by A. J. Downey
“Ooo, I like your style.”
He straightened and I cried out, a little oversensitive myself, as he pulled out of me. My body throbbed, an angry, pleasure-filled ache that was like an itch that just hadn’t been scratched to satisfaction. I wanted him, no, I needed him inside me again. I needed more, and I needed him not to stop until we were both too exhausted to continue.
We moved slowly, still half-basking in the afterglow as we pulled off the rest of our clothes, leaving them littering the kitchen counter and floors like casualties of war. Love is a battlefield, I thought to myself, and suppressed a giggle.
He hauled me to him and we pressed skin-to-skin, our mouths clashing, each of us vying to dominate the kiss, the heat between us shimmering like wave patterns off a summer sidewalk. He bent, cupping my ass and hauled me up his body. I gave a little leap into his arms and twined my legs around his hips. He snatched the remaining condoms off the counter where they’d been abandoned and murmured against my mouth, “Hold onto me, baby.”
He carried me bodily through his house and up the stairs to the bedroom, laying me back against the covers, kissing down my body far enough to worship my breasts. I moaned and melted into the cloud that was his bed, clutching my fingers in his hair as he worked first one then the other nipple, his hands tearing open and rolling on another condom. I was so wet, so slick and ready for a second round, I could feel it coating the insides of my thighs. The sex was getting messy, but then again, that was the best kind.
He teased my pussy lips with the head of his cock, rubbing the head through my wetness, teasing my clit with it, slapping it against my body to cause pleasurable vibrations. I writhed and demanded he fuck me and he laughed and shoved himself inside me to the root. I was open and ready for him, so all that resulted was a pleasant, full feeling. I put my hands around his neck and wrapped my legs back around his hips and pulled him all the way back in when he pulled back to thrust.
He laughed and I let out a pleasure-filled hum and drifted a hand down my body between my breasts.
“Just stay there, just like that,” I said, and worked my clit in circles with my fingertips. He pressed tighter against me and watched me masturbate with his cock pressed deep inside me, a small smile playing on his lips with his amusement. I didn’t care, I was glad he was enjoying the show as I ground against him, my other free hand gripping one breast, pinching the nipple. He grinned and bowed over me, pressing in harder, his mouth engulfing my other nipple as I drew tighter, my pussy giving that first blushing, trembling throb.
I was close, so very close, and I wanted to come again so bad. He mumbled against my breast, “That’s it, baby. Come all over that dick,” and I did. I arched, a thin wail escaping my throat that dove to limitless depths as the last drop of whatever caused the vessel of my body to overfill, spilling over and across his bed.
He leaned over me as I shuddered and jerked as if electrocuted, and moaned out, “Mm, yeah; you feel so good. Keep coming, keep coming just like that.”
God I loved how sensual, how erotic his deep voice in my ear was as I pulsed around him. The sound alone drove me into another smaller, but no less pleasurable, orgasm as he began to move again, rolling his hips, starting slow at first before picking up the pace. I gasped for breath but had trouble sitting still. I wanted him, I needed to move, I wanted to be on top, to writhe for him, to dance for him in that way that gave us both pleasure because I was addicted to him and his love and I wanted, needed, to come for him again.
“Stop! Stop, stop, stop! I want on top, let me fuck you!” I begged, and he obliged, helping me up so I was riding him halfway. He stood back up, turned around and let himself fall back onto the bed. I fell too, laughing, shrieking with joy until we landed and he thrust impossibly deep, to the point where pleasure met pain.
I shuddered and sat up, pushing against his chest to give myself leverage, getting my knees under me before I rolled my hips, rising and falling, his cock impossibly deep at this angle and touching off a euphoria I don’t think I had ever felt with another human being. I watched him through eyes hooded with passion. He looked up at me like I was his personal goddess and I felt powerful, beautiful, and in control. It was intoxicating. I was pleasure-drunk and looking for more, and his hands smoothing over my hips only encouraged me to go find it.
I leaned back, changing angle slightly and that was the key that unlocked the door for both of us. His eyes slipped shut and he cried out, breathless with enjoyment, as his hands returned to my breasts, fondling them, pinching the nipples and rolling them between forefinger and thumb as I joyfully fucked both of our brains out.
I came again, only this time he came with me, and I shook so hard, I couldn’t get enough control to keep at it if I wanted to. He lay beneath me, my body over his, rising and falling with his short but deep breaths, his arms around me, his cock softening inside the condom inside me and all I knew was bliss.
“You’re something else, you know that?” he asked later. I lay back against his chest, the warm water of the bath we shared swirling around raw, sensitive bits and causing little intermittent aftershocks.
“Why do you say it that way?” I asked, laughing a little. His arms tightened around me and he chuckled with me, holding me tight.
“What way?” he asked.
“Like you’re surprised.”
“Pleasantly surprised, but yeah, I guess I am kind of surprised.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Most people fall in love but they have to work at it, you know? They love their wife or girlfriend, but they compromise, or have to settle on some things. It’s not like that with you. I don’t feel like I have to compromise on anything. I don’t feel like I have to settle. You just feel that fuckin’ good. You do everything I like. You’re just amazing.”
I cuddled back into him and said softly, “So you think you love me, huh?”
He barked a laugh and kissed my shoulder, up to the side of my neck, nuzzling behind my ear he whispered into it, “I don’t think I love you, mi alma, I know I do. I’ve loved you from the first moment you looked into my eyes back on that dock, that sliver in your hand and the heel on your shoe broken. There’s never been anyone else but you, babe.”
