0 comments/ 15097 views/ 1 favorites Catch and Release Ch. 02 By: wilderness Tim woke up tired. It was 10:30 before he forced himself out of bed. He'd lost most of his enthusiasm to begin this summer's adventure. It had been replaced by an irrational sense of anxiety, an unshakable dread that someone needed his help. Believing it would just be a matter of time before he felt normal, Tim drove to the village of Anvil, to stock up on household supplies. He wandered through the grocery store, mechanically filling his cart. As he loaded an essential case of beer, two nubile coeds, the type that annually spent the summer as local camp counselors, also stopped for some brew. Coeds were a main source of entertainment and a big reason Tim relished summers in these mountains. Women who loved Mother Nature were always eager for fun in the sun. The freckled faced redhead smiled, and asked, "Where's the party?" Both girls giggled. Tim stared blankly at her blond friend for too long. The young women walked away with two six packs and a case of the creeps. "What's your problem? What a freak." His own lack of responsiveness worried Tim. That was exactly the type of close encounter he longed for, excelled at, and had the notches on his bedpost to prove it. Opportunity rarely had to knock twice for Tim's lascivious exploitation to kick in. 'What the hell's the matter with me?' While he waited in the checkout line, a middle-aged couple walked in, obviously chatting in sign language. This unlocked a clue in Tim's memory, and he struggled to figure out why sign language suddenly felt so important. His next stop was the village library, and about the only place in town he'd never been before. The library kept one book on American Sign Language. He grabbed it, and sat down at a table. The first chapter covered simple finger spelling. The second chapter explained common words. The book explained how signs could be verbs or nouns or whole phrases, depending how they were performed. The successive chapters depicted signs for common words in alphabetical order. However, Tim never made it past the letter 'C'. The sign for 'chair' looked so damn familiar. He knew he'd just seen it, but where? The lack of total recall was driving him crazy! Another first for Tim that day was obtaining his own library card. Sign language became his new fascination. Back at camp, the rest of the day was spent studying. By eight o'clock that night, Tim had mastered the alphabet and many of the signs for common household items. Any sense of accomplishment was dulled by the morning's restless fear that seemed to be increasing, rather than decreasing. The temperature hovered around 90 degrees all day, and he looked forward to his nightly swim. But once in the lake and cooled off, he quickly lost interest in the pleasure of feeling his naked body slipping through the water's icy tendrils. Instead, he sat naked on the dock with a nagging anticipation that something would soon happen to ease his mind. An hour and a half later, Tim went to bed. At 2:00 am, flashes of lightening woke him. They came in such rapid succession the room lit up like a strobe. Oddly, there wasn't any thunder. From the back window of the bedroom, he could see stars shining in a clear sky. Wide-awake now, he marched to the front door and slammed it open. A thick fog hung just off shore. The far end of the dock disappeared into the mist. The lightening flashes that emanated from inside the cloud stopped when Tim stepped onto the front porch. The night air felt abnormally charged. The hair on his arms stood on end. There wasn't a sound, not even the ubiquitous cricket. The fog bank boiled with some internal wind, but the cloud mass itself did not recede or encroach. It remained fixed, yet frenzied. Drawn to it, Tim wandered to the dock and stepped onto the first plank. There was no fear, just a sense of fascination. He knew this was what he'd waited for. A familiar shape emerged from the cloud and stood at the other end of the dock. Immediately, Tim's memory of last night returned. After the initial shock, he hesitantly approached the alien, expecting to be whisked away at any second. Instead, the tall, gray figure let him come within a yard and then held up its hand to stop. They looked one another up and down. The alien held up its right hand and began to finger spell, E-V-E. "Eve," said Tim. "I understand." It spelled 'Eve' again, then held out its hands, palms up, and slowly curled the fingers. "I know what that means! That means 'want'. Eve wants." The alien pointed at Tim. It didn't take a rockets scientist to figure that one out. "Eve wants me?" It nodded, and then dragged both hands down in front of its bug-eyed face. "Eve's sad?" 'Yes. Come,' signed the alien, then turned and disappeared into the fog. "Yeah, right," scoffed Tim, "I'm not an idiot." After a minute, he decided the aliens could take him anytime they wanted. This time, it was an invitation. If they were being polite about it, the least he could do was be sociable. So, he stepped into the cloud and immediately stepped inside the white room. The alien was standing by the examining chair and beckoned him over. Then it gestured for Tim to sit and put the video helmet on. "What's playing tonight? Gone With the Wind? The Fog?" Once comfortably situated, the video began with a rerun from the night before. It showed the meeting between Eve and Tim from the beginning. After Tim's adamant rejection of Eve's physical charms, he suddenly disappeared from the room. Eve became distraught. First she jumped up and held out her arms, begging for him to come back. Then she began to weep into her hands and pace around the room. The alien entered, and they had a heated exchange of signs that Tim couldn't follow. Eve kept signing, 'Yes'. The alien answered, 'No.' Eve threw herself onto the floor, curled up, and became unresponsive. The visor briefly faded to black and then a video of the same room began to roll. This time, a different man was in the chair when Eve and the alien entered. Eve looked thrilled. Grinning, she ran to the chair. But after a closer look, she backed away and violently shook her head 'No'. The next scene depicted several aliens standing around Eve in the examining chair. She appeared to be sedated. From the distant camera it was hard to see, but it looked as if they were performing a surgical procedure. Afterwards, the caption read, 'Restoration Successful'. "Restoration of what?" That was the end of the show. The helmet retracted. Tim looked around to discover the alien had left. His heart was heavy. What could he do for Eve? Happiness was more than a brief encounter. If they consummated, she would only become lonelier when they took her away. Was this supposed to be some form of coercion to make him want to stay? Suspicion entered his thoughts. After all, the aliens were capable of making up any video they wanted him to see. But then again, they could just take him. What were they expecting him to do? Movement caught his eye. He turned and watched the chair slowly recline and then lower, to form a bench. 