by Carly Keene
I’ve never had oral sex go right for me—before now. But this is so right, Adam is so right, that I am veering close to orgasm already. I reach down and touch his hair, silky-soft against my abdomen. He rubs his beard on my inner thighs, and I catch my breath at the feel of everything he’s doing to me. I’m so close! Tension ratchets higher and higher inside me, and then with one more pass of his tongue over my clit, I fall over the cliff, shaking with the tremendous force of my climax.
He lets catch my breath before he leans over me, kissing my mouth, and I can taste myself on his tongue. It might be the sexiest thing ever, if not for the sheer look of him wanting me. My body is enthusiastic about more, and my heart—
My heart. That poor, abused, neglected organ. I had thought I loved Greg, and then when I realized he loved nobody but himself, I locked my own heart up. Now, the way that this beautiful man is touching me, as if I were precious, I feel the lock click open and my heart expand. This one. Oh, this one. Yes.
“I need you,” I tell him. “I need you inside me.”
His eyes are electric on mine, as he reaches over to fish his wallet out of his discarded jeans. It should be awkward, but it’s not. It’s sexy as hell, the way his face is flushed over those high angled cheekbones, the way his hands shake, the way he keeps staring at my face like I’m the most important person in the world to him. He strips his boxers off, letting me see his hard thick cock rebound its way out of the waistband. It’s a beautiful thing, all long and solid, slippery at the tip with the evidence of his desire, and I start salivating at the sight of it.
“Please?” I say, meaning, “Can I suck your cock?”, but he just rips open the condom package and rolls it on, his gaze still locked with mine. He pulls the pillow from under me, tossing it negligently aside. And then he lines up that big beautiful cock with my opening and presses inside me, filling me up in the most incredible way. I cry out with pleasure as he begins to move. He feels so good, soooo amazingly good. He leans forward to kiss me, our tongues dancing together the way our bodies are dancing together below, and the heat and tension begin winding up inside me again.
Adam pulls back from our kiss, saying sweet incoherent things, like he’s as mind-fucked as I am and can’t manage language. I catch a few words here and there, and they only serve to make me feel sexier and more open: Beautiful. Mine. Fit together. Perfect. Miss Right. Knew you’d be like this.
He kisses me again, and then pulls back again. This time he’s on his knees, lifting my ass on his hands so we fit even tighter together. The increased friction is exquisite, his dream cock hitting something good inside me on every stroke, and I strain toward him. I can’t get enough air, and my chest is heaving with the effort of fucking.
He starts swearing, strings of curses falling as freely as the sweat on his face, and I hear him say he’s going to come, just about the time that my body reaches that crucial peak and I go sightless with the joy of my orgasm. His animal roar nearly shakes the bed, and I feel him pulsing inside me, both of us throbbing at the place where our bodies are joined.
He lowers my butt to the bed, panting, his arm muscles taut with effort. “Fuck. Fuck, that was so good.” I reach for him, and we kiss, deep and sweet.
“It was,” I agree, when we come up for air. I hate the chill that sweeps over my heated body when he gets off the bed to toss the spent condom, and I open my arms for him.
“No,” Adam says, laughing, “let’s get under the covers before you turn into an icicle.” He kisses me again. “Don’t go ‘way, okay? Stay tonight.”
I snuggle into his warm side. “I can’t leave, you drove me here.”
He sighs, settling into the pillows and pulling me close. “Well, you could always just take the truck and go, if you really want to. I think I dropped the keys just inside the door.”
“That wasn’t very smart,” I tease.
“I was distracted,” he says, and we laugh. “God, I could not wait to get my mouth on you. Been thinking it since I saw your spectacular ass this afternoon.”
“My spectacular ass? How about yours?”
He lifts his head to peer at me, looking cheerful. “You like my ass?”
“I like your everything. Well, except the way you weren’t listening to me at the diner.”
