by Marr, Maggie
“Hype, eh? Must be entertainment related.”
The timer dings. Tara grabs an oven mitt and checks her dish in the oven. “Ten more minutes.” She stands and puts asparagus into the skillet on the stove. “You do like asparagus, right?”
“Who doesn’t?” I look into the bag on the counter. “Want me to start the salad?”
“Oh, yes.”
I pour the already-washed lettuce into a bowl, adding cheese, candied pecans, cherry tomatoes, and a tiny bit of chopped onion. When Tara pronounces the cooking done, we head to the table and sit down to eat.
* * *
“I don’t think I did anything to deserve that meal.” I haul the final dish into the kitchen. I rinse it and load it into the dishwasher. Tara insisted on washing and drying the skillet. We’ve swapped childhood stories while completely cleaning the kitchen.
“You’ve been a great neighbor and a good friend.” Tara empties the final bit of wine into her glass. “I’ve been over here a couple times. You check on me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the notes sliding under my door.”
A blush climbs onto my cheeks. “Everyone needs a little pick-me-up sometimes.”
“Well, you’ve been my big pick-me-up for a while. So thank you.”
We’re close now. Physically close. She stands just opposite me. Her shirt is a regular tissue T-shirt, nothing sexy, nothing erotic, but beneath the fabric her nipples are tiny peaks. I want to touch them and lick them and suck them deep into my mouth.
I want Tara to call my name, my real name, from the pleasure I give her.
She steps toward me. Wine on her breath and heat between us. We both know where the other stands—she with a nearly broken heart and a barely over engagement, me with a penchant for non-commitment and no relationship—and there can be no mistake that this, this moment, this time between us is just this, right now. We’ve had the conversations, we’ve become friends, we each know the other, except we don’t know that one thing, the one thing every couple who’s ever been attracted to each other in this way wants and needs to know.
What it’s like to fuck.
She reaches up and sweeps a stray lock of hair away from my forehead. A deep intake of breath. Her body, the scent of her, the nearness of her . . .
In one motion, my arm sweeps around her waist and she steps forward. Her lips press to mine or my lips press to hers and we’re a tangle of want and need and hot desire that has built for months, maybe even years.
Her lips, plump and thick and just what I want, open, an invitation to me. My tongue presses into her mouth, sweeping and seeking and wanting. My cock is furiously hard and I press into her. Her hips thrust up and back in an incredibly feminine rolling motion that taunts and teases and makes me want to strip her bare right here in my kitchen.
I press my hand to her ass, pulling her closer so the hardness of my cock makes no mistake of what I need and want from her.
A deep low moan escapes her mouth. The want inside me is a living breathing thing, nearly devouring my restraint. I pull my mouth from hers and put my lips on her neck. My hand cups her breast. The pad of my thumb strokes the sensitive flesh of her nipple.
“Oh yes,” she moans.
I pull at her shirt—fuck it. I rip it from bottom to top. My impatience makes her kiss more impassioned. Because I want her. I fucking want her like a man possessed. A man denied. A man in need of a woman.
I slide my hands down the front of her belly. I unbutton her jeans and push them over her hips. They drop to the floor. Nothing but lace covers her nipples and her sex. I reach my hands behind her and unhook her bra, my lips once again on hers. I run my hands down the sides of her nearly naked body, letting my hands devour her curves. My fingers slip beneath the tiny bit of fabric over her hips and push her panties to the floor.
She is naked.
I am greedy.
There is need, and I have no responsibility but to satisfy my need and hers. I don’t have to be slow or cautious because Tara knows me, she trusts me, or she wouldn’t be standing here naked in my kitchen.
She reaches for my waistband and unbuttons it. Then she unzips and reaches deep into my jeans, gripping my cock. Her hand strokes down the shaft. I pull her bottom lip into my mouth and suck.
Yes. God yes.
Her firm even stroke on my shaft. A buzzing noise in my head. A near collapse of all thought. Fuck yes. I need to fuck her. I need to fuck her now.
