Crazy For You: A Chicago Wildcats Story by Julia Seth

Author:Julia Seth [Seth, Julia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-17T05:00:00+00:00

ALEX

That fox has put one over me.

It only makes me want her more.

And what happens once you get what you want?

Would you be satisfied after that?

Isn’t that how it’s always been?

I can’t think of Maggie as just another woman.

She’s one of a kind, not a vapid, superficial supermodel.

For fuck’s sake, she sacrifices her Sundays reading to children.

That kind of woman isn’t supposed to torture a guy in a gazebo in broad sight of over three hundred people.

She’s supposed to be the kind who shows up at these kinds of Richie-Rich events with a sign and a bullhorn.

After she left me bereft and hot enough to burst into flames, I had to sit in the gazebo for at least ten minutes waiting for my stiff cock to calm the fuck down.

On the way out, I got a bunch of glances and some not-so-subtle invitations to stay longer, and/or take someone/s home for an afterparty.

But I’m in no mood for a party that doesn’t include Maggie.

When I get home, Brittney is chilling in the living room, watching a documentary about street food in Mexico.

She gives me a second to watch an old lady scoop out a lump of beans from a basket onto a stack of warm corn tortillas cradled in her gnarled hand.

“You’re drooling,” says Brittney. “Bet you wish you ate that instead of those stupid hors d’oeuvres at the charity auction, huh? Like, fuck cucumber sandwiches and gazpacho. Give me a fucking chalupa.”

“I wasn’t paying attention to their food.” I begrudgingly add, “But you’re right on that front. Fuck gazpacho. I’ll take Taco Bell over whatever the hell they’ve got.”

Brittney levers herself off the leather sofa that’s big enough to eat her up. “Speaking of food…” She peers around me. “Oh my. Alone?” Her smile is evil. “Just so you know, I’m totally Team Maggie.”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

Her cackle echoes throughout the high-ceilinged townhouse as she strides past me toward the garage where her bright yellow Bug is parked next to my blood-red Porsche 911 Carrera.

“Hey, cuz?” I call out.

“Yeah?”

“What does Maggie drive?”

“I’m not telling!” She laughs. It’s an ominous sound. “You’ll fucking love it, Alex.”

That sounds encouraging.

That night, I dream about Maggie.

She comes to me wearing nothing but a sheer white veil wrapped around her body like the Venus de Milo, her long brown hair curling wildly about her slim shoulders.

I’m lying in bed, naked as always—never saw the point of clothes while sleeping, not in Southern California—and the bed dips a little under her weight as she crawls toward me on her hands and knees.

I’m already rock hard before her lips wrap around my cock.

As she rolls her eyes up to look at me with her mouth full, I fight the urge to keep from coming instantly.

The sensation of her tongue running along the thick vein in my cock is almost too much to handle, and my hands fist in the sheets, sweat glistening on my naked skin.

I know it’s a dream, and I’m a little disappointed that when I wake up the image of Maggie wrapped in that white veil won’t stay.

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