With his right hand, he grabbed his erection at its base while his other hand held my hip. Carefully, he slid inside me.
“Ah,” I cried, as a rush of sensation exploded from my crotch to my neck. I wrapped my hands around his chiseled back.
His right hand moved to my thigh, his erection sliding in and out, slowly. His eyes burned mine as he stared down at me, biting his lip. He sped up, bending down for a kiss, until he couldn’t hold his weight and stood again, his movement rapid. Despite his wild thrusts, he seemed distant, as if he were somewhere else.
Disregarding his temporary remoteness, I could feel an indescribable sensation of pleasure building, a feeling I’d never known and couldn’t recognize. What was it? Was it an orgasm? My thoughts focused on the building while my neck tightened, my blood torrents of fiery joy. I could feel the surge coming until all I heard was Vince screaming in orgasm, pumping like a madman, his control lost as a primal, animalistic drive exploded. He slowed, groaning, then pulled out, holding his base so that the condom stayed on.
It was then that I could feel the momentum slipping away, my orgasm fleeing me right before it burst into a million pieces of pleasure—and just like that, it was gone. I looked over at Vince, whose breaths were ragged and happy. A kind of sadness filled me then, as I realized it wasn’t him after all.
Vince wasn’t the one to break my curse.
9
MY FIRST SELFIE
Stirring from a dreamless sleep, I woke up in a warm, snuggly bed that I never wanted to leave. The mattress made for the best sleep of my life. I had thought about asking Vince what material it was the night before, but after he had come, it didn’t seem so important. Looking over at him, a deep, profound depression set in. I was twenty-five and still had never experienced the mythical orgasm . . . seven guys and seven duds.
Yet, Vince had been different. He had built up some feeling inside of me that I had never known, and our connection was unprecedented—a mutual mental tie that made conversation a breeze. And staring at him then, surrounded by darkness, the craving still lingered, pulling me toward him as if he possessed some gravitational force. I wanted him. I wanted him inside me again.
And that feeling—that delicious, thrilling feeling that had been growing at the base of my skull and vanished the moment Vince had pulled out—I wanted that back. Maybe it could happen, maybe he could still break the curse, and after all, it had only been our first time. I mean, how many things in life were successful on the first go, right? Maybe Danielle’s rule didn’t apply here. Maybe one chance simply wasn’t fair.
I found a notepad on his nightstand and wrote him a quick note, telling him to call me. Gazing at his soft curls, I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, and kiss him goodbye. Instead, I left like a mouse, silent and sneaky.
Since I didn’t have Eddie, Vince, the generous man that he was, had agreed the night before to let me borrow one of his cars. After some searching, I found the garage that the key opened, and my jaw dropped when I spotted a prototype car that resembled a Fiat with “EverGO” sprawled across the back. The inside was a dream. The seats were more comfortable than a recliner. I powered it on and was welcomed by a soft, seductive female voice. I backed out and was amazed by its handling, having grown so accustomed to Eddie’s poor maneuvering powers.
The roads at 4:40 A.M. were dead, though there was more traffic downtown than down in the Sellwood or Hawthorne areas. The heated seats were a real bonus for the early morning; my butt had never been so happy to be driving to work.
Walking into the bakery, I was greeted by blaring Dropkick Murphys, a favorite of the Bread Guy. I unlocked the office and pulled out the spare clothes I had tucked away in a filing cabinet for an occasion such as this. Changed, I went to the kitchen, nodded at the Bread Guy, started the coffee, and began my daily routine with a grin on my face.
“YOU HAD SEX WITH him?” Danielle shouted, barging into my office around noon, her lunch hour. I had texted her earlier about the events of the night.
I jumped out of my seat. “Whoa, ever heard of knocking?”
“I want to hear everything! Everything, Maci!”
I returned to my chair. “All right, God, relax there.”
“I’m just stunned,” she said, rolling up Bridgett’s chair next to mine. “Did you—did it happen?”