I pull away, put one arm beneath the back of her legs, and carry her over my shoulder down the hallway to my bedroom. I push open the door and set her on my bed.
She stretches out, a picture of fine flesh, lush curves, pure feminine beauty. Her hair spreads out behind her. I stand at the side of the bed, pull my shirt up and off. She sits up and pushes my already unbuttoned jeans down over my hips. Her gaze flicks from my cock up to my eyes. Never taking her eyes from mine, she leans forward and runs her tongue over the head of my cock.
No surprise here, ladies, but Wonderfuck rarely gets his dick sucked.
I nearly bend double. She grasps my shaft at the base and pulls me forward. Takes me deep into the languid wet warmth of her mouth.
Hot. Wet. Suction.
She follows her lips with her hand, igniting a trail of heat. I bend forward, my stomach muscles tightening with the pleasure.
Faster. Her mouth moves faster now. Heat builds in the soles of my feet. Like a trail of white lightning, energy tears up through my calves and my thighs and races to the small of my back. Every muscle in my body tightens and spasms. My balls draw close to my body. Come, hot and furious, is ready to push from my balls and shoot out of my shaft.
“Tara, baby, please.” I start to press her back from my cock, but she latches on tighter, sucking even harder. I know what she’s just agreed to. She wants me to come, she wants me to take this pleasure for myself. She wants to feel me let loose in her mouth.
Heat tears through me and shoots out of me with a huge fucking force.
“Tara!” Her name breaks from my lips and bounces around the walls of my room, the shout so thick, so guttural. I thrust into her mouth. I’ve lost control and she’s taking me, she’s swallowing my come, milking me with her hand and mouth. Taking every drop I have. She grasps my balls gently and squeezes. I fall forward with one hand on her shoulder. My legs barely support my weight, so complete is my orgasm.
“Fuck,” I whisper. Her tongue takes one final swipe across the head of my cock as she pulls her mouth from my shaft.
My entire body shudders with the overload of pleasure. Tara glances up at me through those thick eyelashes. I cup her chin with my hands and tilt her face up toward me. The blue of her eyes nearly glows in the lights from the city shining through the window. A tiny smile plays on her lips, full and swollen from taking my cock deep into her mouth and sucking me off. She’s pleased with the pleasure she’s given me.
“I’m going to make you feel better than you’ve ever felt.”
I press her back onto my bed.
Ready and able to fulfill every word of the promise I just made.
Chapter 15
I start with her toes. Each delectable toe. I take her foot in my hands and rub with my thumb, firmly enough not to tickle. Over the arch I massage deeply, letting the stress in the muscles unfold and relax. Then I squeeze her pinky toe. I gently caress and knead the muscles, working from the outside in, until I’ve gotten to her big toe. I slowly bend down. I lift her foot and pull her big toe into my mouth.
She watches.
She gasps.
Her body quivers.
Yes, her breath is short and her nipples are taut and tight. Her eyes can’t look away from me.
My hand glides up over her calf, working those muscles as I kiss up along her flesh. I spread her legs. And kiss her thigh. Her hips roll upward in anticipation of the pleasure that my lips will give the spot between her legs. I move my lips up her thigh. I’m above her sex. The scent excites me. I spread her sex with my finge
rs. Her hands claw deep into the sheets.
“Oh my God, Jake, please,” she groans.
I smile. No. Not yet. My tongue flicks once, twice, three times very lightly over her clit. Just enough to get her attention, just enough to make her want more, just enough to tease and promise all at once. I kiss her hip and trail my kisses up over her belly. My stiff cock nestles against her cleft. My shaft slides through the hot wetness without entering her. Teasing her with its hard length.
“Fuck, my God.” Her eyes are closed as she rolls up and around, trying to get my cock inside her. She needs this. She wants this. I doubt there’s been anyone since her engagement ended.
I hold my body above hers and gaze at her gorgeous flesh laid out beneath me. I dip my head and pull a nipple deep into my mouth, rolling the firm pink bud around my tongue. Her hips thrust up with a hard impatience.