“Sorry. Again, I was distracted. All the blood had left my brain at that point.”
“Understandable. I think I lost a few dozen brain cells, coming that hard.”
He laughs and resettles me. “Good thing you got ‘em to spare.”
“You think I’m smart?”
“Absolutely. You said yes to me, didn’t you?”
It feels good to lie here with him, flirting again, knowing that he liked what we did as much as I liked it. And knowing that the liking goes deeper than the sex. He talks about his brothers, and growing up on his grandfather’s farm. I talk about wanting a job where I can make a difference, where I can grow something. We talk about not missing the exes who didn’t appreciate us. We talk about our lives. I think I fall asleep talking.
7
Would You Like Whipped Cream on That?
Adam
Making Holly mine for the first time tonight was exactly as good as I’d imagined it would be with my forever girl. No, it was better.
It was perfect, the way she kissed me. The way she lay there on my bed, those beautiful round tits pointing straight at me, and later jiggling with every stroke. The way her panties were already damp, showing me how much she wanted me. The way she clung and moaned and moved under me, the way she climaxed. Mine, mineminemine.
We talked after the fabulous sex, telling each other about our pasts and our hoped-for futures. I’m pretty sure I conked out before she did, but I wake before she does, too.
It’s just after midnight, and chilly in the bedroom. I have to get up, though. I slide my arm out from under my girl, and grit my teeth to face the cold before slipping down the hall to the bathroom. I leave the light on, in case she needs it later, and pad back to the bedroom on icy feet.
I pull the covers back a little, and she moves. “Ugh! It’s cold!” I see her head lift from the pillows in the dark. “Get in here, Adam, and stop freezing me to death.”
I cuddle her up, taking care not to freeze her with my feet. “Sorry. Needed the can.”
“I’m really cold,” she says, pleading. “Can I have some more hot chocolate? And maybe some socks?”
I can’t say no. Five minutes later, we’re downstairs in the kitchen while I boil water for warm cocoa. She’s wearing my thickest wool socks, and my flannel robe. I have on pajama pants and an ancient sweatshirt, and my second-thickest socks, and we’re warming each other up with body heat. Kisses stoking the fire, too.
Only the scream of the teakettle could make me pause kissing my queen, but she wants more hot chocolate. I pour the mugs half full and stir in the powdered mix, adding a little milk to cool the hot chocolate to drinking temperature. As I’m putting the milk back in the fridge, I see the spray can of whipped cream, and I grab it.
“Whipped cream?”
“Ooh, yes please.” She dives right into the mug, plastering fluffy white all over her top lip. “That’s so good! That’s better than the diner. Almost as good as homemade.” Her lips curve into a small, secretive smile, and she gives me a flirty look through her lashes. “It’s almost as good as having sex with you.”
I leaned back and look at her, austerely. “Really.”
She laughs out loud. “No. Not even close. What’s in this mug is both hot and delicious, but it’s nowhere near as hot and delicious as fucking you.”
The sound of those words in her voice wakes my dick up again. I gulp the rest of my hot chocolate and pick up the can of whipped cream. “I think we should have dessert.”
“Dessert? We had pie at the—oh. You mean—”
I wave the can in the air. “I sure do. Open your mouth, sweetheart.”
I shoot the sweet cream into her pretty pink mouth, and it do
esn’t escape me what that looks like. Or her either. We start laughing, and then I lunge for her and we’re kissing again, delicious sloppy whipped-cream kisses that set a match to the fire of our desires.
Whipped cream is beautiful on her lush tits, and the skin under the sugared cream even sweeter. The robe falls open, and I feast on her nipples, teasing them with my tongue. Holly begins to make those intoxicating moans of hers while she leans back on the kitchen table. I step between her legs and let my hands trail up her inner thighs, heading for the Promised Land.
But she stops me. She stops me by saying that she hasn’t had her dessert yet. There’s a wicked, sexy, hungry look in her eyes, and the warmth of it goes straight to my groin.