“No,” I answered flatly.
She scrunched her face in disbelief. “No?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Lay it on me, kid,” she begged. I went on to tell her about the night. “What about foreplay?” she asked after I’d finished.
“Just kissing, mostly,” I answered.
“Just kissing? You mean down there?” She moved her index finger back and forth, pointing at her v-spot.
“No, on the mouth.”
She shook her head, and then leaned forward. “But you think you felt something different with him?”
“Oh yeah, never felt that building feeling before.” I tapped where my neck met my head. “Right here. Is that—”
“Probably,” she said before I finished. “There’s more than one place to feel an orgasm, and more than one way, too. My biggest happen in my forehead with a rush of blood that sometimes gives me a headache. Ashley says her best ones come from her clit and reach up her back and neck and out to her fingers and toes. You have to remember that they’re not often the same, either, and they vary in so many ways, even duration. Mine are mostly short but successive while Ashley’s last longer—minutes even—but it takes way longer to get there.”
I couldn’t believe we were talking about this. We had never had this kind of conversation before—not once. Not this intimate. Danielle was opening up in a way that made me wish I could reciprocate, but I wasn’t sure I could. My reservations were broken when she asked, “What did you do afterward?”
“We cuddled, talking for quite a while, more back-and-forth Q&As. Then he just held me for a long time until I fell asleep. It was the most intimate I’ve ever been with anyone, Danielle. I couldn’t believe how right it all felt.”
“Are you supposed to see him again, or are you implementing the no-O rule?” she asked, folding her arms and leaning back.
I shrugged. “I’m on the fence about the no-O rule. I have one of his cars and wrote him a note to call me.”
“You wrote him a note? What is this, the eighties?”
“No good?”
“No good. I’ll tell you what you should do, you should send him a selfie, spice it up a little. Show him that you were into it.”
“A selfie?”
“Yeah, get some lingerie and text him a few pictures, then tonight surprise him by wearing it. It would be hot, trust me.” Her eyes showed her enthusiasm for the idea.
“Lingerie? I’m not really a lingerie type of girl,” I said, looking at the marble on my desk.
“You said you didn’t do stuff with Ryan and that’s the reason why he went elsewhere. You said you wanted to break out of the mold, broaden your horizons. Trying this is an easy first step.” She paused for a second, smirking. “Tell me: what position did you do it in last night?”
I reddened.
“Oh, Maci, stop being such a goddamn prude. What position?”
“Normal.”
“Normal?” she pressed.
“God!” I yelled, standing up. “Missionary, okay? We did it in missionary—boring old missionary. I know, you don’t have to say it. I need to expand my horizons or whatever. That’s just the way we ended up doing it.”
“I wasn’t going to criticize, I just wanted to know,” she said, her voice small. “I thought we were sharing.”
“We are sharing,” I said. “I didn’t mean to snap like that. I’m just . . . frustrated. I mean, I meet a great guy like Vince and I still . . . ugh!” I paced the room.
“Try my idea. I think it will get you started.” She looked at her elegant white gold watch. “Look, I’ve got to get back to work. You still need a ride ho
me, right?”
“Yeah,” I replied, as she walked to the door.
“Okay, I’ll be back around five.” She cocked her head, playful. “And Maci, give my idea a shot. You’ve got nothing to lose.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said. After she was gone, I went back to the marble on my desk and rolled it around a few times. An easy step. I could do that. I’m not a prude, I repeated to myself, going back to work at the front counter. A few minutes passed when a welcomed sight appeared.
Vince sauntered up to the display case, Terrance at his side, and the two started discussing the menu. My feet skipped as my heart celebrated his presence. Vince scanned the room and our eyes met, his instantly brightening. He walked over to the side of the counter, forgetting his bodyguard. “You look good covered in flour.”