I want her too. I want to shift my body and plunge my cock strong and fast and deep into her sex. I want to make her come over and over again, but the pleasure of this first time can be teased and tamed and brought to fruition in a way that will nurture every time we fuck again.
Again?
I chase the thought, the word, from my mind. I roll to the side, my mouth still locked to her nipple, while my hand drifts down over her belly and finds the hot wet spot between her legs. I tease her, and slide two fingers deep inside.
She tightens around me and her hips pulse up and back. Her head presses against the pillow. A wild need surges through her body and her hands claw the bed. I release her nipple and move lower. Between her legs, her scent is earthy and hot, making my cock grow harder. My fingers plunge in and out while my tongue laves up one side of her sex. I flick across her engorged clit.
A shriek tears through the room. Her body arches up.
My tongue sears down the other side of her sex. She is close now. The rhythm of her hips, the moans from her mouth, tell me she’s about to tumble into ecstasy. I suck her clit between my lips.
The soft engorged piece of flesh that opens every gate of pleasure for a woman is in my mouth. My tongue begins to move. I spell. I spell out with my tongue, across that hot flesh, the nub of nerve endings, the gateway to bliss, I spell with my tongue what I am.
I spell Wonderfuck.
I get to the f.
Her body trembles. Her head thrashes against the pillow and her nails dig into my shoulders as she grabs me.
“Please, please, I want you in me. Fuck me. Please!”
I can’t wait. I need to be in her. I take a condom from the drawer next to my bed, rip it open, and roll it over my cock. Her face is flushed and her eyes open. I thrust into her deep and hard. Her body tightens around me. Her hands are all over my chest and she pulls me down. I can’t look away, I can’t stop, I can’t pause, I can’t be anything other than who I am.
“Jake,” she says, and that is who I am with her.
For the first time in almost six years, my name spills over a woman’s lips.
“Jake. Jake. Jake!”
She wraps her legs around me, pushing me even deeper into her body. The tingle starts in my feet and surges like a tsunami up over every nerve ending, every muscle, every cell. It rolls up to my legs and tightens my back. My balls pull close to my body and the heat, the wave, I’m blinded by the pleasure. I stare into her eyes and the hot sharp come tears out of me. She clenches around me and together we plummet over the edge.
* * *
I awaken to darkness. The lights of Los Angeles bathe my bedroom.
I can’t be here.
I can’t do this.
I can’t—
Tara lays beside me. She’s on her belly with one arm flung over my chest. Her hair long and lush. Her lips like a cupid’s bow. Soft. Peaceful. Beautiful. The presence of her enticing, like a path leading home.
I can’t do this to her or to me. I won’t ruin another future. I’m not the man she needs me to be. I gently move her arm. I slide out of my own bed like a thief in the night. I pull open my nightstand drawer and grab my Wonderfuck phone. I pull on my jeans, a shirt, and I’m out of my bedroom.
I grab a jacket from the back of a chair in the living room. Jango lifts her head, her eyes peering through the darkness at me as if to ask, What about her? The woman I love? I pet Jango on the head. Leaving now is the best gift I can give Tara. Leaving now will save her and me.
I grab my keys and my wallet from the kitchen counter, slide them into my pocket, and out the door I go into the darkness of the Los Angeles night.
Alone.
* * *
Deep in the darkness, in the hours between midnight and daybreak Los Angeles is a city that longs for fulfillment. In these hours, the despair we pretend doesn’t exist because of the sunshine and the perfect weather catches a break and grabs those who dare to brave the night.
I walk to a diner I visit when memories of Susie, of my parents, of a life before what happened, haunt my brain and keep me from sleep. I pull open the door and slide into a booth beside the window. I’ll order something to eat though I’m not hungry.
Late-night partiers still drunk from their evening share a booth and take pictures of each other. A shift worker going from day to night or night to day sits alone in another, sipping coffee with an empty stare on her face. Two cops eat a meal and speak in hushed tones near the back of the diner. I flip my coffee cup over.
