Rekindled 4

Author's Note: This story is an original work of fiction. All characters appearing herein are at least eighteen, if not expressly stated. Future stories starring some or all of these characters might also be forthcoming based upon response and demand. Certain characters featured herein may also be found in other works by the authors. Feedback is desired and greatly appreciated. Email comments to the address in our profile. Thank you for reading.

Copyright 2010 by Jack and Josephine Cutter.

This story stars Todd Coulter and Vanessa Dorsey, and features Kaylee Cartwright, Lauren Rowlands, Adrienne Cooley, and Ethan Dunlar, with a special appearance by Mike Gregory.

This part contains: male-female erotic coupling, mff threesome sex, interracial, fellatio, cunnilingus, analingus, anal, showers, bathtubs, costumes, bikinis, lost opportunities, and healthy helpings of both sex and story.

This story begins post-prologue on Wednesday, October 26th.

* * * * *

It was warmth what woke him: sunlight drifting through cracks in the shutters and falling in shards across his face, stirring him out of deepest slumber. His eyes felt heavy at first and did not open, the result of an active night that ran long into the hours of morning.

His partner in such crimes was snuggled up next to him in bed, breathing steadily, her back pressed into his side, and the warmth of her body and the feel of her flesh against him were pleasurable enough diversions from his fatigue, and he rolled to drape his arm across her.

She murmured and pushed her rump into him with more force, and took his hand and drew it up between her large and wonderfully soft breasts. She turned her head just enough to meet his eyes, her mouth curved up in a lazy kind of smile.

"Good morning," she purred.

"Good morning," he replied with a smile of his own.

She wiggled against him. "This is nice," she said. "I like this."

He liked it, too, especially when she moved the way she was moving: luscious female bodies slithering against his were always well-received. "Likewise," he said simply.

They lay peacefully in silence for the next few minutes, each enjoying the feel of the other, before the woman spoke once more in a whisper that was thoughtful and contemplative. "I'm surprised it took us so long to do this," she said.

"Yes," he agreed, "but it was more than worth the wait."

She giggled. "True," she admitted, her voice low and alluring, "but, still, it would've been nice to have had more time together. College time, you know?"

He nodded. "I know. The real world awaits . . . "

"Yeah," she sighed.

"When do your parents get here?" he asked.

"Noon."

He glanced at the clock: ten-thirty in the morning. "That doesn't leave us much time," he told her.

She grinned wickedly. "Enough," she said simply, and he felt a familiar stirring in his loins.

The woman slipped from the bed and rose to her feet. She was naked and the room was light enough to allow him to gaze upon her body, which when faced away from him as it was constituted her long legs, rounded apple-shaped bottom, narrow waist, and slender back, and when the angle was right also the sides of her fleshy breasts. Her skin was the color of lightest milk chocolate and ever-so-smooth to the touch, which he knew well from recent personal experience. She rustled her head and the long brunette tresses fluttered, and came to rest across her shoulder blades.

She turned and glanced back over her shoulder, bright brown eyes sparkling. "Like what you see?" she asked playfully as her hands reached behind and cupped her buttocks.

She was breathtaking and he told her so. "Very much," he breathed.

She giggled and pulled her cheeks apart, giving him an unobstructed and glorious view of the crinkled copper plot of her anus and the pursed pink folds beneath. Her nether region was puffy after a long night of hard sex, the pink even more pronounced by the milk chocolate skin surrounding it.

"It might've been nice to have had you fuck my ass," she said suddenly in a very reflective voice, as if she were considering any old thing, and then her hands released the cheeks of her butt.

She floated across the room and out of sight, hips swishing in that distinctly feminine way, and moments later he heard the shower gurgle and sputter, and burst to life, followed then by the sweet sound of her voice.

"Coming?" she called.

And Todd Coulter, who had waited two long years for the events of the last several days to transpire and the bed and body of Vanessa Dorsey to occasion itself, sprang from that bed with a burst of speed and hurried into the bathroom, knowing his time with her was limited and not wanting to waste even the most minor of moments.

And after another frenzied round of love-making in the shower and the hasty clean-up session that followed, her parents arrived at noon exactly, and when the bags were packed and the cars were loaded, the two said their goodbyes and promised to keep in touch, each feeling acutely the loss of the other and the missed opportunity that lay like an anvil in both of their laps.

