Translucent (20 page)

I throw my head back into the pillow, arch my back, and moan loudly, “Oh my God.”

“You like that? When I talk against your sweet pussy?” he asks. More vibrations, more flooding.

“Mhmm.”

“I want,” he swipes his tongue over my sensitive clit, “you to tell me,” another swipe, “what you like.” A final swipe turns into an intense sucking.

My hands fly to the back of his head, and I tangle my fingers into his disheveled bed hair as I grind myself against his mouth. “That,” I cry softly. “I like that.”

Two fingers slide inside me and begin to rub against my inner wall as he continues to speak, swipe, and suck on my hard nub. “That’s my girl. Show me how good I make you feel; let me take care of you. Come for me now.” Squirming uncontrollably beneath his ministrations, my thighs clench together and my core floods on his hand the moment he instructs me to. Complete bliss consumes me.

Kissing his way up my body, he rubs his nose against mine once we’re eye level with one another. “Good morning, beautiful. Now that I’ve built up an appetite, let’s go downstairs and eat some breakfast.”

M
ADDEN INTRODUCES ME
to his long-time housekeeper, Sarah, when we get downstairs, and I instantly realize why he speaks so highly of her. She’s a short, round, Hispanic woman with a bright smile and friendly brown eyes, exuding motherliness. She pulls me into a warm embrace, kisses both of my cheeks, and then leans back to inspect me from top to bottom.

“Blake, my dear girl, it is so nice to meet you,” she greets me with a heavy, but understandable accent. “You are beautiful, but way too skinny. You must let Miss Sarah fatten you up.”

“Sarah,” he cautions her as he grabs two coffee mugs from the walnut-stained cabinets.

Laughing heartily, I nod and reply, “It’s okay, Madden, and it’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Sarah. If everything you cook smells this appetizing, I don’t think that will be a problem.”

She sticks her tongue out at the back of his head, which makes me giggle even harder. “I’ve made prosciutto and egg breakfast pizza, with rosemary hash browns this morning. I hope that sounds good to you?”

“Perfect.”

Madden motions for me to join him at the island, where he’s laid out milk and an assortment of sweeteners next to the two nearly-full, steaming hot cups. As he sips on his unaltered, black coffee, he snickers watching me add a splash of milk and three teaspoons of pure sugar to mine. “Exceptionally sweet coffee for my sweet girl, I see.”

Bringing the mug to my mouth, I smile and nod before swallowing a mouthful of the morning go-go juice. “Mmmm…the sweeter the better.”

“Touché.” His bright blue eyes twinkle naughtily.

Sarah sets a full plate of food in front of each of us, and we both dig in as though we haven’t eaten in a week. Describing the food as ‘delicious’ doesn’t begin to do the food justice; it’s out-of-this-world scrumptious. Thankfully, the gashes on my tongue feel much better already, and I’m able to scarf down all of it without wincing even once due to pain. As I scrape my fork across the clean plate, she scoops more of the breakfast casserole and potatoes onto it, smiling widely at my obvious appreciation for the meal.

Once we are both finished with our second helpings and coffee, I run out to my car to fetch my overnight bag, happy I brought along a change of clothes. Madden and I both return back upstairs to shower and change for the day’s outing. Even though he’s thoroughly inspected every inch of my body up close and personally, and I’ve already seen him nude—though it wasn’t in a sexual sense—he excuses himself to the guest bathroom, allowing me the use of his shower and vanity area.

Not wanting to be the typical girl that takes forever to get ready, I shower swiftly, pull my hair into a ponytail, and apply a minimal amount of makeup—just a little mascara, blush, and lip gloss. Then, I slip into my favorite pair of denim shorts and a black spaghetti-strapped top, with black flip-flops. When I emerge from the bathroom, Madden is standing in his closet wearing only a pair of charcoal gray shorts as he searches for a shirt. Though I’ve seen him shirtless numerous times before and even slept cuddled against his bare chest, for some reason, the sight of him in this exact moment has the butterflies fluttering in my belly and me clenching my thighs together. I can’t help but remember the feeling of his hands all over my body as his mouth selflessly pleasured me over and over again. He’s awakened a desire in me that has lain dormant for years. For the first time since I was a hormonal teenager, I
want
to have sex; I long to feel him buried deep inside of me.

Feeling my eyes locked on him, he turns his head to face me, his mouth curling up in a knowing smirk. My cheeks heat up with embarrassment, like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Wanna help me decide what to wear?” he asks.

Shaking my head, I reply playfully, “I trust your selections.”

He laughs hard as he pulls a white shirt from the hanger, slipping it over his head. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

Turning the light off in the closet, he stalks towards me like a predator cornering his prey. Shrieking, I take off running, not sure where I’m going to go. In a matter of seconds, he catches me, picks me up over his shoulder, and tosses me onto the bed. Straddling my hips, he uses one hand to pin my arms above my head and the other to tickle my sides. I wiggle and squeal, desperately yet ineffectively attempting to free myself. Eventually, he lets up with his giggle-inducing torture and lowers his face to rest his forehead against mine. “If you keep up with that sassy mouth and looking at me like you were, we won’t make it anywhere today,” he warns lowly, pressing himself against my mound.

The internal flutters morph into a desirous ache as I suck in a long breath through my teeth.
Not going anywhere wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

“You aren’t ready for that yet, sweet girl. Slow and steady, remember?” he murmurs across my lips, kissing me several times softly. Hopping off of me, he tugs on my arms until we’re both standing again. He swats my ass and announces, “Now, let’s get going. I have a day of fun planned for you.”

