chapter 8

Past noon, the Pierce residence was often quiet as a monastery and built like one too. With old brickwork, sweeping arches and the isolation of a prison. Blue’s prison. To be frank, despite the surplus of help that had become commonplace, the house that night was nothing like it normally was.

Furniture that had never been looked at, let alone used was on full display. Every single light in the house was on; regardless of whether it was in use Bradley fucking Pierce had emerged from his office for the first time in only god knows how long… And all the teenager wanted to do was go back to her room and continue in her perfect fantasy where she had no parents nor care in the world.

Bradley was an actuary for an Insurance firm — often, he spent his evenings condemned to his office doing whatever there was for an actuary to be doing outside of work hours. Perhaps he was financing his secret family with a twenty-year-old woman no one knew of… He could be doing that. He could be reciting the declaration of independence until it was the first thing he said when he woke up in the morning and the last thing he said before he went to sleep—like any good republican.

He could be setting up a secret mini-golf course beneath his desk and all around his office just to retire to when his wife's questions and prodding at dinner became increasingly unbearable. Perhaps that was the strangest sight of the evening; Bradley pretending that he didn’t completely hate his wife.

Some things were normal and strange too, however — such as their daughter's name. Blue. It was the name only ever given by a prostitute high off her mind on heroin when giving birth — so gone that, of course, the colour of the midwife's scrubs was the name that came to mind. Instead, it was the name given by a rich bitch of a housewife... nothing more, nothing less. Marian, truthfully, had numerous expectations for her only child when she named her. She was going to be a supermodel housewife who bore so many kids that screwing her would be like throwing open a window and fücking the night. Just like her mother. Too bad Blue's nose was far too broad and large for her face in a way which ensured she'd never be able to be a supermodel — she could blame her father for saving her life and instead, giving her a chance of her own sense of career individuality.

It was fitting in a strange and distant way. Fitting in the sense Blue looked far too depressed to believe it was the girl's birthday. Then again, depressed was the new teenage fashion. In fact, to find out that it was that particular girl's birthday was as strange as finding out an eighteen-year-old's bash was so heavily populated by middle-aged men. Though Marian would never admit it, it was her coming out party. That is, coming out as a single woman.

And out of all the insufferable men that her mother had forced upon her, she hadn’t once been so much as directed to look at the only man who had taken her interest.

His smile was broad and reflective beneath the champagne lighting, his posture just as broad though somehow relaxed as he exchanged some form of banter with the people who surrounded him. They all seemed as charmed as she was — but Blue found quickly that not even distance could stifle the aura that oozed from his bronzed skin and expensive suit. He was her father's boss. The boss to a balding, rounded man of an age taller than his own employer. How tragic — and how stereotypical it was that her father's boss said 'sex appeal' before he could even open his mouth. To be frank, he looked as though he belonged onset of a porno — or a perfume advertisement where the male served no other purpose than to make out with the female model. Perhaps if Blue got the nose job her mother got at eighteen, she could be the female model in the advertisement.

Blue stole countless glances of the man from her own place across the room, of course, surrounded by people not of her own age despite the affair being her own celebration. It was a business opportunity for her parents, despite what Marian would have her believe. She wore a nicer outfit nonetheless—an amber silk camisole with a deep V-line and sequins that fell straight off if she wasn’t careful. Dark denim hugged her legs, so much so that she had trouble sitting down. But still, it wasn’t enough. Not with dangerous shoes, statement earrings, massive curls, she had not once been approached by a man who had not been dragged over by her parents. In fact, she didn’t know why she bothered with the whole thing. None of it was worth it.

But even he had taken a liking to her from the moment their eyes had briefly met. At odd times, he’d meet her gaze—the deep blue eyes he could see even from across the room was something he could imagine quite vividly after inspecting and perhaps a photograph from his mobile phone of a portrait hung in the living room. He fantasised about the pale skin he’d been eyeing; how smooth her thighs would be as he parted her legs carefully. How her golden hair would slip from her shoulders as she climbed over him. How her eyes would sparkle with lust and inhibition as she begged him to touch her.

