Velvet Kisses

by Addison Moore

  “Here we are indeed.” I take a few steps forward and wrap my arms around his neck. “Happy birthday, Wyatt. I have a little something for you.” My teeth graze over my bottom lip as I take him in like this. Tall, forebodingly handsome, his strong arms clasping onto my waist in anticipation.

  “Aren’t I the lucky birthday boy?” His dimples dig in tight, no smile. There’s an earnestness about him that spells out orgasm in the making, and my thighs quiver because if I’m not careful I’ll achieve the big O before we ever get started.

  “Actually”—I clasp onto the tie that he’s neatly paired with dark denim and chukka boots, my all time favorite—“I’m the lucky one. I win because I have you.”

  He winces before his dimples dig in ten times deeper.

  “Clothes off.” The smile drops from his face. Wyatt is a man who is used to being pleased, when and how he wishes, and most likely by whomever he wants.

  “Yes, Professor James.” I reach back and unzip my dress, letting it drop to the floor in a celebrated thump. I hook my thumbs into the sides of my panties and slowly pull them over my curves. Wyatt’s eyes float down to my hips. His chest expands as if he’s pleased with what he sees. I let them glide off, soft as a feather and carefully step out of the fabric puddle, wobbling on my heels in the process.

  God, God, God, don’t fall! I do a little dance trying to right myself and land a few inches closer to him with my see-through lace bra and heels the only foreign objects on my body. I reach back and unhook my bra, letting the girls spring out like a couple of hopped up cheerleaders anxious for the big game. It slides off without any help on my part as if it were fleeing the scene. I take a deep breath and pull my shoulders back as his gaze heats my body by at least twenty degrees. “Your turn, cowboy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He loosens his tie with a vengeance before running his fingers down his shirt and peeling it off. He works his jeans, and, before I know it, Wyatt James is standing before me, naked—impressively fucking naked.

  My eyes greedily take him in. This is no boy with gangly limbs, no bare chested prepubescent adolescent masquerading as a college boy. This isn’t Will and his wimpy willy by a long shot. Wyatt is all man. The girth of his chest alone is impressive as hell, his muscles are so bulked up, I’m half tempted to ask if he’s flexing. My fingers brush over his chest—where there is actual hair. Hair. Not like gorilla hair, just enough to let me know he’s passed puberty by a mile. My eyes track lower as I give an audible swallow.

  Wyatt is already saluting me with the most impressive specimen known to all of man. Dear God. I fight hard not to take pictures stat and Instagram the shit out of this. Not one girl I know will ever believe me. Who knew that Will was cheating me out of the real deal for so long? This man, this imposing long board of his (and yes it appears sturdy enough to surf on), his woody, his remarkably lengthy and thick penis-arm is almost too much to believe—so much so that I can’t seem to take my eyes off it.

  “Oh, my, God,” I whisper a little louder than anticipated. I swear if this were anybody else I’d ask if it were some prosthesis. “Wyatt James, you are hung like a horse.” I drop to my knees, gripping his hard as tree trunks legs on the way down, again more hair convincing me that I’ve yet to be with a man. “You are absolutely amazing.” I say it into his penis as if it were a microphone. My lips fumble toward it, and it sort of wags in the opposite direction.

  “You sure you want to start on your knees, sweetie?” There’s a curt tone to his voice as if on some level he’s daring me.

  “I don’t see why not.” My lips fumble for him again, and this time I latch on. My tongue does a revolution around the tip. Oh, wow, he’s a mouthful. I’ve just confirmed what I’ve feared all along. There’s no way in hell I’ll ever be able to walk again. I’m sure a fair amount of vaginal trauma will take place tonight, and, when it does, I’ll keep reminding myself that having a boyfriend whose penis doubles as a flotation device is oh so worth it—newfound hobble aside.

  I scoot back in horror as Wyatt grips me by the shoulders.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” I blink up at his equally stunned expression.