She unceremoniously pulls my pajama pants down to expose my hard, aching cock. First she strokes it with both her warm hands, kissing me so that we taste whipped cream on each other’s mouths. And then—whipped cream, splat, all over my dick and balls, really cold, and I yelp with the temperature shock. She gets on her knees and looks up at me. Licks her lips. “Oh, good. Dessert.” My head falls back on my neck at the attentions of her hands and her tongue and the inside of her hot, hot mouth.
I’m near to bursting when she abruptly stops. “Don’t finish yet,” she orders. “I need you inside me! Where’s the couch?”
Glad I obeyed the impulse to stick another condom in my pants pocket, I give her that wicked, sexy look back, and lean on the kitchen table with my hands, testing its weight-bearing ability. “We don’t need the couch.”
She stands up, her mouth falling open. “The table?”
I nod. “Table. Get your spectacular ass onto it and spread your legs for me, baby.”
Her eyes are wide and dark, and as I lift her onto the table, I can see how wet she is. She pulls my hand to her pussy, apparently not able to speak. One-handed, I open the robe and marvel at her beautiful body, caressing her from breast to full hip. I rub her clit with my thumb, thrusting my first two fingers inside, and she lets her head go back on the table. “Now,” she gasps, reaching for me. “Now! I want to come on your cock.”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I push inside her gently, letting her wrap her legs around me, but at the silent urging of her hands, I move harder. Faster. Stronger. When I’m tapping her as insistently as I can manage, rocking my hips to give her good pressure, she loses control. She cries out, repeatedly, asking without words for release, and then she finds it, her sweet hot pussy clenching on my cock in a rhythm I cannot resist. With a groan of my own, I let the wave of climax roll down, and I let go inside her.
A few moments of catching our breaths, and I carry her back to my bed.
8
Plans
Adam
The next morning, when a cold wintry sun rises, I’m up with it as usual, leaving my beautiful Holly sleeping the sleep of the righteously fucked in my warm bed. I go downstairs to the kitchen and clean up: mugs in the dishwasher, fresh tablecloth on the table. I can’t stop smiling. I find her coat and purse on the floor near the front door and hang them on the coat rack.
As I do, my hand brushes over the papers inside her tall tote purse. Oh yes. She was trying to show me these last night, at the diner, when I couldn’t take my eyes off her long enough to even glance at them. Even now, if she was in the room, I’d have trouble looking anywhere but at her.
But since she is sleeping the sleep of the righteously fucked upstairs, I can look at these plans for the tree farm now.
They’re precise: drawings approximately to scale of the hay barn, the horse barn, and the sales shed, with notes like “repaired and painted,” and “coffee/hot chocolate bar here,” and “WiFi router for credit cards.” A drawing of a tiny playground for children, with a small slide and a ball pit, decorated with elves and candy canes.
My mouth drops open. She’s really made plans for this place.
There are notes about “horse-drawn sleigh (in snow) or wagon,” and “strings of lights on barn,” and “summerhouse? Gardens for springtime/summer use? Wedding chapel?” as well as some detailed notes about a pumpkin patch and hayride attraction in the fall. Then, “renovate hay barn for catered events???” and “other agri-tourism possibilities??”
They’re amazing plans, too. She’s amazing. Didn’t she say something about a marketing degree?
I put a pot of coffee on, and start making breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, strawberry jam. I don’t know how she takes her coffee, or even if she takes coffee, so I get out the half-and-half and the sugar, and heat water in the kettle in case she wants yet more hot chocolate.
I don’t think I’ll ever think about hot chocolate the same way again, and the idea delights me. Everything about Holly delights me.
It’s after eight. I call the bank, to speak to the manager at my branch. I make an appointment to come in and talk to her later in the day about a loan. And then I make another call, to the business incubator office. I know they’ve been looking to help local businesses grow as well as attract businesses from elsewhere and assist start-ups. I ask what they’d need to see in a business plan before they could offer me assistance, and they give me a list.
