CHAPTER 18

 

One Year Ago—The Anniversary

 

Asher: Do you know what the worst thing ever is? Shopping.

Charis: Word.

Asher: All you do is wait. Wait for traffic. Wait in line. Waiting to wait.

Charis: Preaching to the converted here, dude. Get to the point.

Asher: I have to buy Aura an anniversary gift. Our two-year dating anniversary is coming up Monday.

Charis: How about getting her some jewelry? She wears those great necklaces.

Asher: Been there, done that. She's been hinting she wants more than jewelry.

Charis: More than jewelry, okay. Uh…what's her favorite band? Does she need workout shoes? I know, hair bows…get her some big black velvet ones, it'll look so cool with her hair. Or hey, what about a gift card to one of her favorite stores?

Asher: She wants a teddy.

Charis: A teddy bear?

Asher: No, a teddy.

Charis. Oh! You mean a boob frame. That kind of teddy.

Asher: What are you talking about?

Charis: What the breasted of the world wear to show off their assets. You laugh, he of the perfect proportions, but you have no idea what it's like to have a whole class of undergarments sneer at you every time you shop for underwear.

Asher: You should sneer right back.

Charis: That's what I do. I give the rack the finger. I'm just saying…what am I saying? I forgot my train of thought. So she wants a teddy, what's the problem?

Asher: I hate shopping. That's the problem.

Charis: All right, pest. Give me a hundred bucks and I'll get it for you.

Asher: What, you'd face the sneering teddies for me?

Charis: For you, I will. But you have to promise not to say one word when you see it.

Asher: What would I say? I'm innocent, I tell you, innocent.

Charis: Huh. Aura has a figure like Raquel Welch, which means I could use one of the boob cups to support my whole ass. I swear, one lifted eyebrow, mister, and it gets stuffed up yours.

Asher: Deal.

 

Asher

 

CHARIS WASN'T SECURE in her body?

If she'd thrown a lit hand grenade at me, I couldn't have been more stunned.

I screwed up then, by doing something completely and utterly insensitive.

I laughed.

That cloddish reaction had one positive result. She stopped looking like she was about to burst into tears. She glowered and shoved me hard with both hands, making me stumble and nearly trip over a passing dog.

"Sorry, cool, it's cool!" I said to the man holding the leash.

Then it was a matter of trailing Charis as she stomped off without looking back. Once out from under our nook, the rain lashed down on us.

I didn't try to speak to her. I just followed meekly. I barely noticed the moving umbrellas we passed. Actually, the way I was feeling, the water and wind felt good. It was replenishing, made me feel alive. I felt like a kid who'd just been let in on a grownup secret.

I'd just gained insight into what made Charis tick.

When she reached her building, I wouldn't let her close me out, sticking my foot in the door. Yeah, it was an aggressive move, but my cause was righteous. I followed her down the hall.

"This is not a good idea," she began as her apartment door shut behind us.

"This is a perfect idea," I argued, and picked her up—hat, wet coat, boots, and all.

Carrying a wakeful, soaking, squirming woman was about twenty pounds heavier than holding a limp, dry, drunken one. When I tossed her down on the bed, she lay there for a split second, looking astonished. Then she was bounding up, and I was coming down on her. Wet coat, boots, and all.

"You're soaking my bed, Norrell."

I tugged off her hat and smoothed her hair down. "Water has this amazing property. It's called evaporation. Let me explain. The water cycle begins in the atmosphere. When a hot front meets a cold—"

"You blockhead, you're crushing me." Her laughter never failed to make me smile.

"No, I'm not. You can breathe fine."

She gave an exaggerated sigh.

"You of all people," I said, growing serious, "can't have body issues."

Immediately she tensed. "What the hell do you know about it? Anyone can have body issues. Your sister Ryanna has body issues. Winona has body issues, Mel has body issues, your Aunt Ruthie has them and so does your mom. Even Douglas does."