I slip my Wonderfuck phone from my pocket. This is the longest I’ve ever gone without listening to the women who need Wonderfuck. There are lots of messages. Some I delete, some I save. In the final message, the voice is tentative and uncertain and mentions a woman I remember. That woman referred the caller to me because something bad has happened to her. Something that has broken her heart.
I pause.
My thumb hovers over the “9” to delete the message. But I don’t. Instead, I flip the phone closed as I greet my waitress and give her my order. Then I stare out into the darkness of the night.
* * *
“You’re back.”
I close the door. Tara sits at my dining room table with a steaming mug of coffee. Morning sunlight streams through the windows.
I’m a coward. I’d hoped that she’d be gone, but I knew she’d be waiting. She’s stronger and better than I am. She’s more than I’ll ever be.
“I couldn’t sleep.” I walk into the kitchen and pour a cup of coffee. She looks at me from her perch beside the table. Her face, her expression, is . . . well, expressionless.
I realize I’ve done her no favors. I’ve fucked her and ditched her and that is exactly what she doesn’t need. But she also doesn’t need me fucking up her life. She needs a nice solid guy with no baggage or bullshit or alter egos dragging him down. Or she needs a Wonderfuck. I can’t tell her about what she needs. I can’t be Jake and Wonderfuck at the same time. It’s one or the other. They’re mutually exclusive identities, and I can’t be both to her.
“I guessed as much.” She stands and turns to me. “I waited because I need to tell you something.” She walks to the breakfast bar and stops. A wide piece of granite now separates us, but it’s close enough that I can’t miss the beauty of her face, the vivid blue eyes, the tiny freckles that decorate her nose.
“Okay.” I sip my coffee.
“We live too close to each other for this to be weird.”
I say nothing. I peer at her over my coffee cup and wait for her to continue.
“I enjoyed last night,” she continues. “But I’m loaded with baggage right now, and you’ve got your stuff that you’re dealing with.”
I raise an eyebrow. My stuff? Not that she’s wrong, but I wonder just exactly how much of my stuff she knows about. Mom? Susie?
Wonderfuck?
“I know this isn’t going anywhere, and I knew that last night. I wanted to let you off whatever hook you’ve hung yourself on.” She walks around the counter and into the kitchen. She dumps her remaining coffee into the sink. “I will say, though, in my opinion, it’s kind
of shitty to ditch a woman in your own house. Just for future reference.”
Fair enough. A gentleman I’m not.
She picks up the bag of clean dishware from last night.
“Try not to be weird about this, okay?” Her tone is softer. In her eyes I see disappointment, and I get it, I’m disappointed too. Tara is exactly the type of woman I could fall for if I allowed myself to fall.
She turns toward the front door and Jango pads to her side.
“Tara,” I call. She turns back and glances at me, hope in her eyes.
“Yeah?”
“You forgot your spatula.” I hand her the utensil. She cocks an eyebrow, her expression screaming such an asshole, and tosses it into her bag.
“Thanks.” She and Jango exit my condo. The door slams closed.
I’m alone. She’s absolutely right. I am an asshole.
Chapter 16
You can fuck away your pain. I’ve done it. Fucking is a form of exercise, and it releases ten times the endorphins of running a marathon. Fucking cures depression.
Fucking has worked for me for almost six years, but fucking isn’t working now. In three weeks, I wonderfuck my way through a barrage of women. Then I stop. I stop cold turkey. The calls keep coming and I delete them all, except the one.
I stand at Hollywood Forevermore Cemetery. Across the rolling hills interspersed with plot markers is a hearse and a phalanx of people.
I turn back to the grave marker in front of me. Susan Marie Carson. My Susie. She died six weeks before our wedding date. Forty-two days. Today is the sixth anniversary of her death.
I lean forward and lay the bouquet of peonies on her grave. She liked peonies.
“Why are you here?”
The voice cuts a chill down my spine. I don’t want this confrontation. I don’t want to cause any more pain than I already have.
