Yours, Forever, page 12
Every air molecule leaves my lungs as my stomach dances a conga. My vision tunnels until all I can see is Dustin's beautiful, vulnerable face. All I want to do is cup his cheek and feel the softened stubble of his beard on my palm. I want to kiss him into next week. Unfortunately, my entire body freezes, and all I can do is squeak out something unintelligible with a tiny nod.
He melts into a relieved smile and rushes towards me, cradling the back of my head as he pulls me into the most earth-shattering kiss. Symphonies ring out in my head. Birds chirp happily. Bells ring in the most gorgeous princess-y tower. I swear to god, the very floor beneath my feet rumbles to the beat of our hearts.
His tongue gently invades my mouth, and a delighted groan rumbles in my throat. My hands fly over his body, needing him, needing every single bit of him as close to me as possible. Closer than that, even.
"I want you, too," I manage to breathe out between gasps for air. "God, I want you. I want to make this work. We can always make it work, right?"
"Always, baby," he murmurs into my ear. The soft heat of his breath makes goosebumps erupt down my neck, and I fight back a shiver. "Yours, forever."
"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?" I pull back with a sheepish smile.
"No. No, I'm not. I believed it wholeheartedly back then, and I'm overjoyed to say it back to you now. I promise you, Brooke. I'm yours, forever." He pulls me over to straddle his lap and runs a hand through my (very messy) hair. "I can't even tell you how many times I read those notes. I felt… weird about keeping them all these years. But I'm so glad I never deleted them. Hell, I think the originals are somewhere in Mom's attic."
"Wait, seriously?" My whole chest and neck flushes with embarrassment. "They were so corny. Full of teenage hormones, horrible spelling, and even worse grammar."
Dustin chuckles with a glimmer in his eye. "Yeah, but they were from you. Honestly, you ruled my life for my formative years."
"That can't be healthy."
"Ha! Maybe not, but look at us now. We both grew up, we matured, we lived, and we learned." He grins. "Plus, that ass—you inspired my ass fixation, baby. C'mere."
With some kind of acrobatic skill, he flips me over and off of his lap, face down in the bed. His hands clamp around my ass cheeks, and he lets out a soft groan as he kneads the thick muscle. "Goddamn, baby. You're a fuckin' sight."
"Why don't you do something about it?"
A loud whump against my bedroom door startles the both of us, and we flinch apart. A split-second later, we hear a muffled shit from someone who sounds an awful lot like Janine.
"Janine?" I call out. "Are you spying?"
"No," she lies. Obviously.
Dustin looks down at the raging erection straining against his jeans. "Um, do you—"
"I got it." I roll myself off of the bed and stomp to the door to find Janine and Ricky scampering down the hallway. "Seriously, you guys?"
Janine pokes her head back around the corner. "You'd do the same thing, girl. Do not lie to me."
"Get some, Brooke." Ricky grins lewdly and shoots me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "We're not listening. I can barely hear it out here when you go to bone town. And I definitely can't hear it from my room. I swear."
"Jesus, gross," I mutter. Turning back to Dustin, I grimace. "So… back to your place, then?"
Judging from the way his pants aren't tenting, the moment's dead. He chews on his lower lip for a second. "I mean, we could. But what if I stayed here, and I just get to hold you?"
I smile. "Yeah, that'd be nice."
Every makeup item I own is splayed out on the bathroom counter as I hurriedly redo my eyeliner for the millionth time. Janine sits on the (closed) toilet, munching on a bag of corn chips and throwing out suggestions. Her bag of hair-care items waits for me on the edge of my bed. We've only got a few hours before the dinner cruise tonight, and I want to look fucking incredible.
"So, like, how do you keep yourself away from him during the work week?" she asks.
"Not well." I sigh and frown as the perfect winged eyeliner eludes me—again. "I mean, we're pretty good at just being professional-friendly. I think."
"No, you're not," she scoffs. "I can tell."
"Girl, then why did you ask?" I toss the eyeliner pen down with a little more force than I meant to.
"Thought it'd be funny. Anyway, did you pick a dress?"