"This is my daughter, Blue," To most, her mother's accent was beyond irritating, especially at that moment. The music was tedious, she had no idea how to shut up, the room was insanely packed, the doors and windows were all open to welcome people into the never-used backyard and in all honesty, that woman speaking was the last thing Blue wanted to hear. The evening needed many, many more drinks before conversation was even an option, as nothing beyond small talk then, currently was. What other people wanted didn't matter, the blonde and silicone-chested housewife still had a grip on the girl to drag her to the newest person of interest. Much to Blue's dismay, it wasn't her father's boss.

This man, instead, was a younger man with a full head of dark hair, a hand extended to the young girl, deep brown eyes and hell, even a full set of teeth. The one downside, he had no clue that Blue was anything other than legs. And maybe the size of his monumental nose. "Hello, Blue," Suddenly, all first-impressions appeal was lost. Perhaps there were three downsides. The man had the thinnest lips she had ever seen. "I'm Richard,"

"Hello, Richard," She forced a broad smile of her own and locked her hand with his. She was met with regret before she was met with a smile on his half. His hands were one of the sweatiest she had ever touched. Truly classy. He had better be rich. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" It was true, she said only that in hopes to impress her mother — perhaps if she pretended to take a specific interest in Robert, she wouldn't have to mingle with any other man for the rest of the evening, because frankly, she was tired of it. She wanted to be a recluse alone in some corner, on her phone and flicking through social media until she ran out of things to look at. She truly had taken that for granted.

"I just wanted to greet a beautiful young lady," In all honesty, Blue almost laughed... but then again, she almost vomited, also. Perhaps if he was slightly more attractive than he was, or even slightly younger, she would have accepted the advance. Instead, he was cute for a father of three and young for a high-ranking banker (neither of which he was) — but still not quite cute enough."-and wish her a happy birthday,"

A small, amused smirk quirked along her lips to the very movement of his words. And in all honesty, the smile was only half forced, much like her quick reply. She had been reminded, if only momentarily, of all the gifts she had to unwrap the following morning. "Thank you," She dropped her hand from his after a moment, just as her eyes flickered away from his and to the man who stood far behind him — visible over his shoulder. His gaze met hers, the 'foreign boss' who offered her a short smirk from over his glass... finally, just as she had been looking over at him and hoping she'd meet his gaze all evening.

Her heart halted in her chest — and she could just see the green of his eyes. It was a beautiful sight, but she could barely focus on the true beauty from the dull thump of her pulse against her temples, begging for her undivided attention. His smirk only broadened as she stumbled to shift her attention back to the exchange before her, a hand lifting to tuck stray strands of hair behind her ear. She was a mess, that much he had gathered over the evening. A charming mess.

"You know... I really have to pee," Her words were short, and she stepped around the man before her with no regard for her father who sent her a disapproving glare as she moved in haste almost seemingly unwarranted. Her heels were loud, her strides were long, her frown seemed to be set quite deeply, and the man watched without pause — he was staring at her. He continued to stare as she ascended the stairs, though his motive wasn't the best. His eyes watched mainly her hips, was that wrong? That he was at the party of an eighteen-year-old girl and all he could do was stare at her hips and her ass and how they moved and how she skipped up the staircase. Mesmerising. Jailbait.

His own leave was soon, and he made his best efforts to follow the girl with a short and mindless apology. In fact, it took a great internal debate to decide which direction she had taken the moment he became faced with a landing which forked. And Perhaps the path he had taken, the door to the balcony, was a sign that he couldn't and wouldn't be arrested for the fact he had been given a blue-steeler by a barely-legal merely walking up some stairs. The girl turned to face him almost instantly, interest shadowed by the late-night lighting and stifled by bitter-sweet night air.

"Hey," Though she wanted it to be, her voice was far from smooth as she delivered a sweet greeting. It was raspy and broken and sounded more of a question than anything else... but it was just enough for the man. It sparked something odd in his chest as he approached, it was something so small and stupid in a way which made him smile quite shamelessly. That was the odd thing. The amusement that stuck out and throbbed like a sore thumb.

"Happy birthday," the foreign boss' voice was far smoother than hers; enviable. If it were a competition, he would have won — though what prize? A pat on the back? A word or two of encouragement? A back-alley blowjob?