  Wyatt isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my friend. My fuck-friend. No wait that’s too crude—he’s my lover. I’ve taken a lover. That sounds so much more refined than fuck-friend, although technically I could never say either in front of my mother, so I don’t really see the difference. Mommy’s face smiles back at me from the twisted theater of my mind. Ack! I swat my mother out of my brain like shooing a fly. It’s so not kosher to think of one’s mother when you have a perfectly good penis staring you in the face. Besides, Wyatt and I have drawn a quasi-platonic line in the sand. What we have between us is simply for physical purposes, sort of like a good yoga session or a really fantastic Zumba class. I wrap my mouth around him again and try my hardest to take him all the way to the root. I get about a third of the way and try to hide the fact my gag reflex is going off like a touchy car alarm.

  I give another few good-old college tries—I’m pretty sure the person who coined that phrase would be spinning in his grave if he knew how it’s being applied at the moment. Then again, if he were once a frat boy himself, maybe not.

  I have to say there is a level of intimacy you achieve with someone when their most prized member is buried deep (halfway at least!) in your mouth that you just can’t get with an everyday handshake. I plunge in deeper, forcing myself not to gag, and my eyes water painfully as if I’ve just had acid thrown in my face.

  Wyatt offers a haunting moan that lets me know at the least I’m making him feel good—real good according to the tone he’s exuding.

  His fingers dig into my hair, swirling it around, driving it into my face. Okay, so it’s a little like a dizzying dry shampoo. I make a mental note of this as a part of me tries to factor in how I can finagle this into an article.

  “You don’t dick around, do you?” He groans again as he pushes himself ever so much deeper.

  A laugh bubbles from me while his third arm is still snug in my throat, and the gagging effect is ten times more pronounced.

  A horrid retching sound—or, more honestly, a very unattractive, yet odiously prolonged burp emits from deep inside me—and, instinctually, Wyatt whips me off of him before I can bring my own emissions to the party. And why was that so fucking loud? Is there a bullhorn feature built into my throat that I don’t know about? God, I sounded like some prehistoric creature! Like a dragon who was about to light his dick on fire. Of course he pulled away. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he were afraid of me. Hell, I’m afraid of me at this point.

  I take a full moment to cringe properly. Shit! Shit! Shit! Can’t I do anything without humiliating myself? He probably thinks I’m full of all sorts of interesting gasses tonight. He’s probably sorry he ever offered me that third slice of pizza. Clearly I’ve violated our contract.

  The fireplace roars, enticing me to jump on in and I seriously consider the proposition.

  “Come here.” Wyatt pulls me up, stripping me of my oral duties for the time being—the time being forever. I can’t say I blame him. I’m sure no man wants his dick vomited on—like ever. And here I was, equipped with a verbal threat. Leave it to me to turn a belch into a hate crime.

  He grimaces a moment. The exact facial expression you never hope to see when standing naked in front of a man.

  “Sorry.” He cups my cheek in his hand. “I’d hate to end the party before it ever really begins.” His devilish grin catches the light, and I’m reminded that I’m about to make love to the single most gorgeous man on the planet—that is if the offer still stands. If he’s not afraid to hear any other wildly auditory bodily function on my part. “I want to kiss you, is that okay?”

  “Kiss?” My chest bucks with relief. “I just introduced your joystick to my uvula. I don’t think you need to ask about kissing me.”

  His eyes widen a moment as the fire reflects in them. “Joystick?” h
e mouths.

  I bite down hard over my lip as my fingers float up and down his back. Wyatt runs his hands down my shoulders, cupping my hips before sliding over my bare bottom and offering up a firm squeeze.

  “Are you ready to do this?” He’s studying me in this dim light, looking for the extra assurance that I’m down for the big game.

  “What is this a cross examination? I thought you were going to ravage me?” I give an impish grin. “You have my permission by the way.”

  Wyatt hardens his gaze into mine. Something in him turns, and I can see his primal devices going off like a flare. He seizes my face with both hands and crashes his lips to mine. His tongue spears into my mouth, hot and wild, on a mission to penetrate me, to make me his in a beautiful way that I have never known before. He explores me thoroughly with a fevered rush as he backs me to the sofa.