"Yup. The baby pink one."
"Is that the one he fucked you sideways in when he showed up with puppy-dog eyes?" She grins and chews loudly.
"No, that was the purple. But god willing, and the creek don't rise, he'll give me a repeat performance. Can you please do my left eye? I can't get it to match the right." I snatch the pen back up and shove it at her.
"I was wondering when you'd ask."
I don't know how she does it, but Janine perfects the left eye's wing like a pro. I move to go back to the mirror, but she grabs my arm and shakes her head. "Nope, you're getting the full Janine treatment."
"Well, if you insist."
"I do." She whips out the most stunning berry lipstick I've ever seen, and before I know it, I'm done. I look like a goddess. A very professional goddess, I might add. But a goddess nonetheless.
The lime green dye in my hair has faded to a cool minty color. Janine whips out the fanciest curling rod I've ever seen and gets to work, while I allow my mind to race around the subject of Dustin. He wants to be with me. He wants to make this work. I know we've tried long distance before—and it exploded horrifically in sophomore year—but I really do believe we can make this happen.
I just might be moving to Chicago, that's all. Or Dustin could move here. I wouldn't complain about that. If DropTop is being acquired by Atmosphere, that really opens up a world of possibilities. Not that I want to abandon my team—not at all. But we do have the option to work from any office.
The contented smile drops from my face as Janine yanks a clump of my hair with one of her massive claw clips. "Jesus!"
"Sorry, sorry, you big baby." She sniffs. "We're almost done."
Looking up at the mirror, I see she has my hair sectioned into a very chic half-up, half-down number. The undersides are curled and fluffed into defined, yet beachy, waves. She rifles through her bag and brings out a giant handful of bobby pins and clear elastics. I preemptively wince because those things are going to hurt like a motherfucker when I take them all out at the end of the night.
A few tender-headed tears later, I've got the most adorable space buns with wispy curtain bangs, while the lower half of my hair hangs free and delightfully wavy. All in all, I look fucking amazing.
"Did I do good, or did I do good?" Janine clasps her hands together and smiles at me in the mirror.
"You did fucking good," I giggle back.
We both squeal with excitement, and I scurry to my closet to find the aforementioned pink dress. It's got a deep V-neck, flowy short sleeves, a poofy A-line skirt, and discreet silver threading around the hem. I love the distinctly early spring vibes it gives off, even though I'll definitely be rocking up with my giant winter coat over it. Here's hoping the cruise ship has heating.
I thank every deity that might be listening that I had the presence of mind to wear a robe during the getting-ready process. I do not want to think about ruining my hair by pulling a ratty sweatshirt over my head. Dropping the robe to the floor, I quickly step into the dress and do my absolute best to zip it myself.
"Would it kill you to ask for help?" Janine scoffs. She quickly zips me up and gives me a smack on the ass.
"Hey! I did ask for help, if you recall. I asked you to do my eyeliner." I twirl in the dress and squeak happily at the way the skirt poofs out around me.
"Right, and you're at capacity. One 'help me please' per day, huh?"
"Exactly. Can't have you thinking I've gone all soft and helpless now that I've got myself a man," I overexaggerate a Southern drawl, and Janine rolls her eyes so hard I think they might fall out.
"Go get 'em, kid."
Dustin
The sun sets so early in winter. By the time I get out of the menswear shop—several hundred dollars lighter, I might add—the street lights illuminate the bustling sidewalk. But damn, I have to admit I look good. I basically told the sales guy that I had no idea what I was doing, and he asked me all the questions in the world, but by the time I was handing over my debit card? I was happy. I am happy. The sage green two-piece suit with a crisp white shirt fits me perfectly.
And I can't wait to see what Brooke thinks about it.
I've still got about two hours before the ship sets off, so I head back to the apartment for a little bit of last-second grooming and showering and beard-trimming. I rake my fingers through the shaggy growth. It turns out I've forgotten to keep the beard up to my usual standards. I blame Brooke for that, of course. She seems to like it when the hair is soft and blunted.