It’s a little after noon when we arrive at Venice Beach, and Madden grabs my hand once we’re out of the car, leading me down towards the boardwalk. The weather outside couldn’t be any more perfect; the bright sun suspends high in an endless blue sky, with the occasional white wisp of a cloud passing by, making it comfortably warm with the fresh sea breeze blowing ashore.

“I still can’t believe you haven’t been down to the coast since you’ve been here,” he remarks. “You realize it’s less than an hour drive from Burbank, right? Wait…do you live in Burbank? I guess I assumed you did, since your office is there.”

I reply, “I live in Woodland Hills,” without even realizing I’m sharing more personal information with him than I have with anyone else in a long time, “and yes, I realize how close it is. It was pretty cool out when I first moved here, not really ideal beach weather.”

He smiles down at me as we stride across the street. “Well, I’m kinda glad you didn’t. Now I get to be the one to show you all of these California landmarks.”

There’s no time for me to respond before we’re engulfed in a sea of people, causing me to tense up immediately. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones with this idea today, but after a little finagling and twisting through bodies, we make it out to the other side of the mass unscathed, but as always when I’m around people I don’t know, I’m on high alert.

“Wow, it’s breathtaking,” I proclaim, the infinite sheet of deep blue water laid out before me causes me to forget my anxiety for a brief while.

Madden loops his arms around my waist from behind and sweetly kisses my neck. “It doesn’t hold a candle to you, Blake. Let’s go put our feet in the sand before we walk around.”

I follow him down to the beach, sliding my feet out of my flip-flops and stepping onto the soft beige sand, surprised at how cool the fine grains feel as they slither between my toes. Unable to suppress the kid in me, I begin to skip and twirl around spiritedly towards the surf, frolicking in my first Pacific Coast experience, which is much more frigid than I expected. Acting just as silly as I am, he runs behind me and lifts me up over his head like we’re auditioning for
Dancing with the Stars.
I’m pretty sure if anyone’s paying attention to us, we win the most ridiculous couple award, but I couldn’t care less about what anyone thinks; I feel more alive in this moment than I have in over four years. The security and comfort I experience in his presence is a huge turning point for me in my attempt at this new life.

Once we’re finished making fools of ourselves, we walk up and down the boardwalk, taking in all the diverse sights and sounds of Venice Beach. At first, I attempt to scan the crowd to look for faces I recognize or appear suspicious, a process that’s become second nature to me. However, there are so many people milling by it’s downright impossible, and I soon give up and focus on the different things Madden’s pointing out to me.

Strolling past the shops and restaurants, a mixture of fried food and marijuana scents hang densely in the air as I look around with wonder. Never before have I seen such an eclectic group of people in one place. There are average-looking couples and families, skateboarders, young men playing basketball, body-builders, fire-breathing street performers holding snakes, and everything in-between. Tattooed and pierced skin is more common than not, and I didn’t know hair could come in so many different hues. The graffiti on the benches and walls isn’t obscure spray painting done by some neighborhood kids; it’s true art. Vibrant colors in creative, inspirational pieces—both realistic and innovative—are everywhere I look, and I’m amazed by the entire environment.

We walk the length of the path, and then turn around, making our way back to where his car is parked. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, I’m surprised to find we were there almost four hours; however, my rumbling stomach doesn’t let me forget how long it’s been since we ate Sarah’s breakfast.

Placing his hand on my thigh, he looks over at me and flashes an authentic, charm-the-birds-out-of-the-trees, Madden grin. “We’re going to go have some dinner now, and then we’ll head over to the pier. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on experience of the carnival at nighttime.”

“You think the dangerous rides and twinkling lights are going to make me feel young and innocent, and arouse my appetite for something other than food?” I tease, recalling his words from the night before.

“Ah, my funny girl is back. Do I need to remind you just how funny
I
can be?” he says as he squeezes my leg, threatening another tickling attack.

“No! You need to drive and not kill us!” I cry out, giggling at the recent memory.

He leaves his hand where it is, but redirects his concentration to the road while I sing along to the radio. In no time at all, the famous Santa Monica Pier comes into view, and he parks in a public lot across the street. He explains the restaurant is right up the road, so we can easily walk to both locations, leaving the car in one place for the evening.

We walk the few blocks north to Bar Pintxo, a quaint little place located right on the corner of Ocean and Santa Monica Boulevard. Madden opens the wood-framed glass door for me, and I step inside the charming tapas bar. The interior of the restaurant is lined floor-to-ceiling with bottles of wine, but the open kitchen and closely arranged pub-style tables give it a casual, lively environment. We snag the last available table on the small outdoor patio, relishing in the late afternoon ocean breeze while we people watch and enjoy delectable Basque-inspired pintxos and traditional tapas. I allow Madden to order, assuming he’s been here before and knows what’s good, as I once again investigate my surroundings. There are only four tables on the patio, and two of them have been pushed together to seat a large group of thirty-something women, who other than whispering to one another while continuously gaping at Madden, don’t threaten me at all. The other table is another couple close to my age, who are so involved in each other’s conversation and holding hands across the table I’m not sure they’re aware any of the rest of us are sharing the space. Many people are passing by on the street in front of us, but no one is paying any attention to us.