"Doug?" That gave me pause.

"His hair."

"Premature balding is not body issues."

"That's not the point!"

"I'm not talking about my siblings. I'm talking about you. I mean sure, you joke about your—" my eyes flitted down briefly to her chest, "—self, but you never sound really serious, like you give a fuck."

"Well it wasn't your business how I felt, was it?"

"Anything about you is my business."

I felt the jolt that gave her. I could see the wheels turning in her head. Then: "Listen, whippersnapper—"

"No." I cut her short. "No treating me like a kid. Not even jokingly. This is serious, Char. What the hell do you think is wrong with your body?"

She swallowed. Squirmed. I liked the squirming, but not what caused it. "You've said it yourself. I have the figure of a twelve-year-old boy."

"You've said that, not me. I just haven't contradicted you."

"Same difference."

"Not the same." I shook my head. "And you don't have the figure of a twelve-year-old boy. I can guarantee you that is a false and unsupported statement."

"It doesn't matter what you think. What's important is what I think and I think I have the body of a twelve-year-old—what? What did I say?"

Because she'd felt my flinch.

"Thanks a fucking lot for telling me it doesn't matter what I think. It's basically what Aura told me and you know what? I'm tired of women saying my opinion doesn't matter. I'm a fucking guy and I'm telling you I'm shaking like a leaf at the idea of lifting up that flimsy top you're wearing because you don't have the fucking body of a twelve-year-old boy!"

Her jaw dropped. "Okay, you don't have to—ah, crapitude."

I was shifting, sitting up on her and getting to work on her buttons. It took me no time at all to part her coat, to spread it out on the bed, forming a puffy scarlet backdrop for her body.

When I saw what I'd revealed, I groaned.

Her long, creamy arms, perfectly shaped shoulders, the mint colored top that did nothing to hide the bold projections of her nipples, the skin-tight jeans that molded to every subtle curve, including the sweet pad of her crotch…

"What was I saying?" I said stupidly as blood rushed south.

"You were making a point." For all her nonchalance, I saw her heels digging into the mattress, her fists clenching repeatedly by her side.

Those impudent nipples. How could I have missed noticing them all these years? "Yeah, I was making a point," I said thickly. "Tell me honestly, Sloane, are your tits why you wear those bulky sweaters all the time?"

Her mouth opened, then shut.

I waited, noting with interest when the tits in question got harder, stretching the fabric and making my fingers twitch.

"What, ah, what are you going on about? And stop using that word, unless you want to be kicked."

"Feel free," I invited. "Since you ask, I'm going on about your nipples. They're…"

"What?" she said quickly.

"They're a cock-tease. They make me…" I wrenched my gaze away from those tempting points and met her eyes. "They'd make any guy itch to work them over."

"What does that even mean?"

My vision went smoky as I envisioned doing it. "You ever come from having your tits played with?"

Her gasp gave me my answer.

"Answer my question, Sloane."

"Yes, okay?" she burst out. "I have big nipples and I wear tops that cover them, including heavy sweaters and multiple layers. I even have special padded compression bras to keep them under control. If I hadn't spilled pizza on my last clean one, I'd be wearing it now. Is that a crime?"

"I'd say so. But that wasn't the question I was referring to."

Now her hands were plucking her coat's plush red lining and she was eying me like I was the Big Bad Wolf.

Good. She should be wary.

I planted my hands to either side of her head and leaned over her. "I asked," I said in measured syllables, "have you ever had a dude tease and suck your nipples until your pussy had a nice little orgasm?"

I knew she hadn't, but I was no longer seeking information. I was riding a high. Because Char was hot. Hotter than hot. Her tits were swollen to the max. Her face was beet red, even her cute little ears. And her legs were moving restlessly. Her signal array was blasting arousal.

"In a minute," I rasped, "I'm going to raise that shirt to your neck. I'm going to check you out. Then I'm going to unbutton your jeans and slide them down your legs."