However, I'm not going to this dinner cruise as Brooke's date—as much as I would love that, we can't—and I need to project a professional image on behalf of Atmosphere as a whole. Professionalism. Professionalism. Professionalism. That has to be my mantra for the evening.
The words repeat in my mind as I nod to the doorman, ride the elevator up, and prepare myself for the night. The beard trim takes the longest. It's always a little difficult to get the lines perfectly straight by myself. Maybe I should have invited Brooke over? I shake my head. Too late now.
As I hop into the shower, my mind drifts back to her, no matter how many times I try to stay focused. I wonder what she'll wear? That purple dress that nearly brought me to my knees? No, probably not—much too sexy for a work event.
But a man can dream, right?
Just as I gently pat in my moisturizer (it's good for men, too! Gentlemen, take note!), my phone vibrates against the bathroom counter.
Brooke
Should we meet before the boat? Or would that be too suspicious?
Oh, that's a good question. I assume everyone will be showing up at about the same time, so it might not be that suspect if we roll up together. On the other hand, though, depending on what she's wearing? I might decide that actually, fuck the party, I need to be inside her immediately. And if we're already with a bunch of people, that might tamp down any misguided urges.
Let's meet at boarding. I can't wait to see you.
She sends back the saluting emoji, and I crack a smile.
One night. One night of pure professionalism. It can't be that hard, right?
Wrong. Oh my god, I'm so wrong. From the instant I saw her at the pier, I knew I fucked up. I had my suspicions when I could see her legs peeking out from under her coat, but when she took it off? And I saw that tantalizing dress?
I'm so fucked. I'm more fucked than I've ever been. My mind is fully, completely focused on Brooke. Even now, as I'm sitting and smiling blithely while the CEOs of Atmosphere and DropTop make long-winded speeches about collaboration and aligning goals and value-focused deliverables? I can't retain a single word. I politely clap when everyone else does. I chuckle when one of them makes a ham-fisted joke about welcoming DropTop aboard.
My eyes stay laser-focused on Brooke the whole time. Every time she leans over and whispers something to Darrell, they try to contain their giggles. And I try to contain myself as I watch her breasts jiggle and practically spill out of the dress's neckline—seriously, what is that kind of dress? Was it custom-made to have me straining against my suit pants? Is it the Dustin Annihilator 9000?
Just as I think about her dress for the millionth time, she flicks her gaze over to me and stuns me with a loving smile. To anyone else in the room, it would seem innocuous. Just friendly colleagues being happy on a boat. But for me? That smile is dangerous. I shift in my seat as I flush a deep red. It's the same smile she gives me after I pound her into the mattress. It's the same smile she gives me after riding my cock into oblivion.
I break our shared gaze and inspect the city skyline out the window. We're not far from land, but there's no possible way I could ask the captain—do dinner cruises have captains?—to turn the fuck around so I can go eat my girlfriend's pussy. Even if this wasn't a work event, that would be decidedly un-kosher.
Fuck, I need the speeches to be done. This is a big ship, surprisingly large and luxe—surely there's a secluded area we could sneak off to? The brig, perhaps? Do dinner cruise ships have brigs?
I discreetly pull out my phone and tap out a text to Brooke.
Meet me at the bathrooms when the speeches are done.
Her phone vibrates against the table, and she cocks an eyebrow at me before reading the message. I can't help but flash her a cheeky grin as her cheeks turn a delightful pink as she reads. It almost matches the pink of her dress. If everything goes my way, I'm gonna spank her ass red. Give her a lovely coordinating color.
She looks back up at me and gives me a tiny nod. Yes.
"And with that, I'd like to hand over the mic to your onboarding director, Dustin Sanders!" Kenton St. Clair—the fucking bastard—calls me out by name. It's like he grabbed me by the bones and shook me.
Brooke and I share a dumbfounded look. Darrell claps loudly and manages to shoot me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. I, personally, thank god for long tablecloths so I can adjust the raging erection Brooke has given me before standing. The entire DropTop company politely applauds with various whispers as I stagger to my feet and make my way to the slightly elevated stage.
