“Wait up, hold on.” He and eyes me. “You’ve never come with a guy?”
“No. I mean -- I don’t think so. It’s probably my fault. I’m doing something wrong or --”
“A girl’s first orgasm with a partner isn’t the girl’s responsibility, Evie. Making a girl come is her partner’s responsibility. Oh, baby. I’d push all my chips into the middle of the table to be the first man to give you this.”
He brushes kisses down my abdomen, one hand grazing my inner thigh, traveling to the V between my legs, close to my clit, but not touching it. My breath ratchets up a notch as he continues stroking the inside of my thigh, licking and nibbling at the soft skin just inches from my pussy. My hips lift almost of their own accord because Dylan McAlister is a fucking tease.
“Touch me,” I say.
“I am touching you.” He looks up at me.
“You know what I mean.”
“Where should I touch you, Evie?”
“My clit.”
He sucks on his fingertips, then brushes a thumb over my bundle of nerves and I clench my thighs against him.
“You’ve got some place to get to?” he asks. “Someplace you’d rather be?”
“No.” My heart thump-thumps in my chest.
“Then slow down and enjoy the ride, Lucky Charm.” He flicks his thumb back and forth over my center, and I sigh. He reaches his other hand up and plays with my tits, grasping them, pinching my nipples, and they harden under his touch.
Desire moves through me and I bite my lip. I’m growing wetter and I want him inside me. “Dylan,” I say. “Fuck me.”
“Let’s do this first,” he says, pressing his hand against the wetness of my seam, sliding two fingers inside my pussy.
I moan.
“Good God, Evie, you’re tight.”
I clench my center around his fingers as he pushes deeper, before slowly drawing his fingers out and sliding them back in. “Good?” he asks.
“Good,” I say, and lick my lips. “More.”
“How do you want more? Tell me.”
“Harder, Dylan. Deeper.”
He thrusts fingers into me harder, moving in and out. Faster. Deeper. He finger fucks me, rocking out a rhythm, and I close my eyes and ride his hand. I’m on fire for this man. The sensation between my legs builds, my breath ratcheting up, and I pant. Pleasure ripples through me. It moves from my pussy, and travels down my thighs. It moves from my nipples down my arms. Bliss builds. “Oh, Dylan. Oh.”
“Come for me, baby,” he says, flicking his thumb over my clit, sucking the soft skin of my upper thigh as I ride his hand. “Come for me, Lucky Charm.”
And I do, my orgasm exploding in spasms. “I’m coming, Dylan. I’m coming!” I squeeze my legs against his hand. Fireworks shoot off in my body and my brain. The sensation lasts a minute, an hour, I don’t know, but when I finally catch my breath, I feel content. I feel different somehow.
I open my eyes and see him smiling like the proverbial cat who ate the canary. “So?” he asks.
“Let’s do the recap later,” I say, admiring his thick erection that he’s already sheathed. “Inside me.”
“So bossy, Lucky Charm.” He leans down and kisses me, lining his dick up with my pussy, and pushes slowly inside me. I close my eyes, feeling him fill me. I am tight around this man and he takes his time with me. He thrusts slowly at first, easing in, easing out. “Oh,” I say.
“Okay?”
I nod because with each move we get used to each other. It’s almost too much at first, but then it becomes just enough and I arch into him. He kisses me, claiming my mouth, taking my hand in his, interlacing his fingers around mine and holding it down on the bed. “Hot, Evie.” His breath comes faster, sweat shining on his brow, his chest. He pumps harder, and releases my hand. “Legs up,” he says.
I do as he asks.
He places a hand under each knee and angles my legs up, allowing him to penetrate me more fully. I glance up at him as he pounds me. Those muscles in his shoulders and arms flex and cord as he fucks me. He stares down at himself inside my pussy and rocks into me harder, and I hear my ass slapping against his stomach. “Oh, Evie.” He sinks into me, releases my legs, and my feet hit the mattress. “Side.”