And thirty months passed in the blink of an eye.

Part 01: Chosen

The papers were piled high on his desk.

It was Wednesday and Todd was working late. Only six weeks into his new dream-job-role as an online columnist for the sports section of the

Los Angeles Chronicle

newspaper, he was busy finishing up an article on a Friday deadline; he would be out in the field on assignment the next day and would not be able to work on the piece then.

He was nearly finished when a voice rang out through the office.

"Coulter!"

The voice belonged to Jonas Atwater, the editor of the sports section. He was a burly man in his mid-forties with salt-and-pepper hair and a full beard. He very rarely looked happy and very rarely had much that was pleasant to say.

Todd jumped up and hustled into the office of his boss.

"The Big Dog wants to meet you," Atwater said without looking up. "Two floors up. Go."

And so Todd turned on his heels and headed for the elevator, which would take him to the seventh floor and the office of the Editor-in-Chief. Frank Beldin oversaw the investigative journalists and the front page, as well as oversaw the work of the individual section head editors, which is why the editor heads, Atwater included, called him the Big Dog.

He knocked on the door when he arrived and Beldin waved him in (the walls and door of the office were glass, for two reasons: to let those outside know when the Big Dog was busy and not to be disturbed, and to ensure there was no loitering around the newsroom).

"Sit," Beldin said without preamble as Todd entered.

The phone rang and Beldin answered it with a bellowing, "Speak!" He listened momentarily, then said, "No good, minimize it and bounce it to page four. He's lost his touch." He slammed the phone down and looked up at Todd, studying him for a moment, before he thrust out his hand. "Good to meet you, kid. Old Joe says your work is top-notch."

"Thank you, sir," Todd replied humbly.

"I read your first column," the older man said, his words coming fast and furious and nearly overlapping each other. "Dyslexic linebacker. Good stuff."

"Thank you, sir," Todd said again, because really, what else was there to say?

The phone rang again and the man snatched it up. "What?" he bellowed in a raspy cough. He listened again for much longer than the last time, then barked, "Thirty-six minutes to get me pages, Cross. Make it count." He slammed the phone down and screamed out, "Louis!"

A man materialized at the door seemingly out of thin air. He was short and thin and balding with wire rim spectacles. "Boss?"

"Clear space and hold page one!" he ordered. "Cross has himself a white whale."

"Will do," the man at the door replied, and then he was gone.

"Keep up the good work, kid," Beldin said with a glance at Todd, "now get outta here."

And that was Todd Coulter's introduction to the fast-paced world of Page One.

* * *

She was restless and troubled and extremely horny, and she was still furious at her boyfriend for cheating on her, the combination of which led to one indisputable conclusion: she was going to fuck someone and she was going to enjoy it, and then she was going to tell that lying sack of shit all about it.

The scene at the bar was not too exciting, however, and her prospects were thin. There was a decent-looking man sitting alone at the bar, slightly older, likely married, probably in town on business looking to score some hot young drunk piece of ass. There was a cute younger man lounging on one of the couches along the wall, a pair of women with him who were both quite clearly ignoring him, which meant he was either their harmless gay friend (a complete non-starter), married to one of them (off-limits) or related to one of them (which would make him potentially available). Lastly, there were four male artsy types seated at a nearby table, no doubt wrapped up in discussions involving words like ambiance and juxtaposition and sublimation, and one of them was cute enough, she supposed, even if he was probably a prick.

When it came right down to it, however, she did not really care what the personality was like on this particular night of nights, a Thursday as it happened to be: she only cared about sexual orientation and availability, with a little bit of hotness thrown in for good measure. She was not looking for love or romance or conversation. She wanted cock and she wanted it bad, and any man who looked halfway decent and wanted her back was more than qualified enough.

Which is why her spirits lifted greatly when three young men strolled into the bar, well-dressed and handsome: here were three potential partners far above what was already to be found.

"Perfect," she said without realizing she had spoken out loud.

Her companions followed the line of her eye. "Fresh meat," giggled the friend to her left, a bubbly hazel-eyed brunette named Megan, followed an instant later by the friend to her right, a beauty with dark red hair named Lauren, who said, "Tasty. I want the tall one."