I glanced down at my apron and all the flour dust. Spots the size of my hands covered the protective garment from where I wiped off various ingredients, which was part of the fun of being a baker. “I look good in everything,” I said, giving him a flirtatious grin.
“I’d like to test that sometime.” His words sent a rush of excitement to my heart. A yawn suddenly struck him. “I can’t believe you get up so early.”
“Neither can my body,” I said, laughing. “It’s very resentful of my job.”
“My body did too, until I bought that mattress.” He fidgeted while he stood, more nervous than before. Maybe he was concerned about his performance last night. “How did you sleep?”
“Great. It was by far the best bed I’ve ever been on.”
That gave him pause for a second. “I’m glad. Maybe I’ll have one sent to your apartment.” His nervous laughter made it hard to tell if he was joking. I played it like he was. “Listen, I had a great time last night. It was . . . amazing.” He scratched his neck, unable to stop shifting. “I stopped by to see if you wanted to get together again, maybe tomorrow night?”
“Um—” I said, pretending to think of my schedule.
“Oh, or some other time,” he added quickly, misinterpreting my “um.”
“No, tomorrow night works. Oh, before I forget!” I reached into my khaki pockets and retrieved his keys and starter, holding them over the counter.
He took them and, as the keys were exchanged, our hands kissed and a current shot through me. “What did you think of the ride?” he asked.
“It was incredible.” I held his hand for a moment, teasing his skin, and he returned the gesture. “I’d never experienced a ride like it.” I hoped he caught the innuendo.
“It’s the prototype we tested our battery module in,” he said, missing my suggestive subtlety. I guess it was too subtle. “Thanks.” He held up the keys, and then handed them to Terrance. “Would you like anything?” he asked him.
His bodyguard’s lips formed a severe line. It hurt just to look at his clenched muscles. “I’ll have a sixteen-ounce cinnamon mocha,” Terrance ordered, his voice husky.
“Cinnamon mocha, got it.” I turned to Vince. “Anything for you? A croissant, right?”
He smiled. “A croissant, and what’s that yerba mate tea?”
I soured my face. “Oh, it’s this nasty tea from South America that Danielle loves, so I have it on there for her. It’s pronounced mah-tey: there’s a little accent over the “e.” Anyway, we actually get a lot of people in here who drink it, but I wouldn’t recommend it. I make a good pumpkin caramel latte, if you want to try something different. It’s one of my favorites.”
He smiled a seductive smile, though I don’t think it was meant that way. “Sure, sounds great.”
“All right, I’ll have those out to you in a second.” I went to work concocting the drinks. Sliding them across the counter when they were ready, and handing Vince a croissant, I noticed him taking out his wallet and said, “No charge. It’s on the house.”
“Are you sure? I’d rather support a local business.”
I laughed, but saw that he was sincere about it. “No, it’s cool.”
“Okay, thanks.” He raised the cup. “So, I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“Looking forward to it.” Looking forward to it? Really? That’s all I could come up with? I smiled to compensate for my reply. “The car is around back,” I added as he waved goodbye.
He nodded before the two disappeared out the door.
I fulfilled a dozen more orders, going over the exchange with Vince, when I found a one-hundred-dollar bill in the tip jar. Was it from Vince? Of course it was; no one else left one-hundred bucks for a tip. What did it mean? Was he trying to buy me over?
I overanalyzed its meaning, like I did everything else in my life.
When Danielle swung by to pick me up, it was 5:30. I told her about the visit and the money. “That’s perfect!” she shouted. “Use the hundred to buy the lingerie.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It feels dirty.” I threw up my hand before she contradicted what I meant. “And not dirty in a good way.”
“He’s wealthy, Maci. If you continue to see him, you’ll have to get used to him lavishing you with gifts.” She put the car in drive and headed home.
“You make it sound so petty that I don’t want to take his money.” I played with the Benjamin as she drove. “I prefer to earn my money.”
