Roxie
Caleb carries me into his apartment, but I don’t see any of it because I’m too busy kissing him. Or, rather, I’m too busy being kissed by him, because it’s as if he’s turned on an inner switch, and heat is flowing out of him into me, sending my heart racing.
Wow, this guy sure knows how to kiss. He knows just how to use the right amount of pressure, how to tease with his tongue and teeth, how to hold me tightly without squeezing the life out of me.
The door shuts, and he presses me up against a wall and kisses me senseless. Mmm, he tastes so good, and I murmur my pleasure while I sink my hands into his hair and enjoy the feel of the thick strands through my fingers.
“Roxie,” he says as he kisses down my neck. “Ah, you’ve bewitched me. I can’t get enough of you.”
His words warm me through, but I can’t bring myself to believe them. “It’s okay,” I whisper, “you don’t have to romance me, Caleb. I’m a sure thing, remember?”
He rests his lips against my neck, then lifts his head and looks at me. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
“Hey, we’re both convenient,” I tell him, “that’s okay, it doesn’t have to be more than that.”
He touches his lips to mine. “What if I want more?”
I frown. “I don’t understand.”
He laughs. “I’ll explain later.” He picks me up and carries me across to a table, where he sits me on the edge. Still kissing me, he removes my top, then flicks open the catch of my bra and slides the straps down my arms. He lowers me onto my back, and then he’s kissing my breasts, brushing his tongue over my nipples and teasing them with the tip before he takes them in his mouth and sucks.
I writhe beneath him, incredibly turned on by his semi-forceful manner, enjoying being guided, rather than having to take the initiative myself.
His fingers are at the button of my jeans, and he undoes it, slides down the zipper, and then peels them off me and tosses them on the floor. My panties follow swiftly, and now I’m naked beneath him, and he laces his tongue down my body before dropping to his haunches and burying his mouth in me.
I tilt up my hips and groan when he slides his tongue inside me, deep as he can. Oh jeez, he does this so well. He licks and sucks until I’m gasping for breath, and then he pushes up to his feet. He unbuttons his shirt and drops it on the floor, takes out a condom, undoes his jeans, and rolls it on. Then he’s pressing the tip into my folds, and in one smooth thrust, he’s balls deep.
Oh, it feels so good I want to laugh and cry, but I can only moan and stretch out beneath him as he sets up a fast pace, slamming into me and filling the air with the sounds and smells of sex. It’s how I thought he’d be the first time we got together—this is what I expected, hard and fast.
Only it’s not the same as I expected, and not the same as it’s been before. He’s taking me hard, but instead of his eyes being closed or his gaze fixed far off in the distance the way my previous partners have been, his eyes are on me, and they’re so hot I’m nearly self-combusting. He grinds against me with every thrust—even now he’s thinking about my pleasure, and making sure I’m enjoying it. He bends down and kisses me, and strokes his hands over my body, playing with my breasts and teasing my nipples.
I drift off into a world of hazy pleasure, and it’s not long before my orgasm approaches. “Mmm,” I mumble aloud, “don’t stop…”
To my relief, he doesn’t, but I feel him leaning over me, watching me as my climax hits, and I gasp and clench around him. His hands are warm on my body, guiding me there, and when I finally flop back with a groan, he only thrusts a few more times and then he comes too, giving several satisfied grunts of pleasure.
He stays there for a long while, leaning over me and kissing me, and when he finally withdraws, I sigh with longing, wishing that intimacy could go on forever. He hugs me for a while, and I feel his heart gradually slowing against my cheek.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks. He hands me his shirt. I stare at it for a moment, then smile. I’ve never worn a guy’s shirt before like you see in the movies.
“Please.” I slip it on, jumping off the table to do up a couple of buttons, and watch him pull on his boxers and then walk into the kitchen.
For the first time, I have a good look around his living room. It’s big—maybe not as big as Harrison’s place, but ten times bigger than mine. The furniture is plain, wood, chrome, and glass, with a big black soft leather suite and a giant widescreen TV on the wall. But it’s the objects hanging on the opposite wall to the TV that make my jaw drop. It’s like being in a music shop—there’s a line of guitars, electric, acoustic, and semi-acoustic, with every famous name I can think of, including a Gretsch, a Fender Stratocaster, a Les Paul that’s clearly a Gibson and not an Epiphone, and, at the end, a beautiful blue Rickenbacker.
“Which one do you want to start with?” Caleb speaks from behind me—he’s come in carrying a couple of glasses of Scotch.
“The Ricky,” I say breathlessly, and he places the glasses on the coffee table, takes the Rickenbacker from the hook on the wall, and passes it to me.
Awestruck, I sit on the edge of the nearest armchair and run my fingers over the beautiful body of the guitar. Caleb watches me for a moment, then picks the green Gretsch from the wall and sits opposite me. He plucks a few of the strings and frowns. “I haven’t played for a week, so they’ll need tuning. Can you pass me the iPad beside you? There’s a great app on there for tuning.”
“Don’t need it,” I say, and sing the note for the top E string while I adjust the Rickenbacker to match it.
“Holy fuck. You have perfect pitch?”
“Comes in handy.” I sing it again, and wait until he’s tuned the Gretsch, then I drop to the B. Continuing down through the G, D, A, and bottom E strings, we tune the guitars together, and then strum a couple of beautiful chords.
“Do you know Hotel California?” I ask him.
“Of course.” He starts singing the first verse as he plays the A minor chord, and I join in, enjoying the sound of his deep, rich voice. When it comes to the guitar solo, he nods to me, and I take the lead, enjoying the ringing sound of the Rickenbacker. He takes over for a bit, then passes back to me, and we finish together, letting the guitars carry us through to the end of the song.