Now her chest was jerking up and down, making her nipples bob, and I bit down another groan.

I licked my lower lip. "I'll pull your panties down. Don't worry if you're shy. I'll leave them there at your knees. Then I'm going to check you out down below, Sloane. I'm going to look at all of you and tell you what I think of your body and settle this argument once and for all."

"Asher." Her voice was low and rough. She was loving this dirty talk.

I moved in closer, so my mouth was hovering right over hers, and smiled. If she wanted sweet filth, I'd give her a bucketload.

"Do you fuck the same way you eat, Sloane? Do you scream when you come the first time? What about the second?"

A tiny moan came from her lips. Her hips heaved up in a reflexive signal of female invitation. Her shy response made my cock rigid as iron.

"This isn't funny," came her strained whisper.

"Do you see me laughing?" I rearranged myself so my hips could settle on hers, which I did slowly, growling when my cock finally made contact. Damn, this felt like pure sin, pressing myself against her.

I gave an experimental nudge.

Now. Now she'd know what I'd never let her know.

"Oh, oh, God."

"Feel that?" I whispered. "That's me seeing you. That's me smelling you. That's me when I think about peeling down your jeans and finally answering my question, curly or straight."

Now her head was moving back and forth as in denial, but her lips were swollen, her eyes linked to mine, and she responded like my words were making love to her.

"I've kissed your mouth a few times now. Guess what I've learned. Go on, try to guess, Sloane. Betcha can't."

Her answer might have been a real answer or a whimper, I wasn't sure.

"I've learned your mouth might be able to fit around my cock, if you open wide. You probably don't realize this, but it's something we dudes think about. A lot."

Door two. A whimper.

"What about you, ever imagined that? Ever imagined me naked?"

She shuddered. And went on shuddering. I'd hit the nail on the head, I realized with delight.

"Ever imagined me over you naked, my cock all up inside you, both of us sweating and panting and you tightening around me in your dozenth orgasm because you can't stop coming when you're being fucked?"

"Stop it, Asher!"

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to sit back and take stock of her. She was twitching all over, her hands trying to decimate her coat, her head flinging around, her expression anguished and her eyes squeezed shut.

And because the only woman I'd had for the last few years was Aura, I couldn't help but compare them. Aura had had no inhibitions in bed. She'd done everything I'd ever asked. I'd lost myself in her soft, responsive body. The sex had been epic.

Charis was, in contrast, a minefield of inhibitions. I didn't know her sexual history, but I was sure my girl was a neophyte, or near as. She might very well fight me, and her own body, every step of the way.

But it would be worth it. She was beyond hot. Dizzyingly responsive.

I knew it for sure when I began pulling up her shirt and she whined as though I'd licked her in a naughty place. I'd barely done anything to her and already she was more slut than sweetheart. If I hadn't been crazy about Charis Sloane before, I'd have completely flipped now. Fucking her was going to rock my world. And it was going to happen. I now had zero doubt of it.

My heart felt like it was bursting with happiness.

When I spoke next, I tried to sound breezy, but I could hear the tremor there. "Let's see what you got for me up on top, Sloane."

I slid the green camisole up along her skin. She didn't help, but at least she didn't stop me. She wasn't moving at all. I wasn't even sure she was breathing.

When the fabric rose above her nipples, I froze for a split second, then finished exposing her tits with shaking hands.

"Holy shit." I didn't even know I'd whispered it until her "What?" registered.

I had a hard time speaking. The problem was simple; my cock was trying to bruise itself in my jeans.

Charis's nipples were big, a deep, dusky red. Extra long, with puffy areolas. And did I mention red? I was going to come in my pants.

"What? Asher, what's going on?"

I managed to grit out, "Give me a minute, will you? And open your eyes."

She did, her gaze latching immediately onto my face. Unless she was blind, she had to see my reaction to her.