“Yeah, you’re stubborn like that,” she said, cross. “If Ashley and I were like that, neither of us would ever get anything.”
“I think it’s a little different when the other person is about a million tiers above your income bracket.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Give it to Bridgett then, or one of your employees as a bonus.” She glared at me for an instant, disapproval written on her face. “If you didn’t want it, why’d you take it?”
“I don’t know.” Because I liked the thought that it was in Vince’s hand, and if I imagined hard enough, it smelled like him, a sweet tropical deodorant. “Will you come with me to pick it out?”
“The lingerie?”
“Yeah.”
“Where do you want to go? My favorite place is Spartacus downtown.” Her voice lightened, and I could hear her excitement in sharing this part of my life with her for the first time. It had always felt so personal talking about specifics, but also so closed off, isolating. She had fed me way more information than I had about our sex lives, and I don’t think she ever understood why—writing it off as a product of my prudish sensibilities. In any case, she was more than ready to join me on this journey. “Or how about Lovers?” she added, as I considered the options.
“I was thinking something more like Victoria’s Secret or Fredericks.”
“To Lloyd Center then?”
I nodded. “You really think this will heat up the sex?”
She turned up Twelfth Avenue. “Like I said, trust me on this. I may not know guys well, but I know what they want, because really, our tastes don’t differ much.” She gave me a pretend concupiscent smile. We parked in front of Marshalls, and then roamed around the mall, stopping at a few different stores, until we stumbled on Victoria’s Secret.
Danielle picked up a shopping bag. “Plan on trying a lot on?” I asked.
“I need a new bra,” she said, circling a display of panties. “A few of mine have started to poke me. I also need new underwear: some thongs, really. But first, let’s get you some seductive lingerie—something irresistible.”
We browsed the walls and racks of lingerie. “I like this one.” I held up a silky purple nightie.
She smirked. “Sweetie, that’s sleepwear, not sexwear. You need something like this.” She grabbed a black lacy top with red bows. Seeing my frown, she replaced it on the rack. “Or this.” She held up a red corset with segmented frills spanning the center from where the cups connected to the garment’s bottom. A row of fake buttons ran down the middle of the frills with a big red bow centered at the waist that halved the frill segments.
“Now that I like,” I said, taking the lingerie from her and holding it up to my figure. “What do you think?”<
br />
“Perfect,” she purred. “Go try it on. If it fits, take some pictures.”
I inspected the tag. “This one is a 34C. Is there a B?”
She scanned through the rack and pulled out a duplicate. “34B.”
We traded and I headed for the fitting room before I realized I’d need matching bottoms. I found a pair of satin panties that looked like they completed the set. As I started off again, Danielle stopped me. “Don’t forget these.” She handed me a matching pair of lace thigh-highs that would attach to the garters.
“Gee, thanks,” I said sarcastically, thinking it was a bit over the top. She only grinned in return. The woman standing at the back took my name and size, wrote it on a card, and pointed out an available room.
“Let me know if you need anything else, hon.” I could hear her put the card on the door.
After hanging up the clothing, I stared at the mirror, mentally preparing myself. I had never worn anything so overtly sexy before. Ryan had tried several times to get me to wear lingerie, going so far as to buy me a kinky outfit for my birthday, but it didn’t fit right. I stripped off my clothes and put on the panties first, then the main piece, which, oddly enough, fit perfectly, as if it were made for me specifically—which had to be a first.
Scrutinizing the outfit, the lingerie made me feel confident, sexy, even bold. It was amazing. I actually felt hot. I grabbed the package of thigh-highs and thought twice about slipping them on in the store. My phone lay hidden in my clutch, and I fumbled to retrieve it, the thought that I was doing something naughty forefront in my mind. I mean, lots of people sent racy lingerie selfies to their lovers, right? Then how come I felt so devious and sneaky? Like I was the only person in the world who had stood in front of a Victoria’s Secret mirror holding a camera.
Chasing The O Page 11