Which left two to choose from, although she needed no further time. "I want the strong one," she breathed.

The one she wanted was HOT. He was medium height and well-built, but not too big. His arms bulged against his shirt, but his outfit was not designed to show-off and overindulge his physique, but rather complement it. He had straight dark hair and a handsome face, and a very cute smile, and he fit her requirements perfectly.

Megan giggled. "That leaves the black boy to me," she whispered breathlessly. It was common knowledge that the girl had a thing for black guys.

Lauren grinned wickedly. She was the most confident of the bunch and the most sexually liberated, and she took charge. "Let's go," she cooed, and off they went.

* * *

Todd was used to getting razzed about the short-lived nature of his relationships, and tonight was one of those nights for whatever reason. It was late and they were standing at the bar at some hole-in-the-wall bar in Santa Monica, their third stop of the night, and his friends would not let him off the hook.

"You should come with an expiration date," laughed the man to his right. Dwayne Wimbley was an old friend of Todd's from high school and the two often hung out together.

"Shelf-life: two months."

"Seriously, he needs a disclaimer," agreed Ethan Dunlar, Todd's current roommate of almost two years. "This guy churns through more ass than a gay bar."

Todd shrugged. None of this was new. "I just haven't found the right person yet," he told them, "and I'm not going to date a girl if I don't think I can be with her long-term."

"But you'll sleep with her," Dwayne added with a grin.

Todd shrugged again. "If she wants to, sure, but only if she wants to. I'm not going to push the issue and I'm totally honest with her up front."

"Sounds like Ethan has grossly exaggerated your number of conquests," Dwayne said.

"What about all those women you parade through our place?" Ethan asked incredulously.

Todd grinned. "I don't sleep with every girl I meet, Ethan," he said amusedly. "I'm not a man-whore like Dwayne here."

"Speaking of women," Dwayne said in a low and conspiratorial voice, "we need to talk about Saturday night. It's gonna be off the fuckin' hook!"

Ethan sighed. "Of course my company sends me out of town on Halloween weekend," he said morosely. "Of course, they do."

"Bummer," Todd said as he gave his friend a comforting pat on the back.

Dwayne was already lost inside his own imagination. "So many women," he whispered, "all liquored up and ready to party. Good shit, boys, good shit. Get ready for my Superman swerve."

Todd rolled his eyes as Ethan asked, "Are you really doing that?"

"Fuck yeah!" Dwayne exclaimed. "Every girl wants to freak a superhero!"

A lovely female voice broke in. "Sounds like fun," it said, and three male heads turned to find three beautiful ladies standing before them, eyeing them intently.

Dwayne was a charmer and instantly took the reins. "Hi, sugar," he cooed to the speaker, looking her up and down.

She was gorgeous, Todd had to give her that: dark red hair and dark green eyes full of spark and sparkle, a gorgeous face and a great body in a sleek black top with exposed cleavage and ultra-tight black skirt. Todd read her instantly: the woman was a man-eater, and knew it.

"Hey yourself," she replied sweetly, then turned to face Ethan. "What's your name, baby?"

Ethan was a great guy and a great roommate, and Todd always wished him well, but those wishes rarely panned out in the romance department as the guy was incredibly shy and reserved around women. He was attractive, very much so at six-foot-four with curly brown hair and big blue eyes, but sadly lacked the ability to converse with ladies without tripping over his words.

"Me?" he asked lamely, pointing at himself. A flush rose over his face, recognizable even in the relative darkness of the room.

The woman grinned. "You," she told him firmly, and sidled up next to him.

The second woman, a cute brunette, was pressed against Dwayne an instant later with a big goofy grin on her face. "Hi," she breathed, and it was clear by the smile on his friend's face that he did not mind being spurned by the redhead in the slightest.

It was at this point that Todd noticed the blonde. She had been standing behind her two other friends and Todd had not really gotten that great a look at her, but in the back of his mind a little bird was tickling that said she had not taken her eyes off him since they walked up. He was not sure how he knew this important fact, but he knew it nonetheless.

The girl was gorgeous, not in the sly and sensual mold of the dark redhead or the cute innocent girl-next-door vein of the brunette, but in that wholesome All-American cheerleader sort of way: locks of long-flowing strawberry-blonde hair, bright and expressive baby blue eyes, and a luscious body somehow stuffed into an orange-and-yellow floral print top with a deep cleavage and sprayed-on, hip-hugger jeans.