And as he approached, his arms swung lazily. It was almost as though he didn't entirely want to be there (though he did). In fact, he did with all of himself. He wanted to know if the girl's eyes were just as blue in person as they were in the photograph. He wanted to know if her stomach was warm beneath her shirt. He wanted to know if her lips were soft, if her breath was warm, if she'd gasp sweetly if his fingers flexed around her neck, if she'd lose breath, if she'd squirm, if she'd moan, if she'd cum...

"'haven't heard that tonight," and the girl laughed, mostly to herself, as the man stood by her side, setting his hands on the railing before him — though his eyes were not trained on the streets, but instead the girl. Her lips were painted a tearful pink, the colour deep against her pale complexion. Each shadow was raised under the lights of the street below, combating the moon and the New York sky above. "What brings you up here, anyway?"

"I was hoping you could tell me that," His words were met with a laugh once more, hard from her lips and accompanied by a smile on her part. It was far more glorious than the smile she gave Richard (or Robert, or whoever the hell he was exactly). And though he wanted so badly to hold his composure, the man failed to resist a smile of his own — the same smile he had presented earlier, the smile that came from taking amusement in something so little and insignificant.

"Well, aren't you quite the smooth talker?" She spoke her own words musically, an eyebrow quirked and a studying gaze upon man beside her... and yet there was something missing in her stare. Perhaps it was the fact that a sense of rest was absent, the fact that she seemed to be too suspicious and questioning to look satisfied and present. "I'm up here 'cause I don't want to be at that stupid party where they treat me like a renaissance prostitute," and at that, she didn't smile — instead, the corners of her lips quirked upwards slightly and her eyes narrowed as though she just had a thought. Even better than a smile, the expression seemed to draw a sense of longing from his groin. That much he couldn't deny.

His own undeniable smile somehow grew. "I'm here because no girl should be speaking of their sweet eighteenth like that," His words were, indeed, of an accent equal parts foreign and intriguing. The rumours and office mysteries were true — he was an immigrant. Since when, by social standards, did that become attractive?  That was all Blue could think of. Last she was aware, the kids in her grade were being mocked and isolated by the basis of their accents alone... and yet here this man was. A fault. An exception. Exceptional.

"I take it you know all about the tendencies of eighteen-year-old girls then..." Her remark was quick and smart as her thick, dark eyebrow quirked once more, as if following the beat of her own words — the chorus that left her lips of salt, a bold sense her words followed. She was enchanting and fluid. She never seemed to do things all at once, she seemed to move in a progression of different actions. It was a strange thought. Vincent hoped that he had plenty of other things left to pick apart, should she allow him. She was intriguing. She was exciting. She was unbelievably complex in so many more ways than one. "Besides, I've been eighteen for almost a month now..." So not barely-legal.

"If I'm so heavily mistaken, perhaps you could teach me about said 'tendencies' of eighteen-year-old girls," and as he delivered a remark of his own, the girl somehow laughed yet again, and yet she still managed to not sound forced. It was as though she was genuinely amused. What a strange sight in a woman, indeed. It was something that made him wonder if she was ever one to take much seriously. He wondered if she ever stopped making jokes and remarks. He wondered how she ever held conversation. He wondered if she was just as free-spirited and young as she seemed to all, or perhaps she had just had more wine than he had thought she had.

"Damn, you are smooth," In one movement, the girl moved — and she suddenly turned to face the man by her side with only one arm on the balcony railing to support her weight. The two were shrouded in an evening darkness of mystery with nothing but a dull illumination cast both from shy streetlights and interior lighting. It was a beautiful display — for Blue to watch the man's features carved with a delicate hand from the evening aura, and for the man to watch the girl's image dance and sway beneath the lighting provided. Breathtaking. Jailbait.

"I can tell you like it," It took only a moment for the girl's smile to twist into a mocking frown. It was still far better than anything Robert or Richard would ever get from her. "No — you can tell I don't like it-" The corners of her mouth flickered upward as she spoke, her eyes reflecting the delicate lighting that fell from within the house with nothing but a reminder they were in a fragile position. The doors weren't locked, their voices weren't low...

"See?" He lifted a hand to motion towards her.

"What?"

