Chapter 32
A Soft Touch
It’s five-forty-five in the morning when I wake up next to Mark.
The curtains aren’t the best—letting the glow of the streetlights seep in around the edges—but it’s dark outside, and the small wall heater is humming away.
It’s the morning after Thanksgiving, and the hotel parking lot was nearly empty when we got here last night.
We made the drive to Walla Walla following our Thanksgiving dinner with Jeanette and Katie, arriving a bit after midnight.
None of us bothered to tell Jeanette that Mark is the Black Bears’ head coach.
Like me, she doesn’t follow sports at all, so she didn’t make the connection, and Katie and I both decided that Thanksgiving dinner probably wasn’t the best time to explain it.
I’ll tell her eventually—out of necessity more than anything else—but I’ll bring him around a few more times and let her get to know him before I do.
I’m hoping it’ll spare me some of the snide, but ultimately well-meaning, remarks she’s bound to make.
And today, I have plans. Plans beyond introducing Mark to my dad. After going to the bathroom and brushing my teeth, I wake Mark up.
“It’s still dark,” he says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“I know. But I have something I want to show you. Get up.”
He flings an arm over his face as I turn on the bedside lamp. A few minutes later, he climbs out of bed, muttering something about the time.
Ten minutes after that, we’re in my car, driving north, coffee in hand.
“Where are we going?” Mark asks.
“There’s a state park near here. It’s a good spot to watch the sunrise.”
“We’re awake to watch the sunrise?” Mark questions with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.
“Not exactly.”
“I’d rather be sleeping,” he grumbles.
Twenty minutes later, I pull into a small trailhead parking area and get out of the car. We’re the only ones here. Mark follows me as I go around to the trunk, grab a blanket and hand it to him.
“Here. Carry this,” I say before walking down the trail.
Sunrise is about half an hour away, but it’s bright enough for us to slowly make our way to the overlook—which is fine because slowly is the best I can do.
My ribs still constantly hurt, but this trail is mostly flat, and as long as I don’t have to take too deep a breath, the pain is manageable.
A mile and a half later, we come to the overlook. It’s a grassy hillside, and I veer off the trail, down the slope until we come to a somewhat flat area. I pluck the blanket from Mark’s grasp, spread it on the ground, and then step onto it, tugging him with me.
“What—” he begins, but my hands are running through his soft mahogany hair, pulling his lips to mine, my tongue caressing his.
He tastes like mint and coffee, and I plunge my tongue deeper into his mouth as I drop a hand to the front of his pants, stroking him.
He’s already hard, and my cunt is already throbbing as I think about him sliding inside me.
His hands skim over my sides, slipping under the hem of my sweatshirt. I didn’t bother to put anything on underneath it, and he moans into my mouth when his fingertips encounter nothing but skin. It’s the sexiest noise in the world.
He pulls his mouth from mine just far enough to ask, “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“We could both benefit from blowing off a little steam,” I murmur, my eyes locked on his as I slide my hand into his pants and wrap it around his shaft. His eyes flutter shut, and he makes the same soft moaning sound.
“What if someone walks by?” he asks, giving me an out.
But I don’t want an out. “There’s no one here except us. If someone should happen to walk by ten minutes from now, though, when you’re buried in me, we’ll put on a show.”
“You’re sure?” he asks, his fingertips running back and forth across my nipples.
“Yes.”
The word has barely left my mouth before he’s taking my sweatshirt off, leaving me standing topless on an open hillside. The air is cold, but I’ve never cared less.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he whispers, grabbing my ass and pulling me toward him with one hand as the other moves to cup my boob.
“I’m glad you think so,” I reply, moving my hands under his shirt, caressing his body.
He lets go of me long enough for me to yank his shirt off, and then his hands are immediately back on me, pinching my nipples and making me gasp.
I kick off my shoes and then shove my sweatpants down my legs.
There’s also nothing beneath them, and I take Mark’s right hand from my boob, placing it between my legs and his fingers inside me.
“Yes,” I moan, and he thrusts them deeper and deeper as I bring my hand back to his dick, matching the rhythm his fingers are thrusting into me.
“You’re so wet.”
“I’ve been fantasizing about this—about being on my knees, face down in front of you while you fuck me—for days.
I want you buried in the back of my throat and then pounding into me while my ass is up in the air.
I want you to make me scream your name,” I tell him, watching his pupils dilate as his fingers press into the walls of my cunt, leaving me gasping.
He wants this too. He’s been so careful with me lately. Too careful. “Please.”
His left hand drops from my boob to ghost over my ribs. “It’ll hurt,” he warns.
“I like a little pain sometimes. You have permission to hurt me.”
“You’re sure?”
“Stop trying to talk me out of this and fuck me. If it’s too much and I want you to stop, I’ll let you know.”