We angle onto our sides with him behind me. He pulls my hair back through his fingers, and nuzzles my neck. Biting. Sucking. He circles one hand around my breasts and fondles them, playing with my nipples while he continues to fuck me brilliantly, fuck me beautifully. “Evie. Evie. I’m coming, baby.” He’s so deep within me and I feel him shake and shudder, thrusting a few more times as he empties himself.
He cradles me in his arms afterward, our breath returning to normal.
“I had no idea sex could be like this,” I say.
“This is the only way sex should be,” he says.
10
Bet on It
BET ON IT
I wake up the next day cradled in Dylan’s arms. “Good morning,” he says, and presses his lips against my shoulder giving me goosebumps. His morning erection bumps the small of my back.
“Good morning.” I stretch my arms overhead feeling better rested than I’ve felt in years. “What’s on the agenda today?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He cups my breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “What are you up for?”
“You’re a smart man.” I push his hand down my stomach. “I’ll let you figure it out.”
“Ha.” He kisses his way down my neck, and slides his fingers across my sex until I arch against him and moan. He straddles me, then leans down and kisses me, the scruff of his beard rough and sexy against my face. He palms my breast, tugging on the nipple and it pebbles. Pleasure courses through me, my breath coming faster. “Mmm.”
He spreads my legs with his hands, kissing his way down my stomach, making his way to my sex, circling it with his tongue. He plants his hands on my abdomen as he buries his face between my legs, his tongue flicking across my sex.
He holds tight to me and I ride his face. I moan. The stimulation of his tongue and his mouth is almost too much, but he doesn’t let go. I tangle my fingers through his thick hair until bliss explodes and I come in shudders and shocks, waves of pleasure coursing through my entire body.
He reaches for a small foil square on the bedside table, ripping it open with his teeth. He rolls the protection on his thick, hard, jutting out cock. “Legs on my shoulders, Evie.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. McAlister, sir.”
“Smartass.”
I lie on my back, lift my legs, and wrap them on top of his shoulders. He lines his dick up with my sex and pushes inside, filling me. I stare up at him as he fucks me. He’s all muscle: rippled chest, cut abdomen, square jaw, those blue eyes of his shrouded with desire. “You feel so good,” I say.
He smiles, leans down, and kisses me. “You feel better.”
I don’t know how many minutes later he makes me come with his fingers on my clit and he pumps out an orgasm as he watches me. We collapse against the bed and catch our breath. I could do this with him forever but my traitorous stomach growls, interrupting the moment.
“Uh-oh,” he says. “The beast has woken. I need to feed you.”
Ten minutes later he’s dressed in athletic shorts, a T-shirt, and a ball cap, and I’m zipping up my Mrs. Ralph Lauren dress.
“I’m starving,” he says. “You’re wearing out an old man. I need sustenance.”
“You’re not old.”
“I’m thirty-eight. You’d better be legal or I’m suing Ma Maison.” He pinches my ass.
“I’m twenty-four.” I push back a smile. “Shut up, old man.”
We hit a little grill where the plastic encased menu hawks twenty different kinds of omelets. It’s bacon and eggs and endless fresh-brewed dark coffee. Perhaps I’ve landed in heaven and nothing else will ever taste or feel this good again.
“I didn’t even ask if you wanted to hang out today,” he says, eyeing me over his coffee cup. “
It’s Sunday. You probably already have plans.”
“Nope, I normally chill on Sunday. I’d love to hang out with you.” It dawns on me – it’s Sunday. God’s day. “Why are you asking? Do you want to go to church?”
“No.” He frowns. “Do you?”
“I’m good.” I signal the waitress for a coffee refill. She stops by with the pot and gladly accommodates along with dropping off the check. “I’ve got a deal with God. I pray to Him every now and again, confess my sins, do penance, and He lets me skip the weekly services.”
“You have a nice God,” Dylan says wiping his mouth with a napkin.
“A super nice God,” I say. “We’ve had a rocky relationship for a while. Lots of fights and time outs. It took us years to get to a good place.”
“Good for you,” he says. “God and I are still in a fight. Let’s hit the trail.” he says, and throws down a few bills. “Ready?”
