Runner Girl Ch. 04

John was in deep. Slinging one of her legs over his shoulder, he plunged his cock even deeper and watched her face intently as her eyes bulged with each thrust.

"Oh my god, you feel huge like this," she moaned loudly, "You're gonna make me cum!" Her tits bounced with each rapid plunge and he watched as her French-manicured fingertips rubbed a circle around her clit. Her precious dirty little mouth formed a perfect "O" as her eyes rolled back in her head. Her body trembled visibly while her inner tremors pulsated on his thrusting cock. Spasms clenched his dick as her back arched and she squeezed her own tit, moaning loudly. Increased wetness improved his slide and he didn't let up, not even when with one final shudder she signaled her complete satisfaction.

"Mind if I turn you over?"

She didn't answer, just rolled over onto her chest and knees jutting her butt high in the air. John smacked her sassy ass and she shook it at him, inviting another smack, but instead he positioned himself for reentry. He slid back in with force. "Aaaah" she moaned, "Yeah, John, fuck me. Keep fucking me like that! You feel so good."

He loved the look of her ass from this angle. It was indeed a very fine ass, but her tattoo distracted him. He smacked her ass again and then closed his eyes. He usually enjoyed the visual aspects of sex, but that annoying snake on her left flank seemed to mock him. With eyes closed, he lost himself in the feeling of sliding in and out and concentrated on the sensation until he could feel himself on the brink. "I'm going to cum," he warned and she responded with shouts of encouragement, "Yeah, fill me with your cum!"

He pounded into her, ignoring her encouraging murmurs and moans, which had also become annoying. Instead, he blocked out all the verbal and visual stimulation and concentrated solely on the warm, wet, tight pussy that engulfed his throbbing dick. He could feel the rumbling deep within as his orgasm surged through him and shot through his urethra, the release of cum leaving his body in wave after wave of blissful ejaculation, until finally, the last spasm ceased and he shuddered, then added a few quick thrusts to milk every last drop from his shaft into her pussy. Very carefully, he held the condom in place at the base of his softening cock and withdrew, then collapsed onto his back.

She leaned up on her elbow and looked him in the face, "So... who's Amy?"

"What? Why would you ask me that?" he answered defensively.

Sarah laughed. "Oh don't worry. You aren't in trouble, John. I know we're not exclusive. I'm just curious. You called me 'Amy' twice, you know."

"I did not! I'm pretty sure I said 'Aaaaaa Meeeeee', or maybe 'Ooooo Meeee.'" Had he called her Amy? He hadn't been thinking of Amy during sex. In fact, he had been working very hard not to think of Amy, and Sarah had been a welcome distraction -- especially since the two were vastly different.

"Oh no, it most certainly was 'Amy.' I thought you moaned 'Amy' in your sleep last night too, but I wasn't sure. However, I'm positive you called me Amy this morning." Sarah sat up and walked to the bathroom, then turned at the door and said, "Don't forget, you promised to take me shopping today," and closed the door.

John stared up at the ceiling. Honestly, he had not thought of Amy once so far today. Had he? Of course he had woken up in Sarah's bed and had only been awake for about forty minutes, during which time Sarah gave him plenty of opportunity not to think about Amy. But he had dreamt about her, not a sexy dream, but an unsettling dream where Amy faced some type of danger and he couldn't help her.

John looked at the clock and saw that it read 10:00 a.m., which meant 6 o'clock in New York, still too early to text her. She said she would be running in the morning, grading papers all day, then going to the Waldorf Astoria with a "friend" tonight. The Waldorf-Fucking-Astoria! What a cliché attempt at schmoozing a girl. Amy, Miss "I hardly ever go out at night," is going out with a guy from her running group and acting like it is not a date, but any schmuck who takes a "friend" to the Waldorf is clearly trying to impress her.