"That little smirk right there — you like it," She pushed his hand away from her, her face falling to a dark, challenging emotion as he watched her with a growing interest. The interest somehow seemed to be nothing but the same, small, reasonless, stupid amusement he seemed to have grown familiar with that evening.

"I don't have a smirk, you idiot-"

"Blue?!" It took that very moment for the girl's smile to fall again, though this time it didn't fall to an expression with quite as much of a positive emotion. Instead, it fell to a distant and occupied glance towards the door as she searched for the obnoxious source. She knew it was her father — she knew she'd better get inside for the sake of her not being shunned or cast to the street. Her options were obvious; one in front of her, one to her side... a guy with a thick accent and nice clothes, or a door leading to other men with thick bellies and nice clothes. She had to take her pick... though one also led to certain death. Certain death was ignoring the latter.

"I have to go-" Her words were broken as the man's hand shot forward with little decision and dwarfed her upper arm. In only a moment, he steered the girl in front of himself and shoved her against the balcony railing — the metal was harsh against her stomach as the impact forced a surprised grunt from her lips, but hey, she had a view. Better yet, he had his hands on her stomach pressingly and her entire rear side against himself. Blue didn't dare to speak a word.

"Blue?" The voice grew nearer in sync with the pace in which Blue became increasingly aware this stranger's crotch was right against a stretch of skin rhyming with 'angina', yet all she could focus on was that and the sound of the door opening — not the fact that, if she wanted to not be screamed at for half an hour when she inevitably resurfaced, she'd have to make a fast escape. "Vincent? Have you seen my daughter?" It was her father. Vincent had the nerve to have his lips right by the skin of her neck exposed as her dirty golden hair fell over her shoulders. She almost shivered to the effect, something that could have compromised her position.

"No, she might have popped out for a minute... have you checked out the back? I heard there's a group drinking out there," The man's voice was low as he spoke into her skin, her heart thumping in her chest to the very tune of the contact. Blue couldn't help but wonder how her father couldn't see her legs — she wondered if Vincent had the brains to stand with his feet together and grin and bear the pain she knew he felt with her heels on his toes. Little did the girl know, the man was far too taken by each inch of her skin against his to even notice the pinch against his toes, if there ever was one. The cause was far more significant to him and his manhood than the effect in that very moment. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Okay... give me a shout if you see her,"

"Will do," His breath warmed her skin and his hands tugged her groin against his own, and he held her against himself with all his present mind. Yet when the distant sound of a door being swung was audible, Vincent's grip on Blue did not falter, and his lips bowed to the crook of the girl's neck. The very crook he had breathed so painfully in to.

The man rocked his hips forwards slightly in a way which pressed the girl firmly against the railing separating her from certain death, and pressed the stiffening presence of his crotch against her own... But the girl felt no need for a complaint. All she could do was tighten her hands around the railing in an attempt to prevent herself from grinding against him; a weak attempt for release. "'You feel that?" the man only spoke lowly and to the tune of his lips brushing the skin... the same brushing that completely undid any ease Blue thought she had managed to gather in the depths of their witty banter and small, flirty smiles.

"What?" She asked with a quiet, thin word, struggling to find her own voice. Perhaps it was due to how self-conscious she felt with his hands on her stomach. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she had never before in her life felt quite as aroused as she did with a fully-clothed dick so close to her crotch. She felt alight and as begging as she ever had... It was incredibly strange, all coaxed from a small movement of the man — she knew she was in for it. She had never before been so nervous and excited.

"You know what, Blue..." And with that, the man's hands moved from the girl's stomach as she shifted and faced him. She wasn't entirely sure if having his denim-clad erection against her was more comforting on her stomach or her ass — either way, she was unsettled in a nervous face with the very nervous pulse that filled her. And from there, her lips found his, and her hips and back found the edge of the railing.

He met her with a kiss of his own instantly, his mouth opening, tongue capturing hers, their embraces wrapped in the seamless night air. Blue's heart failed to slow — she felt as though the only thing that would calm her down would be throwing up into the night, certainly not kissing the man with all she had as though she suddenly had never been kissed before. It took no longer than a firm minute for Blue to realize that the man made her a complete mess, the man reduced her to a puddle so lacking skill and experience completely — the man made her a nervous wreck, to be frank.

