Twenty Seven
ASH
I wonder if a man is able to self-combust via their cock. I’m sure I could ask Google, but whipping out my phone may make this date even more uncomfortable.
For sixty-seven minutes, I have been the perfect gentleman. I’ve been polite and courteous and listened to Calla with both ears. No elbows on the table. No chewing with my mouth open and absolutely no burping. I haven’t expressed gas of any kind, including oxygen. Although I can’t remember exhaling, I’m sure I breathed at some point since I’m still able to sit upright in my restaurant’s private room. Even my cock is standing with perfect posture.
I thought about slipping into her the minute she slipped into the shower, but Jacob stared me down like he was a mind reader. “Where are you taking her?”
I hesitated, searching the lake house for a sturdy spot. “Probably the bed for starters. I always imagined her stretched out over a table, but that might get weird during meal times, so I can…”
When Jacob tilted my lounge chair so that I crashed onto the concrete patio, I realized I may have misunderstood the question. Playing it off like I was kidding, I improvised and told him I was going to take her to dinner at my restaurant. I refused to tell him what I planned on having for dessert since I’m still trying to protect that Zagat rating.
Mila showed me where the guest bathroom was, and I quickly got dressed in the clothes I picked up on the way over. When I looked up at my reflection and noticed I had put my shirt on backwards, I remembered that I suck at dating. In the past, I always saw conversation as foreplay, a way to build up a woman’s confidence so that she could use that confidence in bed. But Calla isn’t most women. I actually wanted to try. For Calla. So I imagined every sitcom actor I could think of and tried to figure out how he would treat his leading lady.
At some point, Jacob must’ve told Calla that we were having dinner because Calla had clothes on when she walked out of the bedroom. Were I of sound mind and body, I would’ve lunged across the couch and taken her right there on the end table. She chose a short red cocktail dress that I would’ve liked to make even shorter, but instead I complimented her choice of attire and asked if she was ready to go. She hesitated for a second and every part of me engaged, hoping her hesitation was because she wanted me on the end table as much as I wanted her.
Unfortunately, she recovered, grabbed her purse, and we were out the front door before the guy between my legs was even able to go back down. Since then, both he and our conversation have been strained.
I’m usually pretty good at paying attention when other people talk, especially when it comes to Calla. But I’ve had to restrain myself for too long that I’m losing my shiznit. I’ve watched the way her long fingers run across her enticing lips when she’s lost in thought. I’ve had to watch her tongue slip out a second before she tastes her red wine. I watched her twirl her short blonde hair around her finger and had to listen to every one of her breathy groans whenever I say, “That’s really interesting.” I’m completely and utterly drunk on every single one of her non-verbals that I may have accidentally stopped listening to her verbals thirty minutes ago.
She runs a long finger around the rim of her glass, and I wonder what her red nails would feel like carving up my back.
“I’m excited to start after winter break. I don’t know how I feel about online counseling, but I’m sure home-schooled kids need just as much help as regular students.”
I put down my glass and blur my eyes to try to sneak a peek of her cleavage. “That’s an interesting theory.”
Calla’s entire body stiffens while her eyes narrow to mere slits. She’s just about to say something else when someone from behind the curtain says, “Knock. Knock.”
Both of us jump clear out of our seats when my waitress, Veronica, walks in. Although we might react for different reasons, I think we both feel relief for the interruption.
I stare up into the wide eyes of Veronica, deciding to make her employee of the month for saving my ass. She rests her hip against the side of the black leather bench and smiles at Calla. “You guys ready to order? Boss, I figure you know the specials…”
“Oh!” I jump off of the bench, nearly flattening Veronica. She moves out of the way at the last minute, and I pat her a bit too hard on the shoulder. I guide her to my seat and start backing out of the room. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell Calla the specials? I mean all of them. Don’t leave anything out while I go check in with everyone. Take your time. Really make sure you don’t leave a single ingredient out."
Cringing, I avoid both sets of eyes. “Right. So, take your time.”
I jog out of the room, and let the curtain close behind me. Leaning against the far wall, I stare at the seams in the velvet curtain. I listen to the low murmur of conversation from the other side and swallow down the urge to go back in there. Letting out a low growl, I push off the wall and pound up the back steps like a fifteen-year-old denied access to an open house party.
Collapsing onto my office chair, I lean forward with my head in my hands. Jacob and his stupid ideas. I knew this would happen. I tried so hard to be one of those sitcom actors that I’ve botched the entire evening. Those actors have an entire collection of writers revising their script while I have an empty void where my brain used to be.
If the fit of my jeans is any indication, the chemistry is definitely still between us. I still hang off her every breath and wonder what it would feel like to wake up feeling that breath against my skin. Then why does it feel like there’s this huge wall standing erect between us? I wonder if it’s because of all of the other erections going on.