John weaseled out of shopping with Sarah by saying he has to meet clients, but agrees to pay for a new outfit, which includes a Fendi purse she already has on lay-away. He uses his newfound free-time to do a little exploring on foot and for the fourth time in seven days wishes he had his camera with him. He finds himself looking for a photo to take, but nothing seems quite right. Instead he stops at a Costa Coffee and decides to text William.

"Did you know Amy has a date tonight?"

He drinks the entire cup without hearing from William, so he decides to call him.

"Did you know Amy has a date tonight?" Not bothering to say hello.

"Yes, I did. In fact, she's over at Tracy's right now, borrowing a dress to wear this evening."

"What!"

"Good God, John, it sounds like you're jealous."

"What? No! No, of course not..., I mean... it's just that... well, who is this guy anyway? Taking her to the Waldorf? What a transparent attempt to get in her pants!"

William laughed and said, "Not her pants. She's wearing a dress, remember?"

John threw his head back and made an audible groan.

William laughed again and tried to console him, "Hey, John, you have nothing to worry about. She told Tracy she's not even interested in this guy, she's just keeping a commitment. Tracy said she's been asking about you -- a lot."

John's posture relaxed upon hearing this news. "Hey, is Tracy home right now? I want to call her and make sure she doesn't put her into anything too sexy. You know, this guy could be..."

"Go ahead and call her," William hung up the phone and shook his head, laughing at his friend's change of heart. He had forgotten what a competitor John could be and this certainly seemed to be working in Amy's favor.

* * * * *

Tracy looked through her closet for a jacket as Amy pulled the black dress over her head. "Hey, your phone's ringing," Amy said from under the black fabric.

Tracy emerged from the closet with a vintage jacket in her hand, and met her eyes. "That's weird: it's John. I wonder why he's calling. Hello?"

Amy watched intently as a grin spread over her friend's face. "Why yes," Tracy said. "I understand. Mmm hmmm... Oh really? And when did you become the fashion police?"

Tracy laughed, then listened, making eye contact with Amy.

"Well, I'll ask her myself." Tracy turned her face from the phone, "John says hello. He wants in on our outfit consultation. He wants to have some input on what you wear tonight."

Amy laughed, then said, "Why don't we let him vote on the three we have it narrowed down to? You can take a photo of these three outfits on the bed and send it to him."

Tracy explained her suggestion to John and then laughed and put her hand over the mouthpiece. "John says he wants to be sure. He insists on seeing the dress on you and not just on the bed. Shall we indulge him?"

"Yes, but tell him we need a little time."

Tracy relayed the message and hung up the phone.

"I don't have any make up on!" Amy squealed, shaking both hands in the air. She had come straight over following her run at the park and still needed to shower.

"Um, Amy... I don't think you have anything to worry about. He's calling from London because he is thinking about you, and he's worried about you looking too sexy on your date tonight. Girl, you're holding all the cards right now."

"I am? Um, okay. But really, would it be okay if we left my face out and just show the dresses?"

Tracy agreed and the pair started taking photos of Amy in three different outfits, each with flattering poses but with no head in the frames. When they were satisfied with the results, they texted three photos to John. Amy changed into a pair of jeans she'd had the foresight to bring -- a much better alternative than putting sweat-soaked running clothes back on. "Shall I wait for his opinion, or just take the black one?"

"Oh, he just answered," Tracy laughed as she read his response to herself and then re-read it aloud. "And I quote: 'No way, hell no, and don't you dare! Holy hell, woman! Do you own anything that could tone down that sexiness?"

Both women laughed and Tracy responded without asking Amy's input. "Sorry, John. It's not my fault. This woman is lookin' hella-sexy sitting right here in a pair of jeans."

Amy's phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey Amy, Listen, I don't mean to be a jerk. All three dresses look amazing on you, really. It's just... I had this weird dream last night, and... I really don't want to come across like a crazy-jealous guy -- I have no right, I know -- but... would you be willing to indulge me and just send a text when you get home from your date? Just to let me know you got home okay? I know, it's crazy, I hate to even hear myself say it out loud, but it would put my mind at ease. Even if you fall in love with this schmuck and bring him home with you, that's your business -- just send me an 'ok' or something. Okay?"