'Nice. I should write La-Z-Boy about this gimmick.' He sat down and waited for the next event. Seconds later, Eve peeked in the door. Tim smiled. Eve smiled and stepped shyly into the room. She looked tired and her hair was wild. "Hi, Eve." He stood up and made the sign for chair, and offered her a seat. It took a second for him to realize that she was staring at his boxer shorts. Slowly, she approached and touched the strange covering. "Doesn't anyone around here wear clothes?" Her fingers covered his cock through the fabric. "Look," he said, pulling out the wasted band. "It isn't permanent." Eve looked down, until Tim let the elastic band snap back. She grinned, pulled out the waistband and stuck her hand inside. "Your alien buddy said you wanted me. I guess I believe it now." Tim lifted her hand out of his underpants, which now sported a prominent bulge. "I'm not easy... Well... okay, I am. But I draw the line at alien pet deflowering." She flipped her blond tresses over her shoulders, wrapped her arms around Tim and hugged him tight. Her eyes closed and she made a dreamy, satisfied face. Her grinning lips puckered up and kissed his neck. "You're making this extremely difficult. I'm trying not to take advantage of your innocence." The hands on his back rubbed pleasantly, as Eve seemed to tease her breasts against his chest. "So, this is what happens when you're deprived of affection for 24 years." She separated from him, grabbed his wrist, and placed his hand over her right breast. "I thought we could practice some new sign language tonight. But I see you want to practice signals that I already understand." He cradled the breast in his palm and swiped his thumb over the nipple. The shockwaves of sensation turned Eve into a moony-eyed nymph. "How do you stay in such great shape in outer space?" he asked, tracing the musculature of her abdomen with the other hand. "Do they make their pets run on some sort of big hamster wheel?" When he was done teasing her belly, his hand trailed up to fondle the other breast. "If you only knew how beautiful you are." Her eyes closed, as she let pleasure take control. "You know what, Eve? I think I'll teach you how out-of-this-world sex can feel, even without the big bang." Tim moved behind her and cuddled against her back. His hands snaked around to continue their frontal assault, while his lips snacked on the nape of her neck. Eve shuddered. "Like that?" Gradually, he kissed along her shoulder. His fingers caused the nipples to launch guided missiles at her clitoris. When he pinched them, she jerked. All her body weight fell against him, like she couldn't stand without support. He bent over her shoulder to look into her serene face. "Isn't this fun?" Eve wasn't talking. Tim turned her around and gave her a full-bodied hug and kiss. She seemed to melt in his arms, her unbelievably smooth skin felt liquid against his. Even under her arms, there wasn't a hint of stubble. Her faint scent now held a hint of sexual arousal. Wishing he had hours to introduce Eve to the pleasures of the flesh, Tim guessed his time was probably short and decided to move the process along. He dropped his right hand and gently caressed between her thighs. Like everywhere else, it was silky smooth. Her body stiffened at the first touch. She stared into his eyes, as his fingers separated her and tickled in between. He felt the wetness increase, and began to rub his middle finger up and down between the puffy folds. Quietly, he eased her to the bench, while never ceasing contact with her clitoris. The desire for sexual pleasure seemed to instinctively drive Eve onto the cushions. She lay down on her back, with a leg hung over each side. Tim followed and lay on top of her, his hand still between her legs. He nodded his head yes, and asked, "Are you ready?" Eve looked a little unsure about what was happening to her, but she nodded in return. "Okay, lets see how you like my finger." Tim bent down and captured a nipple with his lips, and felt her body tighten in response. Her hands tangled in his hair. Ever so gently, he pressed his middle finger inside her with a seesaw motion to increase her arousal and lubrication. Soon, he was able to thrust fully and quickly. "No hymen, Eve? They've taken that from you too?" For easier access and a better view, Tim knelt on the floor next to her. Eve gave total control to him. Her eyes were closed and her arms curled above her head. "Honey, you must be a well behaved pet," said Tim, while slipping in a second finger and rubbing her clitoris with his thumb. The added stimulation made Eve flex around his fingers and her body twitched erotically. She opened her eyes and looked confused by the building sensations. "Eve, I'm about to take you where no man has taken you before." With that said, he placed his left arm around her. With her head resting on his shoulder, he reached down over her chest to tease the left nipple. The right nipple he sucked into his waiting tongue. The right hand remained firmly entrenched between her legs, digging a buried orgasm out to the light of day for the first time. Tim had never been anyone's first experience before. This was a new erotic high. Using all the self-control he could muster, he made sure Eve enjoyed a prolonged rise to orgasmic heights. Several times, he brought her to the brink and then let it subside. Each time, Eve squirmed and clutched him tight, her chest heaving with rapid breaths. She gaped at him with lusty bewilderment, not understanding this climactic frustration. His own arousal was enormous, and felt as if he might come just by getting her off. "Okay, Eve. This time, all the way." When he began caressing again, her head flopped back in blissful acquiescence. Already primed, her body reached the edge quickly. As the fireworks exploded, Eve's eyes flashed open and then shut tight. Her back arched and she made a faint high-pitched squeak. Tim kissed her passionately, while fingering her through the sparkling bursts of release. When her aftershocks drifted away, Tim stroked her cheek, and