He kicks his shoes off, and then I’m pushing his sweatpants down his legs, following them until I’m kneeling in front of him. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but the sky is so bright that if anyone walks by and glances in our direction, they’ll get an eyeful. That realization just makes this more fun.
Mark’s hand fists in my hair as he rams himself into my mouth.
The head of his cock reaches the back of my throat well before my lips are anywhere near the base of him.
He pushes deeper until my throat is molding around him, and then he holds my head there, groaning as my throat flexes around his dick and I fight my gag reflex.
He draws back, repeating the process again and again.
It’s exactly what I wanted. Eventually, he increases the pace.
My eyes are watering, and I can taste him more and more with each thrust. I drop a hand between my legs, running a finger over my clit in time with his thrusts.
I’m almost there when he pulls out and shoves me away. He drops to his knees. “Turn around. Ass up,” he orders, his hand on the back of my neck, pushing my face into the blanket. “Keep touching yourself,” he growls, the tip of his cock teasing my opening.
I return my fingers to my clit. “Please, Mark. Please.”
“Tell me you want this,” he demands, barely sliding into me.
“I want this. I want you. Please. Fuck me,” I plead, but he’s still just barely inside me.
I struggle to figure out what he’s waiting for, my brain unable to think beyond the fact that I need him now.
“You have permission to hurt me,” I say, repeating my earlier words.
Apparently, that’s what he was waiting for because his hands wrap around my ribs, squeezing as he slams into me.
The angle is perfect, and he’s so deep. My ribs hurt, and the pain makes every thrust even more amazing than the last.
“Keep going, Mark, please. More,” I beg, and he steadily increases the pressure on my ribs, thrusting harder and faster. I continue stroking my fingers across my clit, the orgasm building. Then I’m coming, screaming his name.
He makes it another minute, and then there’s the warm burst of him climaxing, and he bucks against me, growling. He loses all rhythm as he folds over me, panting, holding our bodies together.
“You’re okay?” he asks after a moment.
“Yeah. I’m great. Thank you. That was amazing.”
“I love you,” he whispers before pulling out of me.
“I love you too,” I reply, turning to find him lying on the blanket. “Feeling better?” I ask as I gingerly lie down in the space between his arm and his chest, pulling the blanket over us. The sweat coating my skin is evaporating quickly in the morning air, and it won’t be long until I’m shivering.
“Yes, actually. How’d you know?”
I shrug. “It’s kind of hard to miss the fact that family shit makes you nervous. Just like it’s equally hard to miss the fact that this calms you down.”
He snorts, and I rise and fall against his chest. “Well, this does top my list for the best sunrise.”
Mark is sitting next to me at the table as we wait for my dad to be brought out. This is the first time anyone has come with me in years. It’s nice. Even though Mark’s knee is bouncing next to mine.
I place my hand on it as I say, “Relax. He’ll like you. And even if he doesn’t, who cares?”
“He’s your dad,” Mark murmurs.
“You know after he got locked up, and I went to live with Jeanette and Katie, Vaughn moved down to Portland?” I ask. Mark is looking at me curiously, so I explain. “Vaughn used to live in Seattle. He and my dad worked together.”
“No, I didn’t know that. Why?”
“He moved because I did,” I answer with a shrug. “He and Marjorie put their house on the market and moved to Portland a few months after everything happened. There hasn’t been a single month in my life where I haven’t seen Vaughn at least once. Usually more often.”
“Okay. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Vaughn’s at least as much my father as my dad is. And he already likes you. That’s all.”
The door clatters open, and my dad comes through. He spots me right away, and his eyes linger on Mark as he approaches.
“Hi dad, this is Mark. Mark, this is my dad, Randall,” I say, making the necessary introductions once he reaches the table.
“Mark. The hockey coach. So you’re the one my daughter dyed her hair for.”
I roll my eyes. I knew he would mention it. Better that than something about Katie, though.
“Nice to meet you,” my dad adds, extending his hand across the table, and as Mark takes his hand, I can’t help but notice that my dad’s hair looks more styled than it usually does when I show up to visit. Apparently, Mark’s not the only one who wants to make a good impression.
I smother a laugh as I say, “Vaughn sends his best. He told me to tell you he’ll give you a real job when you’re done. If you want one.”
My dad huffs, dismissing Vaughn’s offer without response. “I take it your trouble down in Portland is done?” my dad probes, glancing at Mark.
“Yes. And yes, he knows.”
My dad shakes his head, sighing. “You and Vaughn,” he mutters. “Like peas in a pod.”
I snort. “Say it. I know you want to.”
“I love you, Alyssa, but you and Vaughn are both soft touches.”
“There are worse things to be, dad.”
He grins. “That’s true. Do you play chess?” he asks, turning his attention to Mark.
“Congratulations,” I say to Mark, as I stand to get the chessboard. “He likes you. He only plays chess with people he likes.”