"Don't you ever," I said between breaths, "make fun of your tits again. They are the most pornographic fucking things I've ever seen and I will now officially be jacking off to them from now on."

"Asher," she whispered, and pressed her lips together.

I wanted to kiss those lips back open, but if my steely cock even brushed against her, I'd explode. I shoved my tongue into my cheek and raised my head to stare at the ceiling. "Don't say it."

"Say what?"

"Anything."

"Why?"

"Because I'm trying not to fucking embarrass myself!"

When I next glanced down, to, you know, confirm my first impression, what I saw stole my breath. Charis with her legs pressed together and her shirt rolled up above the most shameless little breasts imaginable.

It hadn't been a mirage. My friend, my adorable, skinny friend, really was smut on a stick. I swallowed. My hands moved to her fly. I lowered the zipper, giving her enough time to stop me. Her hands remained at her sides, clutching her coat.

I knew she was looking at me, but I deliberately focused on what I was doing. I wanted her to see the effect she had on me.

Hooking my fingers into the waistband, I slowly dragged down the jeans, taking the panties along for the ride.

The moment her pussy started coming into view, I closed my eyes. I waited until the jeans were around her knees before I opened them again.

Oh, sweetness.

Her thighs were pressed together, which was to say, they barely touched. So I could see not just her patch—curly and lighter than the hair on her head—but the teasing beginnings of her plump lower lips.

They were glistening with moisture.

Remember those stages of manhood? Remember Stage One?

Yeah, well, my cock took one look at Charis's dainty, wet pussy and said, There. Get me there. Directly without delay. Or I'll get there myself.

I ran my hand through my hair. I'd planned to tease her, to woo her, to coax her. To use my magic fingers. Not to answer the call of my cock.

I gave it a strict, succinct lecture. You will fucking keep yourself contained, you feral bastard.

I made myself scan the rest of her. Her hips were slim, frankly not my ideal—I loved broad hips and soft thighs—but they were all woman, not boyish at all. And her waist dipped in impossibly. Her belly was tight, her navel an innie asking to be licked. Her thighs were more muscular than I expected. She was like a lean pony, though I didn't think she'd appreciate the comparison.

And that pussy crying ravage me, plunder me…

More than all that, though. She was Charis, naked for me. My dream vision come to life.

I wanted to pull off her clothes completely and inspect every inch of her. But I sensed it would make her even more nervous.

I clenched my jaw. "You're…not a twelve-year-old boy. Got it?"

"Okay. I believe you."

"Do you? That's good."

I shrugged out of my coat and tossed it to the floor. "That must mean you're ready for me to check you out down below."

Her response to my lewdness? Her thighs crossed.

"Go ahead." The words were pure bravado, of course.

"You have to stop squeezing your legs together, dude."

Her legs straightened like she'd been shot. I managed not to grin, as amusing as it was to call her dude when my balls were cramping with lust for her.

I slid my hand up her thigh—and that incredible skin—and let one finger brush the soft curls. Just for a second.

Then it was literally impossible not to probe her. Because soaking fucking wet.

Her hot, slippery softness pulled a groan from my throat. She made a keening sound and started trying to scramble away.

"Don't you dare chicken out on me now, with a wet pussy like that," I growled.

"Oh, shit. You've made your point, Norrell!"

"I haven't even begun to make it."

She braced herself. "All right! Just do it already."

"Right." What a sweet challenge. I planted my ass solidly on her thighs so she wouldn't be tempted to move away. Then and only then did I let my finger find her again. It sank into her closed folds, burrowing in and going right for her clit.

"Well, well, well, well, well," I managed to tease her, proud of my saintly control. Because holy fuck, that clit was engorged and frantic for some attentive attention.

Luckily she had me here to help her out. A little batting and thrumming, a few circling rubs, and my sweet girl was making choking sounds.

"What was that?"

"I said—okay, you win. I—I'm a g—girl."

"I haven't won yet," I said, giddy with the thrill. "But I'm getting there."