  His hot kisses track all the way to my ear. “I need to be inside you right now.” He gives my neck a tender bite, and my mouth opens with a dry croak emitting from my throat. Wyatt lands us both on the couch, thankfully choosing to overlook my throat’s second offense of the evening. The soft velveteen fabric warms against my skin. (I once had sex with Will on a leather couch at his mother’s house. It was like a cold slap to the entire backside of my body, and, here, even Wyatt’s furniture is all about making me comfortable.) I bet Wyatt bought this couch with girls like me in mind. He’s thoughtful that way.

  Instinctually my legs ride over his sides and clasp around his back until I’m hugging him with all four limbs. His tongue rides down my neck, down further until his hot mouth glides over both of the girls. It’s sort of a drive-by as if he were simply just saying hello on the way to more interesting places. Wyatt dips down further.

  Oh, my gawd! He really is headed to more interesting places!

  Wyatt lands my thighs over his shoulders. His thumb softly rubs the inside of my knee until my stomach melts in a puddle.

  Will—idiot that he is—never did that. He claimed he had an allergic reaction that almost killed him once with some other girl he went down on. So, of course, I never pressured him. Who would want to be responsible for killing their boyfriend by way of cunnilingus? How would I ever explain that to his mother? But now that I see him for the cheat he is, I’m sure he just made it all up because he wasn’t into pleasuring me. Either that or the girl that turned him off from going south forever had one tainted twat! Not me. I’m showered and shaved, and I’ve even clipped myself into a Valentine’s Day heart down there in honor of my first kiss with Wyatt. Technically we kissed in the parking lot that first night we met, but that hardly counts since I was just trying to make Will jealous. Anyway, it’s not like Wyatt can possibly notice the craftsmanship that went into my mop chop.

  “Did you do this for me?”

  I peer down to see him looking at my handiwork, amused. His finger traces out the heart-shaped pattern, over and over.

  “Why, yes I did! Thank you for noticing.” I’m strangely elated by the approving gleam in his eyes.

  “I noticed.” He circles my features with his gaze. “I make it a point to notice every single detail about you.”

  A tiny squeal emits from my throat.

  Is it sick that I love how stalker-ish that sounds?

  Wyatt plunges in with his tongue and gets right to work.

  “Oh, wow.” I flinch unexpectedly. So this is what I’ve been missing. “Oh, this.” I groan as Wyatt turns my nether regions into his tongue’s favorite fun zone. He does this twirly thing repetitively right over my erogenous zone, and I jump a little just trying to catch my breath. “Okay, that.” I pant. “Yes, for sure that!”

  Wyatt lets out a little laugh right over my sweet spot. I guess fair is fair, I practically chortled him right back out of my throat.

  “You taste so fucking sweet.” He growls into me, and I die.

  Two things. One—he’s not gagging and going into anaphylactic shock, so already I’m pleased. And, two—just hearing him belt out that expletive turned me on ten thousand times more than I ever thought possible. Wyatt is a gentleman, a man’s man. He doesn’t bark out cuss words 24/7 like the frat boys I’m so often surrounded by, so when he does let the occasional F word fly, it carries a lot of power and apparently has the ability to bring me to orgasm at record pace.

  “Wyatt!” I cry out in a panic. “It’s happening. I’m going to have it!” Geez, could I sound anymore like an idiot? Worse yet, like an idiot who’s in freaking labor? Who shouts these things in the throes of passion? I should have thought this through more diligently when I had the chance. I should have asked Baya what she screams when her man brings her to the clit parade. And then I should have taken notes and rehearsed the damn thing like a fucking novena.

  “Do you want it?” He growls it out quickly before getting back to business. Wyatt doesn’t mess around. I can tell he is all about getting shit done.

  “Yes! I want it. I want it so bad, Wyatt.” I pull a throw pillow over my head and bury my face in it. I would rather suffocate to death than allow one more asinine thing to burp from my mouth. God, wouldn’t it be ironic if I really did suffocate and die during oral sex? And, here, Will was the big faker all along.

  I fling the pillow across the room in a fit of rage. I’ll be damned if I’m going to gift Will the pleasure of being right in anything even remotely related to my heart-shaped ass.

  The fire roars and lights up the room a brilliant shade of yellow. Wow, I marvel trying to keep pace, Wyatt almost has me right—there.