As if once again answering all of my questions, my office door flies open, and a silhouette of Cat Woman stands in the hallway light. Her hands are on her narrow waist and I can hear her heavy breathing from across the room. My mouth drops open and every muscle tenses, waiting for my wet dream to walk into the room.
“Cut the shit.” Calla’s fiery voice sends a shock wave up my spine and goose bumps trail down my arms.
I lift my head slightly but don’t make any other movement. “I’m sorry?”
Her step is determined as she walks into the room like a Victoria’s Secret angel walking the runway. Circling around my desk, she leans down, and the light from my computer screen illuminates her stark features. While she’s normally beautiful, she looks intoxicating in the dim light. She may walk like an angel, but the shadows on her face hint she might have darker thoughts.
“No! Don’t be sorry. Don’t be polite. Don’t say thank you. Don’t tell me something is fucking interesting when it’s not interesting at all. Stop being nice. Stop being sweet. Cut that shit out right now and be the man I met a year ago.”
I lean back slowly. Not only because I’m in shock but because I’m so damn electrified right now that I’m worried I’ll burn the whole fucking place down. “Excuse me?”
She puts her foot on the small part of the office chair between my legs and pushes me so that I roll backwards. “No! No, I will not excuse you so stopping asking me to. When you bump into me, don’t say excuse me. Grab me. Throw me down. Take off the fucking kid gloves and be the arrogant prick you were when I first met you.” She moves forward, once again closing the distance. “I pray like hell this altar boy personality is not the man you are. Please tell me that, underneath your polo shirt and khaki pants, you’re the cocky, self-absorbed dick you’ve always been.”
She’s breathing so hard that I can feel the warmth of her breath through my brand new shirt. Although I can’t see the changing colors in her eyes, I know she’s searching for something—looking for the asshole deep inside.
I don’t keep my girl waiting for long.
In one solid move, I stand and push the chair backwards with my foot, and it slams against the office wall behind us. Closing the distance between us, I lean down to cup her ass and pull her to me so that she’s flush against my body. When she groans, my body immediately demands more, and I drag her up the front of my body, grinding against her the entire way up. Her long legs wrap around my waist, and her fingers skim over the buzzed hair at the nape of my neck. Her soft curves mold to every ridge of my body, and in spite of the clothes between us, her body relaxes against mine.
Her body’s reaction unleashes something inside of me as I slam her against the wall. I feel her breath fan out along my ear as she leans in and whispers, “Don’t pull that shit again, you hear me? Ah!” She warns when I open my mouth to speak. “And don’t you dare say ‘you’re sorry’.”
I lean into her and she groans, tipping her head back against the wall. “Wasn’t going to say I’m sorry.” I circle my hips, pressing into her harder, loving the sounds of her shallow breaths. “Done talking. Ready to keep my promise.”
A shit-eating smile slips across my face as I lean in to her neck, letting my tongue taste what she’s offering. She gasps when I bite down lightly on the skin between her neck and shoulder and then shudder when I lick the hollow at the base of her neck. I love the sounds my mouth pulls from her body as I work my way up the front of her neck, but when I finally reach her mouth, it’s my moan that echoes in the silent room.
We pause, and I pull my lips away, stunned into stillness. Both of us are breathing heavy as our bodies cling together, but it’s in this second that a strange current runs through me. Desire and heat ripple under every inch of my skin, but there is also an odd sense of relief, of release, that I’ve never experienced before. She opens her eyes briefly, and in the soft light from the hallway I can see her expression. While I expect to see confusion, instead I see the same calm reflected in her stare.
A small smile tips her lips, and her tongue sweeps out to moisten her bottom lip.
“Hey,” she whispers, her feet on my ass pulling me in closer.
I take in a deep breath and close my eyes, leaning my forehead against hers. “Hey.”
By the time I build up the courage to press my lips to hers, I’m barely breathing.
Our first kiss had been messy with tongue and teeth clamoring together like the front line of a war. We demanded from each other, pissed that we were so affected by the other person. But this kiss feels more like a whisper, tentative and light as one of my hands sweeps up her back and cups the back of her long neck. She moans and the vibration travels down my entire body as I pull back with a heavy sigh.
She opens her eyes slowly, a contented smile poised at her lips.
“Good?” I ask with a voice raw and silky.
“Mmm,” she hums, running her fingers along the back of my neck.
I take in another breath. “That was the altar boy.” I press into her, my cock nearly breaking the zipper of my pants. She gasps and I grab the hair at the base of her neck and tug lightly. “Now this is me.”
Cole was the one who gave me the birds and the bees talk at the ripe young age of twelve. I walked in on him and his girlfriend grossly underdressed so he was forced to explain the workings of intercourse.
He told me that when I first have sex with a woman, certain variables should be in place.
I never understood that list until tonight.
