Positive/Negativity by D.D. Lorenzo Read Free Book Online Page A

impossible. Our little bits and pieces of movie dates, walks, coffees and conversations had, over this brief amount of time, begun to grow us into we . I was becoming hers as much as she was becoming mine, and I was enjoying the journey.
    I held her back and gently lowered her into the sand. My chest came down to press against her breasts as I continued my conquest of her mouth. She was a desirable woman. Her sensuality was like a drug, and I craved to be addicted. I could feel that I was going to lose all control, and I wanted to undress and see, feel, taste, and smell all of her. My senses were brought to reality when I heard voices in the distance. This was not the place where I’d wanted to take her; make love to her. She was more precious to me than to display her, and I didn’t want to share any part of her.
    I pulled away from her and looked at her enticing lips, which were now swollen after my impulsive and public rape of them. She caused me to lose all sense and control when I was with her. For a moment, I feared that I might have pushed her too fast or too hard as I did after our coffee date. Searching my face to read my emotions, she settled her focus on my eyes.
    “Don’t,” she said.
    I pulled back and released her a bit.
    “Don’t what?” I asked, puzzled. I thought my fears were confirmed; I thought that I’d hurt, pushed, or embarrassed her.
    “Don’t envy my Summer Fling,” she said, and she presented me with a very coy smile. “You’re a much better kisser than he was.”
    She giggled, and it broke the tension. Together, we smiled and burst into laughter, realizing that we looked like a couple of passionate, sex starved kids making out on the beach for the first time. My beautiful girl had a wicked streak— and I liked it!
     

     
    After awhile, we stood and brushed the sand from our clothes.
    “Want to walk back to the house?” I asked.
    “Sure,” she replied, and I reached for her hand.
    We walked with our coffee cups and stepped up from the beach onto my small, boarded walkway. Once we got into the house, we both headed for the coffee.
    “Tell me, Declan,” she started. “You asked a question. Now I have one.”
    “Shoot. What’s your question?”
    “Why here? Why this beach? You told me yesterday you’ve been all over the world, so why settle here?”
    “I guess I’m similar, but not exactly the same, as you,” I started. “My mom, my brother and I, came here for vacation when I was growing up. It was close to home, and it was something different from our neighborhood. I don’t remember many vacations with my dad. Just a few, but I remember Mom walking us up the Boardwalk, getting us ice cream every night. We did chores when we were little and received an allowance. We could use that for spending money on vacation. Our meals weren’t at restaurants; it was mostly pizza and hot dogs, stuff like that. We went on rides, swam in the ocean, and lay on the beach, just like you. We walked through Ocean Gallery and looked at all the paintings with her. That was the only art gallery she could afford and they had artists from all over the world, or so it seemed. She would buy and read a book on the beach. It was those times that I remember her smiling the most. When I decided I wanted to buy a place to relax—really relax—this was the place that kept coming to mind. It was the beach and being near the ocean that felt like home .”
    “Didn’t you look for a long time or dream about what you’d do with it when you found it?”
    “No. I’m not as emotionally invested as you when it comes to houses. You’ve looked all through this house, and it looks good to you, right?” I asked.
    She nodded in confirmation.
    “I hired a realtor to do the research for me, I checked out whatever he found when I was around D.C. or New York, and that’s when this place came up. I liked it when I saw it. When I left to go on another shoot, I hired a painter, told him the colors, and it was