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I was surviving Carl Brooks.
I was loving Rick Warner.
And I had three lovely fucking grand in my bank account.
Three!
Three lovely grand in my bank account, two fat dicks in my pussy later, and an industrial bottle of lube in my suitcase. Lube and paracetamol. And sanitary pads, for the internal bleeding I couldn’t imagine avoiding as Carl’s monsterdick tore into me. Not really, I didn’t have room in my case for non-essential toiletries. I smiled at the surrealism of my predicament, and Rick smiled back, put a hand on my knee. I put mine on top and squeezed, and I knew then I’d be alright.
I’d never been to Brighton. It was taller than I was expecting, a string of big hotels on the front, and the sea to my right. I pressed my face to the window and my heart jumped as we passed the bustle of the pier. I should have definitely brought my glittery pumps. Rick pulled into the underground parking of a grand looking hotel just a short way beyond, prime position, and Carl groaned as his mobile signal cut out.
“Fuck,” he said.
We parked up, and got out, and Carl was already wandering away, his phone in his hand as he stared at the screen and angled it for signal. Rick touched a hand to my elbow and winked at me, and then he leapt after Carl, sneaking behind him to whip the phone from his fingers. He pranced away as Carl rushed after him, and I laughed as they played a stand-off, Rick poised on one side of the Range Rover as Carl came after him.
“Prick,” Carl said. “I need that.”
“Nah,” Rick laughed. “Not this weekend.”
“Yes, this fucking weekend!”
“No way!” Rick made a dash for it, and I laughed as Carl charged after him, and then there was a shake down and in a beat Rick had shoved the phone down the front of his jeans, and he was smirking, hip thrusting as Carl tried to get a grip on his belt.
“You think that’s going to fucking stop me? I’ll have your pants round your fucking ankles, I don’t give a shit.”
A family of four approached from the stairwell and stood mute by their Mercedes, and I laughed, oh hell how I laughed, hard enough to double over as Rick got close enough to the exit that Carl’s phone started ringing in his pants. He gyrated his crotch, jumping about, his face a picture as the handset chimed and buzzed against his dick.
“That’s important!” Carl growled, and I had to cover my face with my arm, laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. Rick handed it back with a grin once the call had rung out, and Carl jabbed his arm. “You’re such a fucking idiot, Richard. Such a fucking dick.”
But even Carl was smiling. He dropped the smile as he saw me laughing.
“Glad my professional humiliation is amusing you, Katie,” he said. But he was playing, I saw it in his eyes. He looked from me to Rick and back again and then he groaned and pressed the off button. “Fine. I’m done for the weekend.”
Rick threw an arm around his neck and pulled him close, landing a big wet kiss on his cheek, and it made my tummy lurch. “I fucking love you, Carl.”
“Pleased to hear it,” Carl said, and wiped his cheek down with a grimace, but that was playing, too.
I think Carl Brooks played more than I’d have ever expected, hiding behind a gruff exterior, all steely and corporate and stern.
I gave him another point. Carl. Score: 003. Good wine, scary hot, really a little bit funny when you get to know him.
Rick grabbed my hand and Carl grabbed my case along with his own, and we made our way up to receptionwhere nobody seemed to raise an eyebrow that the three of us were checking into one double. But of course they wouldn’t, our double was a whole fucking suite. Two huge rooms of grandeur on the top floor with a balcony overlooking the front, and it was awesome. It had been a long time since I’d been to the seaside, never mind among such opulence, and the excitement boiled over. Rick leapt on the bed and did a bounce, and I joined him, up and down on our asses while Carl checked out the view.
And then Rick pinned me, his inked arms holding me to the bed while he flickedhis tongue up my throat, and I let out a pleasurable moan.
“Get a fucking room, kids,” Carl said, and the husk in his tone gave me shivers. I watched him unpack his case, a couple of dark shirts and a black pair of jeans, a pair of shorts I really couldn’t imagine him wearing, and some boxers, folded up neatly. He looked at Rick and then he unpacked some more, and my thighs felt like jelly strings as he lined up a load of sex toys on the dressing table. Dildos and plugs and a big bottle of lube. I tried to play it cool, relaxing at Rick’s side as though I wasn’t absolutely shitting myself. Carl loosened his cuffs, rolled his sleeves up as though he was about to get stuck into manual labour, and I nearly did shit myself.
He must have seen my expression, as he smirked.
“Later,” he said.
Rick turned my face to his, and he was smiling. “Chill,” he said. “You’ll enjoy it. I promise.”
My throat felt too dry to even risk replying, and I couldn’t think of the words to say if I’d wanted to.
“We’re wasting the day in here,” Carl said. “Let’s go. Sunshine calling.”
I kicked off my pumps and swapped them for sandals, and headed to the bathroom to swap my jeans for cut-off shorts, tossing my hair for a bit of extra volume before I was ready to don my pink shades and head outside. The day was warm and bright, and it chased my reservations away. We took a table on the beachfront for lunch, and we drank fruity cocktails while Rick talked about the string of old family holidays he’d been on as a child.