whispered, "You made a sound. I can't believe it." Then, he remembered the video. "They've restored your voice?" Eve wasn't interested in making noise. She pulled him back to her lips. Crawling on top, he held her close and enjoyed his erection pressed between them. Humping suggestively, there was so much he wanted to do with her. But right now, all that Eve knew of sex, she could do for herself with masturbation. He decided not to expose her to oral pleasure or anything else that required two people. His own orgasm would have to wait until he was home alone. A few minutes of recovery were spent in lingering touches and kisses. It was a buzz-kill when the alien appeared beside the bench. Tim disengaged and stood up. The alien pointed at Tim, made the want sign, and then pointed at Eve. "Uh yeah, of course I want Eve. I'm sure you guys could tell. Did you enjoy your little peep show?" Tim looked at Eve, lying motionless on the bench. She still appeared boneless from the release, and tranquil in the afterglow. He felt proud. "She's quite a woman. Take good care of her." This seemed like a good time to leave. He was terrible at saying goodbye. There wasn't anything left to do, and he didn't want to overstay his welcome. Besides, when Eve regained her senses there might be a scene. Tim walked through the open door and onto his dock. At the shoreline, he stopped and turned around for one last look, sure that the fog would soon disappear. He was afraid his memory would be erased. This was one night he never wanted to forget. Surprisingly, the cloud remained. After a few seconds, the alien stepped out and stared at Tim. Once again, they sized one another up. Tim suddenly feared this gray goblin had returned to take him back, but decided it was futile to run. Instead, he spread his fingers in the traditional Vulcan salutation, and said, "Live long and prosper." The Alien turned away, reached into the fog, and pulled Eve onto the dock. It petted her hair a few times, and then it reentered the fog. The mist vanished as if it was sucked into a vacuum. Eve paid no attention. She just smiled shyly at Tim. Tim finally grasped the reality of the situation, and summed it up by muttering, "Holy shit!" Catch and Release Ch. 02 Drew reached down and brushed away the bangs that obstructed his view. For him, seeing was just as important as feeling. He needed to watch those swollen wet lips descend, see the way she worked his cock. Slipping his fingers in the backpacker's blond locks he gave a gentle tug, pulling her lips up his shaft to work the sensitive head. She released a throaty sigh, obviously liking the tug. He pulled again, slightly harder, rewarded by wet moaning vibrations surrounding his cock. He smiled and tugged again. She liked it a little rough, well so did he. Fingers fisted in her hair he held fast, thrusting into her mouth. She moaned again and after pulling away to shoot him a wicked look she took him deeper until the tight wet heat of her throat closed around the head. She worked his dick like an experienced cocksucker. Deep throating him right down to his balls. She was a woman who loved giving head. And—fuck—he loved getting head. Britta, Brida, Breta, Brinda—whatever the hell the hot young German's name was—gave great head. Was she German? Maybe it was Austrian. She'd told him but as soon as her lips met his dick the information had dissolved—short term memory lost in a cock sucking fugue. The sound of the beach drifted through the thin gauze curtains of the open sliding door—waves, seagulls and the chatter of people that flocked to the esplanade on a clear summer day. He could taste the salt of the breeze with each gasp of air. She twisted on her knees, taking him into her throat in a move that had him almost losing his load. Not yet. Not yet. Heart pounding and balls throbbing he pulled her back until her lips just circled the head in a pouty O. She looked up at him with eyes melting brown. A vision of Jules Starling dominated his thoughts in vivid Technicolor. Jules beautiful face nestled between his thighs, his lips working down his cock. Grey eyes watching intently. Grace Hawthorne indulging her voyeurism. Fuck! He almost came at the idea. His balls drew up tight and his cock jerked. Drew pulled back until his cock audibly popped from her lips. The German purred, rubbing her spit slick cheek across the sensitive head. He'd met her running. She'd sped up to meet his pace. Tanned and long legged with sweet little tits bound tight in a Nike sports bra. Young and carefree, she seemed far removed from the intense American and needy gay man that consumed Drew's thoughts with each pounding step on the pavement. He'd jumped at her invitation to join her back at the hostel, hoping a good fuck could rid him of their constant presence. They were haunting him, those two. Every fucking moment of his day. Even now, here, naked with lithe willing perfection, he couldn't wrest his thoughts from tempting brown and cool grey eyes. The problem was...they intrigued him. That's why they appealed. That's why they'd grabbed him by the balls. Separately they were interesting enough to get his attention but together, together they were fascinating—he found himself simply unable to turn away. He was bored. He'd let his life get stagnant. Predictable. He was floating through life from one fuck to the next. He needed to take control. At the thought his cock jumped. They appealed because of the urge he had to control them—both. He looked down at Brigitte—suddenly remembering her name—brown eyes looked up at him in confusion. Damn, he'd let himself drift away, forgetting where he was. He smiled and she visibly relaxed. Crooking a finger he shook his head when she started to crawl up his body. She released a throaty laugh the moment she understood his meaning and turned around to straddle his face. When her sweet young pussy was above him he delved into it with his full attention. Splaying his fingers on her hips he brought her cunt down to ride his tongue. She groaned and the vibration of it rumbled around his cock. * * * * Monday morning International Office staff meetings started as little more than federally funded weekend gossip sessions. Drew—who attended more for the coffee than the meeting—leaned back in his chair stretching out his back. Half listening he watched Sharla and the newly returned Lucy attempting to outdo each other with tales of debauchery from the Christmas break. The line between reality and fantasy deliberately blurred as their stories descended into a competition for groans and laughter .Double entendres and far less subtle quips thrown thick and fast. Voices layered over each other until it was just a buzz of sound. Drew didn't join in. Interestingly he wasn't the only one—noticeably quiet was Jules Starling. Which was odd. Not because he always had a tale to tell—thinking about it, Jules was reticent to spill his own adventures—but because he always had an opinion. Usually sharp and invariably funny. Not today. Interesting. The other silent party was of course Grace Hawthorne. It wasn't out of character for her to be quiet. Except... She wasn't just quiet. She was thoughtful. Something was churning behind that stunningly cool façade and it definitely had to do with Jules Starling. Their frequent eye contact was fleeting, but loaded. They were both studiously—and unsuccessfully—avoiding looking at each other. Why? Friday he'd seen them, hands entwined over the reception desk. What had happened since then to make them both so damned uncomfortable in each other's presence? As Drew pondered the thought the gossip dwindled and department head Richard Drake started on the business at hand. He stood at the whiteboard at the end of the table. "As Orientation Week fast approaches we need to address the needs of incoming International students...." Drew barely listened; he worked best without the ineffectual bureaucratic fumbling of Drake so most of the time he pretended he wasn't there. Pretending worked for them both. As Drew never complained when Drake took credit for his work Richard had no problem with his inability to act within the team dynamic. Sipping his coffee he kept his eyes on Jules. Jules was the key. Grace was too schooled at her countenance to crumble easily under questioning. Getting answers from her would take time, and he wasn't feeling particularly patient. Not when it came to these two. He wanted to know what had happened. He wanted to know now. It itched—the need to know—under his skin, like a burr. He had to dislodge it before it took root. Get it out of his system. At the sound of Grace's clipped Connecticut accent he sat up. Drake had finished his pompous soliloquy and handed over to Grace, to no doubt do all the work. She'd moved to stand at the end of the table, near Drake. He watched her perfectly painted lips as she spoke. She rounded out each word with deliberate enunciation. He wondered how she would groan, the sounds she would make as he sank into her. He'd heard her contained little pant as he'd fingered her to orgasm—had she ever broken, wailed out in an animalistic back bowing orgasm? Blood was rushing to his cock so fast it was a wonder that his head didn't spin. Shifting in his chair, carefully adjusting his painfully hard cock, he cursed the tenuous grip on control he had in her presence. She smiled, completely oblivious of her effect on him and gave a little head nodding bow. He caught her eye and her smile widened. Would her smile be so wide if she'd known he hadn't heard a single word of her carefully crafted little speech? If she knew he'd been thinking of ways to make her careful voice break in an uncontrolled wail? "The Mentor Mixer will be held in the University Hall Common Room. Staff attendance is strongly recommended." Drake pointedly looked to Drew and most of the meeting chuckled—all those who knew that Drew never attended anything recommended by Drake. It was a standing joke. The rest of the meeting passed—thankfully—with enough boredom to completely deflate his erection. Drew didn't even risk a glance at Grace Hawthorne and her siren mouth. He was right to concentrate his attentions on Jules. Confident that he was the easier of the two to handle, at the end of the meeting as they spilled out into the hallway he called out to him, "Jules." The young man turned with a deer in the headlights look. Drew crooked a finger. "Walk with me." Jules' eyes flickered to Grace, who was busy with Drake and then back to Drew. "Umm, I should..." Drew cut in, not allowing him to finish his excuse, "I need you to arrange some travel." "Oh." He looked relieved. "I can do that." "Come with me now. I've got it all on my desk. It'll be faster than email." They walked the hall in silence until they were almost at the door to Drew's office. "Don't you usually do your own travel arrangements?" Jules asked. "Usually," Drew said, not offering any further information. When they were in Drew's cubicle he motioned to the guest chair. "Take a seat." "I thought you said it was on your desk. Can't you just hand it to me?" The boy was nervous. His shoulders lifted as his breath came fast and the pulse at the base of his neck was obvious. "I need to print it out. Take a seat. It won't take long." Drew kept his voice calm. Rather than reassuring Jules it seemed to unnerve him more. With obvious reluctance Jules sat down. Liking the way he'd unsettled him Drew tapped a beat on the table with his fingers. Keeping deliberately silent while he waited for his computer to boot up. When he noticed that Jules had relaxed into the seat he spoke, "So, how was your weekend?" Jules' shoulders tensed. "Fine." "Do anything interesting?" "Not really." "Not even with the lovely Grace Hawthorne?" He flushed bright red. "Who told....how do...." He stopped the moment he realized that he'd given himself away but it was too late. Scenting blood in the water Drew went on the attack. He stood, cocked a hip on the corner of his desk and with arms folded stared at the young man. He didn't need to question. He didn't need to do more than look. Silence, he'd found over the years, was an attack in itself. "We didn't do anything," Jules blurted out after less than a minute of suffering the quiet. Drew cocked an eyebrow. "We kissed. That's it. Just kissed." A feeling knifed through his gut. A sharp bite with an acid edge. What was that? Desire? Jealousy? Jealousy. For what? For whom? For kisses? He didn't like the questions the feelings raised. He spoke to halt the thoughts, "Your first kiss." "Yes." Jules shifted back in the chair, wrapping his arms protectively around himself. Drew took a step forward. "Did you enjoy her mouth?" "Yes." The word came out on a whimper. "More than mine?" He kept his tone light, teasing, not letting it show how much he wanted answers. "No. Yes. Maybe....I don't know. I don't know." "Maybe we should do it again. So you're sure." Brown eyes flashed up to meet his, the sizzle in them undeniable. Jules shifted forward, unfolding his arms and moving his hands to grip the arms of the chair. "With you?" "No. Yes. Maybe...I don't know," With deliberate mocking Drew parroted