Amy paused hoping to just get one word out without her voice cracking. "Yes," she whispered and hung up the phone. She didn't look at Tracy right away because she didn't want to explain the tears in her eyes. Someone cares. Someone will know when I get home safely, even if he is all the way across the Atlantic. She felt warmth spread through her body and her lips curled up into a smile.

* * * * *

For the second time in eight days, Amy found herself dressed in heels and being taxied around Manhattan on a date she really didn't want to be on. She tried to take the advice of her therapist and Miles; be open-minded and have fun. "I'm not used to seeing you when you aren't all sweaty and dressed in Lycra," she teased Keith. He wore a suit and smelled of cologne.

"I could easily say the same. You look stunning, Amy," he said as he took her elbow and kissed her cheek.

Once he completely exhausted the topics of running and their mutual friends, Keith began his obvious attempt to sell himself. She found the conversation more stressful and depleting than running from him, for now Amy had to perform the precarious balancing act of acting interested, but not overly interested. The frail male ego that he placed in her open hand required that she not send out any false messages, but then again not come across as rude either. Amy knew the evening's outcome was not going to be to Keith's liking, but she hoped to escape without either of the two dreaded labels -- "bitch" or "tease". Keith's increasingly invasive body language seemed to rule out "just friends" as an option.

They enjoyed an extravagant dinner, followed by drinks, and then dancing at two different clubs. She enjoyed dancing for a bit, but after a while, she longed to get home, take off her high heels, and plunge back into the novel on her nightstand.

And she wanted to text John. He sent a photo from England earlier that day. It showed a man in a turban riding a bicycle, an eye-catching subject in itself, but once again, the play of light in the photo made it interesting. The sun hung low, casting long shadows and bouncing off wet pavement, which created a few sparks of light in the photo. The result created a dramatic and emotional photo, and Amy tried not to read too much into it and come up with the wrong impression. "What's the smile about?" Keith interrupted her thoughts.

"Oh, I was just thinking about an amusing photo a friend sent me from London. Have you been there?"

"No, not yet. I'd like to someday."

"Me too," Amy said and covered her mouth to hide a yawn that she could not suppress. "Oh my gosh! I'm sorry, Keith. I'm really not used to being up this late."

"Well, it is late..." Keith looked disappointed. "One more dance?"

"Sure."

During the awkward cab ride home, Keith scooted right next to her and started whispering in her ear about what a great time he had, how beautiful she looked, and how he hoped they could go out again soon. He tried to kiss her in the cab when they reached her building, but Amy averted her face so that his lips landed on her cheek. "Thanks, Keith. See you next week," she said as she exited the cab quickly.

Her heart raced as she hurried up the stoop. She watched the cab pull away with Keith still inside and exhaled loudly. Safe at home.

* * * * *

John had a fitful night, waking every hour starting at four a.m, again at five, and then again at six, but still no text from Amy. "It's two o'clock in New York," he spoke to his phone screen. "Fuck, Amy. Where are you?"

A text came through five minutes later with an answer to the unheard question. It read, "Home safe in bed, but Freddy can't keep his paws off me."

Freddy? What the...

John's phone chirped again as a photo came through, a selfie of Amy nuzzling a grey cat under her chin and showing a playful, happy, adorable face. John smiled at the photo. He had received countless selfies from women over the years, many of them unsolicited and most of them provocative. He couldn't count how many pairs of duck-lips, tits, or panties he had seen, but nothing quite like this photo. It showed Amy making a silly face and he never realized he could be such a fan of quirky cuteness. Or cats. He texted her back, "Hope you had fun. Tell Freddy to keep you warm until I get back."