  “Yes!” I groan louder than humanly possible, partly because the fire just gave an obnoxious roar of its own.

  Wyatt glances up. “Shit!”

  I follow his gaze to find the pillow I flung across the room hanging partway out of the fireplace, going up in flames like a marshmallow.

  Wyatt tries to get up, but I lock his head between my thighs.

  “Oh, no you don’t. The big O is knocking at the door. You can’t leave now.”

  He gives a quick look to the fire. “You have one minute.”

  “And then what?”

  “The curtains go up in flames.” He presses out a peaceable grin, and those adorable dimples dig in deep.

  “Hurry!” I press his head down, and Wyatt diligently, might I add furiously, gets back to work. Oh, he’s biting! His fingers find their way to the party and pump into me with a violent force over and over.

  “Yes that! It’s coming! Oh, my God it’s coming!” I scream so loud you’d think a thermonuclear missile were in my sights. Technically, I’m the one who’s coming, but, for some mystifying reason, I’d much rather personify my orgasm as the lovechild Wyatt and I will never have.

  Wyatt goes into overdrive, and I let out a yelping scream—the kind you’d hear if a terrier had a paw run over in the driveway.

  What the hell happened to the sexy cry I was just christening the room with a few moments ago? Really? A terrier?

  I whimper and gasp as his tongue rides over me. Wyatt buries his face between my legs for a brief moment before looking up.

  “Was that good?” He’s panting. His teeth glint as the entire house explodes with light.

  The curtains go up like dry brush on a hillside as the room ignites with heat and flames.

  “Oh my, God! We’re going to die!” I expel the words in a blood curdling—yet savagely sexy—scream. “Fire!” I shout stupidly from the couch. Of course, he’s aware there’s a fire. There’s a fucking blaze taking place five feet away!

  “Open the door!” Wyatt barks, and I jump up, opening it wide before running outside, screaming my head off—naked and terrified as if I were being chased by an ax murderer.

  Annie and Blake rush from the carriage house just as Wyatt runs out the front door hauling a fiery line of curtains with him.

  I pause a second from my primal screaming to marvel at how badass he looks hauling those flames out of his home as if he were teaching them a lesson. He’s like a fire god.

 
“Are you okay?” Annie is more than freaking out because she just half-signed me the question.

  “I’m great. It’s just Will faked an allergy, and I threw a pillow, and now Wyatt is a fire god!” Yes. That’s exactly it. I’m so glad I’ve enrolled in such a prestigious university.

  Wyatt and Blake hose down the curtains until a veil of white smoke clouds up the vicinity. I spot Piper and Cade looking like they want to vomit before heading back inside.

  “Let’s get you to the carriage house.” Annie is quick to shuttle me off, but I resist the effort.

  “No.” Wyatt and I have unfinished business to tend to. Certainly we’re not going to let some silly fire dictate how we end this night. I’ve waited two and a half weeks for that man to tie me to his bedpost. I believe the vague threat of a belt was involved.

  “Let’s at least get some clothes on you.” Annie laughs though her words.

  “I’m glad you find the mortal peril the two of us were in so hilarious—and no, I worked very hard to get my clothes off. I’m fine without them.” The thought of my navy sequin gown melting into a sticky puddle makes me cringe.

  “Marley!” Wyatt jogs over, wagging and panting. Both Annie and I are riveted at the way his penis swings like a pendulum.

  “No wonder you don’t want to get dressed,” she says under her breath.

  “It’s all clear.” Blake shouts from inside as he brings out the smoldering pillow with a pair of tongs.

  “Are you okay?” Wyatt runs his arms up and down my back, warming me, his face ripe with worry.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I’m so sorry.” I burst into tears that I didn’t even know were near the surface. “I’m so sorry I almost burned down your house. That was greedy of me.”

  “It’s okay, sweetie.” He gives my ear a loud panicked kiss. “Let’s get back inside before we freeze to death.”

  We say goodnight to Annie and Blake (who I will never be able to face again. I don’t mind Annie so much, but, now that Blake has seen the girls and perhaps my V-Day special super cut, we’ve officially entered the awkward phase of our relationship.)