back Jules' words, watching with pleasure at the way he again shifted in his seat. "I want to," Jules whispered. "I want to know about you and Grace." "What do you want to know?" "Everything." He crooked a finger under Jules' chin, guiding his face to look up at him. "Everything that has happened and everything that will happen." "Will happen?" "Don't tell me that it will end with just a kiss. You want more. Don't you Jules?" Jules' face was an open book. As he imagined thoughts of what could come the feelings flickered across his face. Confusion. Lust. Wanting. Anticipation. Each expression a lick of fire in Drew's gut. "Yes. I want more." Drew heard the Scottish burr grow deeper in his voice, "And you'll tell me about it. Won't you?" "Why? Why will I tell you?" He brought his head down so that his mouth was a whisper away from Jules' lips. "Because I'll reward you." "With kisses?" Drew closed the gap, flicking his tongue along the slightly open seam of Jules mouth, tasting him. "And more," he murmured against the wet trail he'd created. "Maybe." "More," the word came out as a groan that Drew could not resist. He sank into it, delving his tongue into Jules' mouth with a teasing flicker. As the time before, control slid away at the taste of the young man—delicious naked desire. Irresistible. He didn't even try to hold back, instead once more pulling Jules up out of his chair and plastering his body against him. Tilting his mouth, he pulled roughly at Jules' hair to move him where he needed. Each tug eliciting a moan that sent a shot of lust straight to his balls. Through the fog of need to fuck he heard a sound. The braying laugh of Sharla and a teasing response from Lucy—voices in the hallway. Fuck. He had to stop. He pushed at the same time that he pulled away. Jules went stumbling back into the guest chair. Drew's heart beat out like a hammer on steel. Pounding loud cracks. Spearing a hand through his hair he shot a look at Jules and shook his head. Jules looked down, which sent his eyes following. Straight to the ramrod in his lap, the cock he'd just been grinding against like a horny teenager. Fucking hell. He shifted behind his desk, pounded on the keyboard emailing Jules the information he needed to arrange his travel. "I just emailed you the travel details." "Right. Then I'll arrange that," Jules said with a nod. "Good." Drew pretended to be intent on his computer screen. From the corner of his eye he saw Jules get up from the chair and move to the opening of his cubicle. "I'll see you later," Drew said with a nod, not looking up from his computer. "I'll do it." Drew nodded again, thinking he meant the travel arrangements. It was only when Jules repeated the sentence that Drew realized he might have meant something different. He looked up. "You'll do what?" "Tell you. Whatever you want to know. About Grace. If you....If we... If we can do more." His blood ran hot and cold. Control slipped and he heard his accent rough and deep. "Aye then, I say what goes. I won't stop you from asking, but I say what happens." Jules nodded. "I want that...I want you to tell me." The submissive acceptance sent his cock rock hard once again. He wanted nothing more than to pull him under the desk and order him to swallow his cock. The vision of a joyfully submissive Jules on his knees made his balls ride up painfully taut. Drew nodded and Jules scurried away; Drew let out a sigh of relief and adjusted his cock. What the fuck had he just done? He'd only wanted to know what was going on between Grace and Jules. That's all. How he ceded control so quickly? Why had he offered more? He'd further entwined himself with Jules and Grace Hawthorne. He needed to untangle the threads they'd bound him in—take back some control. It seemed he couldn't resist them, so he would have to control them. It was the only way. Take control. Of Jules and Grace. * * * * While Grace was well schooled at hiding the obvious it seemed she no longer had the desire. A life time of pretending should have made it easy for her to deny what had happened between her and Jules—but she didn't want to. All day they'd been studiously polite. Cold and impersonal. They'd moved around each other as if traversing a mine field—with light and careful steps. Testing before moving even slightly forward. They were at a fork in the road. She knew it. He knew it. They sat across from each other at the Staff Club. The waitress had taken their order and coffee would soon arrive. She knew that, right now, seated on these awful steel chairs, would decide the course of their future relationship. She had a choice. If Grace pretended—used her shield of cool indifference to erase Friday night—she was certain that Jules would follow suit. When she was making her way to work this morning it that was exactly what she'd decided—to pretend it had not occurred. But now, looking into Jules soft brown eyes she found that she could not. She could not lie. To him or herself. For the first time in her life she wanted a real relationship. A truthful one. It was both scary and exhilarating. Taking a deep breath she decided to take the plunge and go with complete honesty. "So, Jules. I'm not sure what we should say. I'm a bit uncomfortable." He laughed. A joyous sound that had a few heads turning their way. "A bit uncomfortable? I'm totally shitting myself here." "Well," Grace said in a puff of air, unable to think of any other response. "Well," Jules parroted back. They stared at each other. It started as a tickle. A slight feeling that crackled in her chest. It built and built until finally unable to hold it in Grace began to laugh. Pealing laughter that made her shoulders shake and her belly ache. "This is ridiculous. Isn't it?" The words came out between gulps of laughter. He reached across the table and took her hand in his. "It is." Their coffee arrived and the laughter subsided. "How about," Jules said over the steaming white cup, "we don't label this thing between us. We just let it be whatever it is." "Whatever it is." Grace had never just let anything be. She dissected, researched, studied, and planned. The idea was liberating and terrifying. It was a good feeling. She nodded. "I like that." Jules broke into a devastating grin. "Me too." "Are you coming to the Mentor Mixer on Friday?" "Of course I am darling. What are you wearing?' And just like that Grace was at ease. Jules continued to chatter, dictating his fashion edict. The conversation wrapped around her like a well worn sweater. It was effortless—for the first time in her life she felt....comfortable. Jules