She could feel it between her own thighs, the sensation of his hardening crotch against her, and stifled a gasp as his dwarfing hands mapped the surface of her back. He seemed to have the desire to consume her completely. He was quite well on the brink of it, too. He seemed as though he would completely take her form in on himself in the very way he drew her into his chest and clutched her with a passion she wasn't sure she'd ever experienced.

His lips failed to slow against her skin, his teeth following, seeking the flesh of her neck with no pause — and before Blue could talk herself out of it, she was reaching for the hem of his shirt with hands trembling by the effects of adrenaline and yanking the linen from beneath his belt.

"Fuck me," when she spoke, she watched readily for the man to meet her gaze with any sense of questioning — yet he looked just as at ease as he had the entire evening, no matter what she had said. It was an enviable skill — and probably how, exactly, he got to run a business he didn't even own.

"Right here?"

"Right here," and though she made the efforts to ensure her voice was firm and she tangled her hands in his shirt to still them, she had a slight frown sitting on her brows which told the man only one thing; kiss me.

It took only a moment longer for the man to push his lips to the waiting mouth of the girl just as he had only minutes before. He relished and savoured every movement and breath of the girl's lips twisting and dancing with his, each tug and graze of her teeth, each hum of her exhales...

She groaned with only the sound of a breath, her senses heightened by the lingering anticipation, shrouded in the sweetness of the night. He would never admit his own excitement, his arousal growing at the sight of the young woman before him, begging for his touch. It was a strange sight, one that struck him as oddly beautiful — to watch the female who stood by his touch, to gladly tilt her head back and accept his lips against her skin, soft and warm. To watch the woman through hooded eyes, as she reached for the buttons of his shirt with an eagerness. To feel her move with a gulp and a sigh as he gripped the back of her neck and clutched the skin of her throat against his mouth. To feel her hands as they unbuckled his belt and reached inside of his jeans.

—To feel her as he broke away and steered her against the balcony where she had been just before. To listen to the innocently loud grunt as he placed a hand on the back of her head and shoved with all he had. With all the sexual frustration. With all the desire and eagerness which had built because of the blonde and her wandering, mindless hands.

In just the span of a moment, he imagined what she would look like with both his hands around her throat — he wondered what she’d look like begging for him to let her take a breath. What she’d look like gasping for air with reddened skin where he had gripped and a dazed look evident of the brink of an orgasm.

Again, just as it was before, the balcony railing was harsh against her stomach. Yet it was something she couldn't bring herself to care about in the very moment she had Vincent's hands tugging her jeans and panties to her knees in one sweep. And just as she had begun to come to terms with the fact that her entire lower region was out for the world to see, she felt it.

It all seemed far too fast for him to revel in the sheer insanity of what he was doing — too fast to bask in the impulsiveness and risk of the moment, yet it took only a moment for him to push himself inside of her. A moment longer for the girl to gasp and inhale sharply with a breathy moan of 'keep going' without words. A moment longer for the man to meet her hips and rest inside of her. And in that very moment, he found himself lingering and savouring the feel of her flesh around himself — the very flesh stretching to embrace him.

While Blue felt the need to cry out into the night, just as the man slid a hand through the hair at the back of her head and took the clump into his fist, she made little more sound than a sweet, half-silent groan. Furthermore, little more movement than her hand tightening around the railing and her head slackening against his grip.

Who would have known that the man she enjoyed herself most around was the one man her parents didn't introduce her to?

Gathering the girl's sandy, messed and tangled hair — a dirty blonde beneath the shattered starlight — in his closed fist, he tugged her ear to his lips with a yank of little regard at all and a small whisper of "keep your damn mouth shut or we'll both have some explaining to do," And with that, he released his grip on the girl's hair and cupped the base of her throat in his palm almost tenderly.

The pleasurable sense of pain grew with the intensity of his movements, a warmth sparking along her core that left her dizzy and delirious in the tangles of the thick night. And though her smile remained firm against her lips and her pulse danced dully against his hand, she sounded as though she were about to cry amidst the thickness of her own whisper. "You don't have to tell me twice,"

"Good girl," and with that, the man bent over Blue, slid a hand over her stomach yet again, brushed the back of her neck with the tip of his nose, and planted a warm, wet, feathery kiss against her skin with the heaves of his own breath and flexed his fingers affectionately around her neck. Blue's head spun.