Kenton (the bastard) hands over the mic and claps me on the shoulder.
"Uh, thank you. Um. It's been a pleasure getting to know everyone—"
"Woo!" Darrell yells out, and the crowd titters with laughter.
"—yes, woo. Uh. I look forward to a very productive future between DropTop and Atmosphere. Thank you for having me in your office these past few weeks. It's really…" I trail off awkwardly. Brooke looks up at me with mouth slightly agape and a shine in her eyes. God, I love her. I love her so much. I really, really need to be done with this. "It's been really great. Thank you again and welcome, um, aboard."
I practically throw the mic back to St. Clair before scurrying back to my seat. Mortification heats my neck and ears. I am not a public-speaking guy. I can't be sure, but I think the CEO signals for our food to be served. Slumping back into my chair, I let out a heavy sigh and gulp my white wine. It's pretty good. Thank fuck for that, I guess.
My dinner—a very fancy salad with blackened chicken—is quietly deposited in front of me. Brooke keeps peeking over between bites of her own salad. The idea of sneaking out and meeting her in a dark corner is the only thing keeping me going.
Buzz buzz.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the notification.
You did great, babe. I'm so proud of you, and I can't wait to show you ;)
Would you look at that? I'm no longer blushing. Suddenly, all of the blood that was previously collecting in my neck and ears has rushed straight the hell down to my cock. I need to get out of here—now.
Brooke pats her mouth with the cloth napkin and excuses herself from the table. How long should I wait before going to find her? How long before it isn't suspicious? I decide to count to twenty in my head. Luckily, no one is really paying attention. Darrell and his husband are happily chatting. Some other people that I vaguely recognize are focused on their own plates.
By the time I reach twenty, it's definitely go time. With a mumbled excuse me, I leap to my feet and hustle out of the main dining room to the hallway where Brooke disappeared. The slight motion of the boat sailing through the water has me a little unsteady—or is it the wine?
As I round the corner, I find my girl leaning against the wall, waiting for me. She giggles and waves before curling her finger, beckoning me closer.
"The bathrooms lock from the inside," she whispers into my ear.
"Is that so? How very interesting. You'll need to show me."
Giggling excitedly, Brooke leads me down the hallway and around a few corners, until the din of conversation from the dining room has long faded. I furtively scope out the space—it definitely seems like it's open to our group, but no one has ventured far from the dinner (or the open bar, for that matter).
She pushes open a dark wooden door marked Ladies' Room in a delicate, swirly font. The rush of the forbidden rendezvous crashes through me like a wave, and I can't keep my hands off of her. Clamping my hands around her soft waist, I kiss her with all of the pent-up aggression from hiding our relationship the whole evening. Her hands find their way into my hair, latching on with the same voracity I feel.
"I wanted to kiss you so much from the instant I saw you," I murmur into the soft waves of green hair behind her ear.
"I wanted to jump up and hug you when you were done speaking," she whispers back.
"Is that all you wanted to do? Just hug me?"
She laughs and squeezes me even tighter. "No. No, I wanted to do much more than that."
"Yeah? Show me."
Brooke releases me from her clutches and hikes up her dress, bending over the sink jutting from the wall. She steals my breath away—my girl, my beautiful woman, is wearing crotchless panties. A crotchless thong with bright red lace exposes her soaked pussy and gives me the most glorious view of that perfect ass. She wore these under that fucking dress? At the company dinner? I think my heart might stop, and the ocean will swallow me up if I don't touch her right the fuck now.
"Fucking hell, baby. You wore that for me?" I reach out and caress the soft swell of her ass cheeks, enraptured by the sight.
"What if I said I didn't?" Brooke wiggles her ass in my face. She's taunting me. God, she wants this as much as I do.
"Then you'd be in trouble, baby. Are you trying to get in trouble?"
"Why don't you find out?"
My hand—seemingly with a mind of its own—rears back and rains down hard on her ass cheek with a loud smack. I can't hold in the feral groan that rumbles from my chest. The jiggle of her ass is mesmerizing. Hypnotizing. She was made to torment me, I'm sure of it.