halted his fashion spiel and tilted his head. "What honey?" "I really like you Jules." He laughed. "I like you too honey." * * * * Orientation preparation for her Mentor Program kept Grace busy all week. While the Mentors were chosen for their maturity and responsibility—most were in a Grad course—they were still students and therefore notoriously unreliable. Getting them all in the one place at the one time was like herding cats. Damned near impossible. By the time the first drink was poured she was exhausted. But in a good way. Looking around the room she felt a sense of achievement that had been missing for some time. In her last job she had been worked hard, but without challenge. Here in a different country, surrounded by new rules, new people, she was flying by the seat of her pants. Innovating—an action wholly unfamiliar to a Hawthorne. She leaned back against the bar and sighed. "Miss Hawthorne." His voice came before the touch of his hand, but it in no way prepared her for the electric spark of his skin. She tried and failed at appearing nonchalant, her voice cracked in reply, "Dr Maxwell." He chuckled and the sound was like a finger slowly stroking down the bumps of her spine. "I thought you didn't come to these events." Everyone had told her that he didn't. "You've been thinking of me then?" Every word he said had a direct line between her legs. The rough Scottish burr tugged at her very center. She felt a hot charge of wet wanting settle between her clenched thighs. "Why are you here?" He laughed, turning the heads of a few of her female student mentors. A Brazilian student with waves of sleek black hair and sun bronzed skin sent him a flirtatious wave. He waved back, adding a wink and a wicked smile. "To network of course. Isn't that what you wanted the staff to do?" Yes. That is what she'd said at the staff meeting. The meeting at which he'd stared off into space and ignored her every word. "Network. Not pick up." Catch and Release Ch. 02 The Brazilian beauty came towards them, her gaze fixed on Drew. "Drew," she purred in her seductive South American accent, "so good to see you again." "You too Carmen. This is your last year isn't it?" "Uh huh, I finish up my Masters in December." Keeping his eyes on the curvy young student he pointed to Grace and said, "Carmen, do you know Miss Hawthorne." Carmen held out her hand. Grace took it with automatic politeness. "Sure. Grace isn't it? You're new to the Mentor program. I did it last year, I've got too much on my plate this year." "I understand completely," Grace said—even as she didn't. She didn't understand what Drew Maxwell was doing here, she didn't understand the sexual undercurrents buzzing between him and Carmen and she sure as hell didn't understand why she cared. Drew turned to her—his steely gaze meeting hers as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Damn him. He probably did. The corner of his mouth hooked up in a slight knowing smile. She was torn between kissing and slapping him. He laughed once more and the urge to slap ranked slightly higher. The young Grad student, oblivious to the odd play between Grace and Drew continued to chatter, "I'm here with Marli. She's doing the program—I'm just riding the free food and alcohol." She raised a glass and gave a chuckle that sounded like a melody. "You hate these things don't you? Why are you here?" "Exactly what I just asked," Grace said and both women turned as one to face him. Carmen now stood at her shoulder. She looked across at the young woman and felt a brief moment of camaraderie. Lost the second Grace noticed the playful come hither smile she shot at him. "Networking." Carmen laughed—the melodic sound throaty this time—making it both sexy and beautiful. Grace suddenly, without reason, hated her with a singular passion. "Networking? Hmmmm, well come find me later and we'll..." she ran a finger down Drew's chest, "network." Drew grabbed the trailing finger and brought the hand up to his lips, turning over her hand and kissing the pulse at her wrist. "I'll do that." Carmen laughed once more and then walked away, her hips swaying as if to a hidden beat. Grace narrowed her eyes and almost let out a hiss, the only thing that stopped her was the sound of Drew's chuckle. "I'll leave you to your networking Dr Maxwell." She tried to leave but Drew took her elbow and tugged her back. "Where's your boyfriend?" "He's on night shift." "So it's morning sex then?" "No..." her voice trailed off. She blushed at how easily she'd fallen into his trap. His thumb massaged lazy circles on the soft skin at the bend of her arm. "Aaaah. No sex at all then." "This is none, none, of your business." She pulled away. He let her go this time, his hand slipping away to a fall at his side. He sighed and then brought the hand she still felt on her skin up to run through his artfully styled gun metal grey hair. "Your boyfriend's a fool. Working nights or not there's no way you'd have been less than twice daily roundly fucked if I was in charge." In charge—the words sent a shot of heat straight to clench at her sex. "But you're not. You're not in charge," as she repeated the words it struck her that perhaps she done so for her, rather than his benefit. She wondered if he too had noticed, she flicked her eyes up to meet his all too knowing gaze. "I don't want to play games Dr Maxwell." "Really?" He leaned in until she felt his breath brush her just below her ear. Before thinking she arched her neck to him. He moved until his lips almost touched her ear lobe. "But you already are. Aren't you Miss Hawthorne?" She didn't answer. She just let the awful truth of the question hang between them until he laughed once more and then walked away. She tried not to look. Tried not to care but she wasn't strong enough. She looked up and sure enough he was with Carmen, who had her hand on his arm, stroking it with a proprietary knowledge that burned in her gut. Burned with jealousy. With anger. And a desire that she did not want to acknowledge. A desire to see him with her. A desire to once more...watch. As the shock of that knowledge hit her Drew looked over his shoulder and met her eyes. He knew too. His hand strayed down to rest on the curve of Carmen's butt as his eyes fixed on Grace. "Miss Hawthorne! Miss Hawthorne! We have a problem." Grace had never been so grateful to hear the harried voice of catering staff. She turned away from Drew and pushed all thoughts of the wicked Scot out of her head, focusing all of her attention back on her job—where it should have been all night. The rest of the night