As yet another thrust buried himself between her hips, her grip on the railing tightened until she felt the throb of her knuckles. Though she flexed her hips against his, she felt the need to shrink away into the railing as her own climax drew near. It was a curious shyness. And yet she just couldn't get enough of his every movement.

Another thrust threw Blue deeper into the grips of madness — submerged in the friction of their bodies moving against one another. She didn't care that her father was on the hunt for her. She didn't care that Vincent still being on the balcony after all that time was suspicious. She didn't care that just one glance through the master bedroom's bathroom window could pinpoint the pair fucking on the balcony. All she cared for was the man's lips as they danced against the skin of her neck and sucked gently at odd moments — the bite of his teeth on her earlobe, the clutch of his hand around the front of her neck, the press of her hips being forced into the balcony with each thrust.

The girl's gasps slipped beneath the curtain of music below just as her hips pushed back to eagerly meet his, shirt askew, breaths rough, core tightening around him in a way which suggested she didn't want him to leave...

It was something she had never accounted for, never once in her youth would she have ever predicted a man would be ravishing her in a place of exposure to the whole street. And yet she felt no worry — she felt some strange sense of pride.

The hollow union of their skin seemed to be masked by the amorous music below and excited chatter that swept the house — his grunts, her groans — every sound of their passion and building pleasure masked by the serene madness of what had been forgotten below. And yet neither took note of the sounds, shallowed by the thick French doors that hid beneath curtains... all he took note of was the way her pulse pounded against the palm of his hand. The way her stomach rose and fell against his hand as she gasped. The way the sounds of what would be grunts became muffled as they lodged in her throat.

Perhaps the desperation in her breathy gasps was what heightened the satisfaction of having the young lady wrapped around his arousal... In fact, he had quickly realised that her walking up the stairs was nothing compared to her full glory.

She felt him inch inside of her with such a clear pleasure she could have sworn his thrusts were sluggish – every swift, forceful movement of his hips met her skin with a throb of pressure in her lower stomach she'd never forget the feeling of; pleasure.

"'You like that view?" Vincent spoke only with a voice as rough as his thrusts, movements with ease, words and breath as low as the girl's. She mumbled an incoherent agreement, her hands strong around the railing beneath her as she rocked her hips back to his. She felt as though she needed to scream or cry out to tell the man to just give it all he had and let her have a part of the release she had never desired more, the release so close she could taste it, the release so unreachable.

"Stop teasing me," She gasped the words with gritted teeth. Perhaps she felt so sensitive because she had been forced into a silence. Perhaps she felt so restricted and overcome only because she had been restricted. Her fingers flexed around the railing as her eyes fell shut and she attempted to soothe the rough waters of pleasure that broke through her lower stomach and cleansed her core. And then she was cùmming, and it hurt so much and felt so damn good that the girl shook and tried greatly to stifle screams and cries of 'don't you dare stop'.

His own thrusts were growing uneven as the high continued through Blue, his hand clutching her stomach as he felt his own climax tugged from the depths of his desire and thrown between the girl's hips with odd jolts of warmth. It was a sensation lingering with the man's hand sitting firm and kind against the skin of her stomach, his chest resting against her back, lips sitting against the skin of her neck. Never in Blue's life had she wanted to curl up in the comforts of a bed more.

The next movements were gentle; he slowly removed himself from her, he buckled his jeans, he carefully tugged Blue's pants back up and over her hips, he turned the girl to face himself — and as she met his eyes, he smoothed over her hair. And just like that, he was doing something he'd never thought he would do. He was cleaning up the mystery girl from across the room just after he had fucked her senseless.

"Perhaps you should turn eighteen more often," With that, the blonde laughed. With that, her chest rose and met his... she hadn't even noticed that she'd been standing so close.

They had said nothing to the effect, yet they felt so intimate in the moment. It was odd and arousing and raunchy and conflicting beyond the word.

"Now that's something I truly haven't heard tonight,"