“Sure.” I stand and follow him, wondering how I’m going to ride a bike in a country club dress.
Ten minutes later Dylan walks out of the convenience store where we just grabbed bottled water and trail mix, stops in his tracks and stares at me, a funny look on his face. “Did I tell you the first thing I thought when I saw you step off the train yesterday?”
“No.”
“That I was a lucky man. You looked so pretty I was half tempted to tackle you right there on the train platform.”
“Thank you I think.”
“Welcome. I wanted to skip the game. Drive back to my sordid little hotel and have my wicked way with you.”
“Funny how life works,” I say, heat building inside me. “Wish for something long enough and it happens. Maybe not in the way you expect.”
“From your lips to God’s ears, Lucky Charm,” Dylan says. “Right now, I’m picturing you bike riding in that dress. A beautiful summer day on the trail. The wind blows your skirt up and I catch a glimpse of those lace panties.” He drops a hand down my waist, grazes my ass. “You are wearing your panties -- right?”
I blush. “You’re bad.”
“You guessed my middle name -- Dylan Bad McAlister. Follow me,” he says and holds out his hand. “I’ve got an idea.”
We visit a nearby sporting goods store and suddenly I’m the proud new owner of jeans, a pair of shorts, a few T-shirts, and runners. “You dress down nice,” he says, peering out at me from under that ball cap and his Aviators as the cashier rings up the purchases.
“No ball cap, honey?” I ask.
He snags a Kane County Cougars cap from a rack, sets it on my head. Leans back, pulls off his Aviators and checks me out. “Cute.” He drapes one arm over my shoulders and throws down another bill on the checkout counter.
The checkout girl hands him change and gives me a thumbs up. “Wear the hat if you go to the game tonight. They’ll give you a discount.”
“Awesome.” I smile at Dylan. “Remind me to thank you, later.”
“Bet on it,” he says.
We rent bikes with locks and helmets from a little sports shop in a mini-mall a hundred or so yards off the Fox River trail. We ride down a dirt path on a glorious summer Saturday. The weather’s warm and humid with a scattering of cumulous clouds threatening rain at some point.
The sun pokes between the clouds as we bike along the Fox River taking in miles of curves and bends. We pedal pass people fishing, folks on the trail with their kids, others jogging with their dogs. A few aggressive bicyclists tear past us at breakneck speed needing to blow off excess energy. Not us – we already spent time in the fast lane – we’re taking it slow, chilled, relaxed. We’re here for some fun.
“Woot!” Dylan wheels off the path, skids down a leaf scattered muddy embankment dozens of yards to the river’s edge. His shoulders have dropped off his ears. His complexion’s warmer. The care and worry evaporated off his face, off his entire body. He seems bigger, freer, wilder. He’s transformed into different person. This man needed to get outside, get back in nature. This man is where he belongs.
“Having fun?” I ask a few dozen yards away from him, still on the path.
“What do you think?” He regards me with a delicious grin and it’s all I can do not to tear down the hill, tackle him, and kiss him.
But today isn’t about me. “Race you,” I say.
“Where to?” he asks, looking up, shading his eyes from the sun.
“From here,” I point a ways off, “to the far end of the river. Where it turns around the bend.”
“Sure, Lucky Charm,” he says. “What’s the bet?”
“Bet?”
“You throw out a challenge to a player, you need to sweeten the pot. What’s the bet?”
“Hmm.” I drink him in – ruffled hair, sun-kissed face, a sheen of sweat from physical exertion, not stress. He’s delicious. I wish we could stay here on this path, stay here on this green leafed, sunshine filled day. That the Universe would draw a protective bubble around us and we could live in it forever.
“Cat got your tongue, youngster?” he asks. “No worries. I’ll go first.”
“Spit it out, old man,” I say, “Before you forget.”
“Hah! If I win?” He takes a swig from his water bottle, then squirts a generous helping of water over his face, slicks back his wet hair.
“Yes?” Bumpity-bump-bump goes my heart.