Coffee’s ready. Eggs, too.
I’ve almost got everything ready to go on the tray when I hear feet on the stairs. The hugest grin spreads across my face. “Morning, doll. You sleep okay?”
She comes into the kitchen in the same outfit as last night: socks, my robe. She has bedhead and her mascara’s smudged, and I have never seen anyone more beautiful or sexier in my entire life.
“I slept great, once I had my dessert.” We kiss. And then again. “You made breakfast? For me?”
“Sure. Well, for us.” We stand there smiling like goofballs at each other, and then my stomach growls. I pull out a chair for her, and get her utensils. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed, but we can just go back there afterward.”
“That sounds wonderful,” she says. “You’re wonderful. You know that, don’t you?”
I think I’m okay, but she’s doing me the honor. “Nope, the wonderful is all you.” My stomach growls again, and she laughs, and finally I start dishing out the food. When we’ve demolished the bacon and eggs, and when she’s had a cup of coffee (cream and sugar, I could have guessed) as well as a cup of hot chocolate, I ask her if she’s busy today, and if she can spare a couple of hours to talk to Sheila at the bank, and Mr. Jones at the incubator.
Her mouth falls open. “Why?”
I spread out her notes. “Because I read these—finally—this morning. And I think you’re right. We could make this a year-round concern. We could expand, offer some other services, stuff like that. I’m excited about it.” Her eyes are glowing. “Thing is, though … we’d need a manager. Are you interested?”
“Well,” she says, and laughs. “Yes. I am.”
“You didn’t even ask about the salary. Or the benefits,” I point out.
“But I’d get to run things, right?”
“Not the landscaping business, but yeah, everything else. I don’t know that we can pay you a lot at first, but Holly, this has the potential to really grow. I think you deserve the opportunity to make it happen.”
“You like it?” she says, shaking her head like she doesn’t quite believe me.
“I love it.” I take a deep breath. “And I love you. Say yes.”
9
A Proposal
Holly
I just met this guy yesterday. Yesterday!
I keep shaking my head. Can’t stop. Can’t believe any of it. I just met this gorgeous man yesterday. Already we’ve had glorious sex. Already I’ve fallen for him. Already he’s offered me an exciting job. Already everything.
It’s like all of my dreams have come true.
Here he is sitting at the kitchen table, over the remains of a breakfast he made for me. (At a table that he made incredible love to me on, about seven hours ago, and don’t think my inner sex goddess is ever going to forget that.) Here he is, awe
d at a few ideas and a tentative business plan I threw together in about half an hour yesterday afternoon, in between daydreaming about my Christmas Lumberjack. Here he is, pointing those stunning blue eyes at me and telling me he loves me.
I pinch myself.
“Ow!”
“What was that for?” His face creases up into that charming grin. “Did you just pinch yourself?”
“I wasn’t sure I wasn’t still dreaming.”
He gets up and comes to me. Picks me up out of the chair and lets me wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck. “You’re not dreaming. Maybe I am.” Sweet, passionate kiss, those warm lips of his on mine. “You’re my dream come true, Holly. I’ve been waiting for Miss Right all my life, and here you are. I’m ready. No holding back.”
I’ve always thought that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. I never did believe in miracles, or the ways of magic.
Maybe it’s time to believe.
I kiss him back. Over his shoulder, in the living room next to the Christmas tree, I see one of those painted signs you see at Christmas sometimes. You know the ones: they say “BELIEVE,” in big fancy red Victorian lettering.
Amazing. I have literally been given a sign.
“Will you marry me?” Adam says. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting to propose to you today, so I don’t have a ring or anything. So we can do this again, properly, maybe in a couple of months or so? Once you’ve gotten used to the idea and I’ve won you over. You can pick out a ring, and I’ll get down on one knee and—”