passed in a blur. While it had been planned as a simple get together for University staff and the International Student Mentors there were of course official speeches to be made. With those out of the way and the bar open, music and laughter filled the room. Playtime was in full progress. Playing—no doubt that's where Drew Maxwell was. Grace had tried to work too hard to push him from her thoughts. She'd only succeeded in making herself exhausted. As tired as she was, thoughts of him slipped all too easily into her mind. She had to get out. Get away from the cloying chatter of the all too happy crowd. Pushing through the doors of the Residence Hall Common Room she found herself yet again surprised by the wall of heat. Two months in it still shocked her pretty much every time she left the artificial coolness of the refrigerated air-conditioning. She veered off the path onto the grass. Her heels sank into the damp lawn so she took them off. Even the ground was warm. Like a stone left out in the sun it seemed to retain the baking heat of the day. After a quick look around to check she was alone she stripped off her thigh high stockings and curled her toes into the carpet of grass. To connect—with something. She needed to feel something real. The slow breeze was heavy as if pumped from an aging humidifier. Damp and scented by the unfamiliar smells of the tropical night. A Curlew sounded from behind. The first time she'd heard the wailing cry of the night bird it had made her jump. It was a grief stricken sound, unearthly. Someone had told her that the indigenous people considered them to be the keepers of the dead, their wail sounding off each time a new soul appeared. Even now, knowing that it wasn't an evil spirit but a small brown gangly legged bird it still made her pulse race. A blast of noise sounded, quickly muffled by the closing of the door. Grace looked over to see who had exited. Drew Maxwell—and the Brazilian student, Carmen. They were standing on the alcove near the entrance to the Hall. Bathed in the flickering light of the wall mounted fluorescents, they appeared unreal in their combined beauty—like a disjointed art film. Grace watched from the darkness, too afraid to move lest she be noticed. That's the reason she told herself anyway, as to why she didn't leave. Carmen mounted a leg high on Drew's hip. He grabbed her thigh like they were dancing the tango and dragged her up against him. He stepped back until he hit a bricked column and she went with him with fluid grace. Carmen wore a full skirt. Drew's hand at her thigh had hiked it up until the round of her bottom was visible. Her caramel skin was bare. She wore a thong under the flowing red skirt—or perhaps nothing at all. They did not kiss as Grace would have expected, each time Carmen's mouth edged towards Drew's he tilted her head back and sucked on the skin of her neck. Grace's fingers came up, resting on the very spot that Drew now feasted upon on Carmen's neck. Her nipples beaded. So did Carmen's. The Grad student wore a tight white tank. Under the white fluorescent it appeared almost translucent. The dark circles of her areole were clearly visible. It wasn't until her bare feet hit the sharp stones of the gravel path that Grace realized that she'd moved forward. Towards them. Drawn to their heat. Like a moth to the flame. Drew had dragged Carmen around so that her back was facing Grace. His teeth grazed along the taut line of her neck. Grace swallowed and watched as though she had been compelled not to turn away. "Come with me." Carmen laughed. "As if you have to ask." He wasn't asking Carmen. Grace knew it from the moment the low accented words were uttered. He was asking her. Or telling, not asking. She was sure she was still hidden. Other than the light of the alcove the grounds were carpeted by darkness. There wasn't even a moon. She was back, near the side path away from the entrance—but somehow, she knew...she just knew that he spoke to her. "Follow me." Carmen laughed again as if Drew were somehow playing a silly game with his short commands. He stepped back, held out his hand but did not look at her, rather over her shoulder, out into the darkness where Grace was sheltered. Carmen took his hand and Drew led her around the side of the building. Grace followed. Her heart which felt as though it had migrated to her throat, beating out a faster pace than her bare feet. She didn't want to lose them, but she didn't want to be caught. She stayed just back, keeping to the grass as they flowed a winding path to the nearest set of on campus student apartments. As the academic year had not yet started the apartments were silent and mostly dark. When Drew lead Carmen towards a garden nestled at the corner of the building Grace stopped. She held herself still in the darkness, questioning her sanity. What was she doing? What good could come of this? Following Drew Maxwell and a young student like some sort of deranged peeping tom. She still held her shoes in her hand. She slapped them against her thigh as if trying to beat some sense into herself. She sighed and had all but decided to return to her car when she heard the first sound. A moan. A needy wail that, like the sound of the Curlew quickened her pulse —not with fear but with desire. Heat spiked through her body, landing hot and heavy in her stomach. She heard Carmen cry out, "Yes. Yes," and as if she had no choice but to follow the sound she moved forward. Carmen was on a park bench. She was lit by two small garden lights that shone decoratively into the greenery behind her. Her legs were spread wide, her skirt hiked up around her waist. No thong, she was bare beneath the red fabric—even of hair. Unsurprisingly the Brazilian sported a Brazilian. Drew was between her thighs, on his knees, his mouth feasting upon her bare sex. Carmen held his head, her fingers threaded through the short silver locks. She pushed him at her bare pussy with an abandon that astounded Grace. She humped his face, her hips and hands working Drew's head as if he were merely an object for her pleasure. Not that Drew seemed to mind. His large hands, those skillful fingers she knew oh so well, splayed at Carmen's thighs, pushing her legs wider. Carmen shifted her legs to hook them over his shoulders. Her feet still encased in black spiked heels were an erotic sight as they dug into Drew's back. The orgasm came hard and loud. Her head threw back, long black hair falling over the back of the bench seat as she moaned out her release in short choppy sounds. It was like a dream. An out of body