"I'm Kaylee," she told him, stepping close. She smelled of raspberries and roses, and there was an intensity in her eyes that was a little unusual, and a little refreshing.

"Todd," he replied, taking her hand. The other pairs were engaged in their own conversations, which was perfectly fine with him. "Our friends seem . . . occupied."

Kaylee smiled, flashing pearly white teeth. "My friends chose poorly," she whispered, stepping closer, so close that they nearly touched. One delicate hand trailed up to his bicep and squeezed it ever so gently. "I like strength."

He formulated his read in the next moment, very nearly certain his read was right: she was on the prowl and ready to party, and she had chosen him from across the room. He did not know why she was so committed to her cause, but Todd was no prude and despite his usually noble intentions, he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Especially when the gift was sixty-nine inches of buxom blonde goodness.

He took a chance . . . and sealed the deal.

He leaned forward and whispered into her ear. "Whatever you're looking for," he breathed in a husky voice, "you can stop. You've found it. However you want me, I'm yours."

Her eyes widened and her resolve flickered for the briefest moment, before her eyes narrowed and a wicked sort of grin spread across her face. She latched onto his arm, plastering her body against his. "Let's go," she purred.

Todd grinned right back. He was not the sort of man to engage in pure one-night stands, but every rule has its exceptions. The woman was beautiful, which tickled his loins, but also confident and clearly knew what she was doing, and that was enough to satisfy his sense of honor.

"Gentlemen," he announced to his friends, "it's been a night. Ladies, a pleasure."

And with that, Todd Coulter and his beautiful blonde companion made their way out the door.

* * *

His words set her nerves aflutter and the hair on the back of her neck on edge.

Her plan was nearly complete: she had a ready, willing, and able young man in the cab with her, en route to his place somewhere in Santa Monica, where sex would undoubtedly follow if she wanted it to. It was why she had gone out that night and what she had sought, and now all she had to do was fuck his brains out.

Which was why, when the young man with her was so good-looking and so very much her type, she wondered just why exactly it was that she was having second thoughts. She was horny, yes, very much so, and the way he knew exactly what she was after was titillating and incredibly sexy, but there was doubt inching its ugly way forward, and she did not know why.

The cab ride was almost completely silent, as was the walk up two flights of stairs to his apartment. They held hands, but touched little more than that; he was waiting for her, it seemed, to make the first significant move, and she appreciated that. Just another mark in his favor to conflict with her growing unease.

The apartment was a modest little place with hardwood floors and a big open step-down living area, sparsely but nicely decorated, and almost immediately after having entered she wondered about making the wrong decision: what would her boyfriend think, after all, when he found out she cheated.

"Second thoughts?" he asked gently as he went to a little make-shift bar on a table in the corner.

She turned to face him, this man who seemed to understand her so well, and could not keep the surprise off her face or out of her voice when she answered his question with a question, and a dose of affirmation. "Is it obvious?" she asked quietly.

He smiled, the expression as soft as her voice had been. "I'm pretty good at reading people," he said as he handed her a drink of what looked to be white wine. He took her hand and led her to the couch. "Let's talk."

She sat down and looked at her drink. "About what?" she asked, playing cool.

"About why," he replied calmly, not pressing, just asking. "Why you, and why me?"

Kaylee sighed deeply. There was something so soothing about his voice, so comforting, it almost drew the words right out of her. She opened her mouth, paused for a long moment, and began.

"I caught my boyfriend fucking another woman in my apartment five days ago," she said in a low voice that gained volume and heat as she continued. "My apartment, not his. He knew I was working late, but I needed a specific file and had to run home, and I walked in on him fucking her from behind in the shower. My shower. Mine. It was obviously not their first time."

His deep gray eyes were sympathetic. He asked, and simply, "And me?"

"I wanted to fuck some hot random guy to teach the asshole a lesson," she revealed with more fire in her voice than she planned. "He is so jealous, the thought of someone else touching my body would drive him crazy." She lowered her eyes again, suddenly self-conscious. "You were there, and you're really cute, and then when you told me you were mine . . ." She trailed off into a sigh, then breathed, "I knew I wanted to fuck you."