“If I win, we ride back to the motel, I peel off your bike shorts, and make you come a few times. Maybe watch you do that on your own. That would make me a happy man. Then we tackle more good stuff.”
“Shh!” I press fingers to my lips, the V between my legs already throbbing.
“No one’s within hearing distance. After a few rounds of hot sex, we order pizza, cold beers, sit out on the porch on that rickety old swing set. You rest your head on my shoulder, I hold your hand, and we kick back and watch the sun set like an old couple,” he says. “I’d really like that.”
“That sounds nice.” His words tug at my heart. “If I win?”
“Yes?”
“I play on a softball team and I’ve always wanted to see a minor league game. If I win you take me to the ballgame, buy me a hot dog, some chips, and a beer. Afterwards we go back to the motel room and play my favorite song. You strip for me – slowly might I add – while I cheer you on. You give me a lap dance. Then we have hot sex.”
“I’ve never given anyone a lap dance before,” he says, a quirk of a smile pulling up the corners of his lips.
“And I’ve never gotten one,” I say. “It’ll be a first for the both of us. A total win-win.”
“Maybe old dogs can learn new tricks,” he says and waggles his eyebrows.
“Good,” I say. “Bet?”
“Bet,” he says.
“Awesome.” I push down hard like dynamite on the pedal and peel off as fast as I can. “See you!”
“Not fair!” He hollers, thundering up the embankment after me.
I laugh and pedal faster.
We sit in the bleachers at Northwestern Medicine Field on the third base line watching the Kane County Cougars play the Wisconsin Timber Raccoons. I’m wearing my new jeans and a T-shirt. The ballcap Dylan bought me entitled us to a free bag of chips and two bucks off a ticket. We nosh on hot dogs and drink cold beers. The sun sets late, the stadium lights popping on, the air damp and hanging heavy around us. “When’s the last time you went to a ball game?” I ask.
“Long time,” he says, his long legs stretched out on the empty bench in front of him one hand resting on my knee. “Maybe six years?”
Thunder rumbles low in the skies above us, lightning strikes a few miles away.
“Who’d you go with?”
“Family. My ex-wife, Dixie.”
“What happened?” I ask. “Wait. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Family or Dixie?” He asks.
“Both,” I say.
“The pretty version or the shitty version?” He asks.
“Whatever one
you want to share.”
He sighs. “I looked great on paper to Dixie. A pastor’s son. A wealthy congregation. A built-in life of security and hero worship. There was one tiny problem.”
“What?” I ask taking a sip of my ballpark beer. A crack of a bat as a batter hits a double, the crowd’s up on its feet cheering.
“Marriage is more than paper.”
“And?”
There’s a swing and a ball flies out to deep left field.
“She thought she married the preacher’s son.” He shrugs. “Not the preacher’s prodigal son. It wasn’t what she signed up for. In her eyes, she got a raw deal. I was sadly regrettable.”
The runner on third takes off and slides into home and the fans shout in excitement, throwing fist punches in the air. We jump to our feet and cheer with them. “Dylan,” I say, rubbing his shoulder. “Never in a thousand years could you be regrettable.”
Fat raindrops plop down from the skies above. Umps and coaches glance up, questioning looks on their faces.
“I was to Dixie. She re-married a Baptist minister and is now queen bee in a smaller congregation. She’s got a new kid, a husband who comes home at decent hours and she leases a new SUV every two years. It’s the life she signed up for.”
“Do you have regrets?” I ask.
“No.”
“What about your family?”
“That’s a whole ’nother conversation,” he says. “Tell me about you. Besides the bad sex former boyfriend. In a strange way, I feel like I owe him.”
The heavens open up and a soft warm rain pelts us.
“How so?” I ask.
“Not every day a guy gets to give one of the sweetest girls he’s ever met her first orgasm.”
“Her first four orgasms.”
“Only four?” he asks, a smile growing on his face.
I count on my fingertips as the skies open and pour, drenching us as if on cue. “Five.”
“A sign from the heavens that I need to up my game.” He takes my hand. “Besides, I’ve been figuring out my stripper moves all day. Come on.”
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