All my life, I thought Cole meant that sex should be between two people committed to each other. Now I realize sex is best when it’s between two people who should be committed. By the wild, primitive nature we’re tearing off each other’s clothes, I’m pretty damn sure we should order ourselves matching restraint jackets.
I peel her dress off and feel the immediate warmth of her skin as she presses her bare breasts against my chest. I can’t hold back the hiss that comes out from between my teeth as her fingers run along my waist band.
“Naughty girl. You’re not wearing any underwear.”
She draws her lower lip in between her teeth and it’s the most innocent she’s ever looked. I grab her lower lip with my teeth, growling, “Mine”, while she pulls the shirt up and off my head.
“Burn that fucking thing,” she says, running her nails over my chest as she explores every one of my muscles with both her tongue and her eyes. The moment she bites lightly on my nip is the minute I kill off the altar boy.
Cole said it was important to respect the girl’s body. Lying her down on my desk, I get to see Calla completely exposed and beautiful, lit up by the screen saver of Gumby bouncing around on my computer. I step back, but she tries to hide herself under her arms.
“I had no fucking idea.”
She rolls her eyes, and I put my index finger against her lips to stop the sarcasm from leaving her mouth. I let my finger drift over her chin and down her neck. She closes her eyes when I reach the valley between her breasts. Using the tip of my finger, I skim along each breast, loving the feel of her aroused nips and the way her body convulses on my calculator.
“I had no fucking idea you were this perfect. These breasts…Jesus, Calla. Why the fuck do you ever walk around with a shirt on?”
I cup one, kneading it with my palm, while my thumb circles the nipple. My lips descend on the other breast while my tongue flicks her tip. Her fingers grab at the back of my head, pulling me in harder, while her legs once against wrap around my waist.
Without the clothes between us, she rubs her folds against my cock, and I swear I almost explode like a sixteen-year-old at prom. Pulling my lips away from her breast, I snap my tongue on the roof of my mouth.
“Tsk. Tsk. Ms. Kennedy.” Releasing her breast, my finger travels down her flat stomach. By the time I reach the top of her slim waistline, my hand is actually trembling. She arches her back, her body begging me to keep going while my own body hums with need, making my knees feel weak. I stare down at Calla and realize my brother only had it half right.
I’m not going to just respect this body.
I’m going to fucking worship it.
I once heard the expression: when life gets too hard to stand, kneel. Dropping to my knees with Calla spread out in front of me, I finally understand the reasoning.
At the end of every sexual encounter, the woman should be satisfied sexually. Cole didn’t say how many times she should be satisfied, so I take it upon myself to keep going until Calla begs me to stop. Thank fuck she hasn’t said it yet. I mean, she’s whispered it, but then wrapped her legs around me tighter, so I think her mind and clit aren’t on the same page. I’ll keep going until they are.
More than anything, Cole said there should be respect and, if possible, a certain amount of love. When we finally both scream our mutual release, she loosens her death grip on my shoulder and looks up at me. Staring down into Calla’s eyes as she settles against my chest, I can honestly say I feel a hell of a lot of one and the slow build of the other.
I sit us both down on my couch and wrap a blanket around her frame. We sit in silence for many minutes, and I don’t feel the need to interrupt the stillness. I feel so at peace—so content—that I refuse to even shift even though a leg cramp threatens to break me in two.
Conceding defeat, I move her slightly and whisper into the top of her head. “Thanks for coming back for this arrogant prick.”
She wraps her arms around my sweaty back and closes her eyes. “Thanks for being the kind of prick I’d want to come back to.”
I run my nose through her hair as my fingertip runs up and down her spine. “I should close the door.”
“No,” she pouts. “That requires me moving.”
“Baby, the plans I have for the two of us? We probably don’t want your Jacob walking by and witnessing.”
I imagine her eyes opening wide as her eyelashes flutter against the hair on my chest. Wrapping herself up in the blanket, she runs across the room faster than I thought physically possible and slams the office door. She drags a bar stool over and wedges it under the doorknob. Turning, she drops her blanket, letting it pool around her feet.
“What did you have in mind?”
The dim light from the computer screen is my only guide as I stalk closer to my prey and stare down at the beautiful woman. Deciding to test out all of Cole’s suggestions, I carry her over to my bear skin rug and set Calla down, letting my eyes and tongue explore every inch of her.
Once my knees and arms tire, she flips me over and repays my kindness with her hands, her tongue, her eyes and, please God, her heart. By the time the sun rises, my bear skin rug is shredded, and we’re lying partially under the desk.
She peers over at the rug with half-lidded eyes and sighs. “Good riddance. Who the hell wants to have sex on the skin of a bear anyway? That’s like bears having sex on human skin.”
I pull her in closer, ignoring the puddle of sweat we’re lying on, and kiss the top of her head.
We may not be a typical royal couple, but quoting the words I read: “Once in awhile, in the middle of an ordinary life, love gives us a fairytale.”
Maybe I should be a blogger too.