulls away and stands up, unashamed of her beautiful body or the discarded toy lying at the end of the bed. My inner need for cleanliness quivers at the sight, but I manage to offer up a somewhat realistic smile.
“Make sure you leave the door unlocked,” I whisper as she turns away with a wink and disappears with the soft sound of padding footsteps. For a moment, I just lie there and stare at my white ceiling, the one I spent a whole day scraping to remove the 'popcorn' effect. Hmm. So many thoughts are twirling through my mind that I almost overlook the sound of a car pulling up outside. Almost. But in this neighborhood of families and senior citizens, a car at this hour is rare, if not entirely unheard of. When the engine continues to rattle, I'm drawn from my thoughts and over to my bedroom window. My first thought is that Clarice is back, taking her stalking to a whole new level, but the vehicle outside is a green Taurus, something Mrs. Braxton wouldn't be caught dead in.
I turn away from the window and grab the black robe off the hook behind my bedroom door, tossing it over my shoulders. The tiki torches have long since burned out, but the back door is still wide open, letting in God only knows what sorts of pests. I wrinkle my nose and move down the steps, retrieving the now inedible tray of bruschetta along with our wine glasses. I set everything on the counter and open the fridge, searching for the filet mignon and finding it right where I left it, next to a head of romaine lettuce. It's certainly not too late for dinner, and I don't know about Audra, but our encounter has left me … ravenous.
I smile and glance at the bruschetta again. It's not something Lucas Carter would do, eat an old piece of bread covered in cold cheese, but I do it anyway. I put the food to my mouth and lean against the kitchen island, closing my eyes with the pleasure of taste. Such an overlooked sense. I finish the bread and pour two fresh glasses of wine. I'm feeling adventurous tonight. Perhaps Audra and I could try something strange … like a bath together?
“I still dislike the woman,” I say, more for my own benefit than for anyone else's. Outside the window, I catch the faint drift of music and the still running engine of the car. Call it … instinct if you want, but something about that noise causes me to set the wine glasses down on the bookshelf and move towards the living room window. I stand in the place where my couch used to be and pull apart the curtains. The outside air is still warm at this hour, but the windows of the car are slightly fogged up, and I can see movement inside. The glaring orange of the streetlights kills my night vision and makes it difficult to see what exactly is going on in there, but I can take a guess. It's a wild one, but I decide to check, just in case. What's the worst that could happen?