experience. Later Grace would wonder how she even got there, not remembering the steps taken by her feet to place her so close to the couple. There at that moment, that unreal fragment of time she did not think of how or why but sank into it, the feel of watching Drew. After the student came Drew dragged her up out of the bench seat. He pulled her skirt down over her hips until it pooled on the ground. Carmen did not seem bothered by his actions—by being half nude in public—she laughed and stripped off her tank until her golden body was bare for anyone to see. Drew took a moment just to let the sight sink in—Grace didn't blame him—she was spectacular. Curved and lithe, long legs shaped up to rounded hips, small waist and perfectly proportioned brown tipped breasts. Carmen held out her arms, reveling in being watched by him. He clamped his hands at her hips and spun her around to face the bench. He pushed her forward and if not for the back of the bench she would have fallen. She held herself up by gripping the high wooded back. Again she did not seem disturbed. She flicked her hair and looked over her shoulder at him with a laugh. He brought his hand down on her shapely ass with a crack that sounded off like a gunshot in the still night air. Grace gasped. The sound too loud for someone trying to hide. She clamped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. Drew looked around, his eyes following the sound. She was hidden, back in the shrubbery. His eyes did not stop. They ranged over where she stood, but she was sure that he knew she was there. Watching. He brought his hand down again, Carmen rocked back and moaned as if chasing the hand that slapped her. Grace heard the sound of his belt buckle, metal sliding over metal. His black jeans slid down over his hips—Carmen was not the only one sans underwear. His pale skin glowed in the darkness, taut muscle easily defined even at the distance Grace stood. The jeans fell down to mid thigh. She saw him fish in his pocket and remove a foil square. He held his cock in one hand and rolled the condom on with the other. Carmen writhed as he did; impatiently rocking her hips back to rub against the hardness of his cock. He lay another slap down on the curve of her ass and then thrust inside. From behind once more. The second time she'd seen him do so. Grace wondered if this was his preferred position. Did he do it any other way? And just like that a montage of Drew in a multitude of other positions flooded her mind. But in the collage of her fantasy it wasn't Carmen he was fucking—it was her. Her on top. Her underneath. Her on her knees. Her against the wall. She clenched her eyes tight and shook her head as if she could somehow shake clean the images. The sound of bodies joining, grunting and moans of pleasure filled her ears. She opened her eyes. Drew had one hand at the curve of her hip, the other held fast in the long black locks of Carmen's hair—as if it were reins. Carmen rocked back as he thrust forward. An unmistakable wet slapping sound issued each time they connected. The sound of fucking. "Do it," she heard Drew grunt. "Touch yourself." Was he talking to her or Carmen? Her hand slid down her stomach, her fingers resting lightly on her public mound. She tapped on the aching spot. Two layers of fabric lay between her fingers and her skin and yet she could still feel the heat. Should she? Could she? Touch herself? Her hands slid down the soft silk of her pencil skirt. She looked down. Her fingers gripped the edge of the hem. One tug. One tug and it would be up around her hips. She could reach her pussy. Touch the ache until she came. She had the skirt an inch up her thigh when Carmen cried out her orgasm. Grace looked up to watch her back bowed as she pushed back on Drew's cock. Drew followed closely. After a series of mad fast thrusts he dug his fingers into her hips and grunted out his release. She watched him slump, his knees bent. He pulled free of Carmen's pussy and bent to kiss her lower back before removing the condom and pulling up his jeans. Grace still held her skirt in one hand—her fingers aching from the bloodless grip of her tight fingers. She watched as Carmen stood turned and stretched like a contented cat. Carmen started to redress. The simple almost domestic action, seeing her slip into her tank top, startled Grace into action. What had she done? What was she still doing? Watching. Watching this girl? She turned and ran. Not caring if she was heard, she took the nearest path. The easiest way to get back to her car. To escape. Her feet slapped loud on the concrete. In the quiet darkness the sound rang out. He'd know now. He'd be sure that she watched because of that sound. She couldn't care. Not now. She cared about nothing other than getting away. From him. From the person she became around him. Back at the Common Room she shoved her bare feet back into her heels. She scraped a hand across her face and entered the room to find her purse and car keys. Keeping her head down she made her way through the crowd, avoiding all eye contact. It was easy enough. The party was in full force. The room was booked until 2 a.m. As it wasn't yet midnight few people had left. Her purse was behind the bar. It took a moment for the bartender to find it and in that time Jules found her. "Hey! I've been looking for you. Where did you disappear to?" No words came. Grace just shook her head. "Sweetie? What happened?" The bartender returned with her purse. Grace thanked him with a slight nod of her head and turned back to Jules. "Come home with me." "OK." "Brent's on night shift. He won't be home until after lunch tomorrow. Spend the night...like before." Before they'd held each other all night. She'd slept in the comfort of Jules' arms. "OK, honey," Jules said as he slipped his hand into hers. He didn't question her. Didn't ask what had happened. Somehow he knew better than to push her right now, but she doubted that would last. When they got home he'd want to know. Could she tell him? Yes. No. Back and forth her thoughts raced. She shook her head and tugged harder on his hand. All that could wait. For now she just needed to escape. He sped up to match her pace. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Thanks as always to my Mistress Red Pen for whipping the text into shape. I'm really enjoying this story so I hope you are as well. Strap in for an interesting ride. I'm planning on bringing all these characters right up to breaking point. Let me know what you think and as always a little click on those stars makes my day. darcysweet xxx