I felt my lashes collect tears, the sparkling lights of the arching Bay Bridge to the side of our view from the tub out the houseboat’s bay windows, blurring and turning to stars. I tipped my head back and begged for his lips with mine and he kissed me.
There had been a few lovers since Angel in my life. Aleksi was one of them, but he was gay and the best thing I could do for him while we were in Russia was fuck him and sing his praises to cast off suspicion. He’d honestly been the most awkward fuck of my life and we’d laughed about it afterwards. He’d told me he loved me, but not in that way. More like a sister, and I’d begged him to never, ever say that again, considering we had fucked.
It’d been a deal. We’d kept up the ruse, until we hit a country where it’d been safe to be himself. Then it’d been a gentle, mutual break-up, and he’d come out of the closet to the rest of the company, and that had been that.
I told Angel the truth, all of it, and we’d laughed and laughed over it, my relief palpable when he promised he wasn’t jealous or upset that though I’d missed him, I hadn’t exactly stayed celibate. I felt a certain amount of guilt that he had.
“I love you, too,” I whispered and I could feel the glow of his happiness even at my back.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Of course!”
“You have no idea how happy that makes me, mi alma.”
I chuckled and asked, “What does that even mean?”
“What?”
“What you keep calling me, mi alma…”
He smiled against the side of my neck and said, “It’s Spanish for ‘my soul’, which you are.”
“You believe in soulmates?” I whispered.
“I didn’t, but then I met you.”
He cradled me against his body, r
ocking me back and forth gently in the tub as rain began to patter outside on the roof. I sighed and closed my eyes and sank gratefully back into him, my body loosening, an unknown tension easing from my muscles.
“You’re my everything now, Claire,” he whispered.
I smiled, and said with absolute conviction, “You’re mine, too.”
He sighed out in contentment, a sentiment I echoed, and we lay sated and comfortable in each others’ arms in the warm bath as the rain pattered down outside. I didn’t think there was anything that could be more perfect about tonight, after what a disaster the day had been.
Of course, that was before we got out, he built a fire to warm the place, and we went to bed. I slept so soundly cuddled in his embrace, and I felt so alive.
Angel’s presence in my life was making all the difference.
15
Angel…
I was first to wake the next morning. She was so peaceful when she slept. No trace of sadness remained when she was like this, and I just lay beside her for what must have been an hour or more just watching her. Her dark lashes quivering faintly against her freckled cheek, the dark circles beneath her eyes all but gone, the faintest of shadows left behind. She was so beautiful, with her long dark hair down, brushing her forehead. I could stare at her for hours more if she would let me.
Of course, this was Claire, and I was learning that, similar to me, she had to always be moving at a thousand miles an hour.
She sucked in a tremulous breath and her sleek body stretched and shuddered. She yawned, pressing the back of her hand over her mouth to cover it, before she opened her eyes and caught me staring, memorizing every line, every curve, every freckle of her beautiful face in this most intimate of moments.
“Were you watching me sleep?” she asked, laughing at me.
“Yes.”
“Oh my God, why?” She covered her face with her hands and I pulled them away.
“Stop that, you’re beautiful when you sleep.”
“You think I’m beautiful all of the time,” she said accusingly, and I smiled.
“Guilty as charged.”
“Mm, that’s okay,” she said softly. “If I woke up first, I would probably be doing the same thing.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Why?” I asked, and then I wished I hadn’t; her eyes lost some of their sparkle.
“Because I still keep expecting to wake up and find out that this was all some sort of terrible but beautiful dream. It just doesn’t at all seem quite real…”
I palmed her cheek and smoothed a thumb over her soft skin and smiled at her.
“This is as real as it gets, mi alma.”
“Promise?”
“I swear it.”
She leaned forward and kissed me, and I smiled against her lips. She drew back, enough to speak but not enough for me to really look at her; her voice was soft as her insecurities came out to play.
“Even with as broken as I am?”
“We all break sometimes, it’s part of life.” I drew back to look at her and she gazed at me, her luminous dark eyes, so lovely in their contradiction, held worry and concern. I cocked my head and asked, “What do you know about martial arts? Specifically, out of ancient Japan?”
She laughed, amused at my abrupt change in topic, before saying, “Nothing, why?”
“Well, did you know that some ancient Japanese warriors used to break their arms and legs on purpose?”
“No, why would they do that?”
“To become unbreakable.”
“I don’t understand.”
I cuddled her into me and she laid her head on my chest.
“When a bone is broken, it heals stronger than it was to begin with.”
“Really?”
“Yep. They figured it made them better warriors. My point is, that the theory holds true for more than bones. We all break sometimes, but once we recover from that break, we’re stronger, and harder to break a second time around. You’ve been through a lot, baby. You’re still healing, but when you’re there, you’ll be stronger; better than you were before.”
“You really believe that?”
“I do.”
I didn’t exactly tell the whole truth when it came to the bone thing. It was true that it was stronger after healing initially, but things eventually evened out and the site of the break was just the same as the surrounding bone after a while. Either way, the same was true. ‘Time heals all wounds’ was a true statement for a lot of things.
We were quiet for a time and eventually she sucked in a breath and blew it out.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I want coffee, and I need to pee, but I don’t want to get up, I’m too comfortable.”
I laughed and said, “Coffee and taking a piss are definitely on my list of things to do, too, doesn’t matter which order, though. Up you go. Let’s get this party started.”
She groaned and whined playfully, but got up. We padded downstairs in our bare feet wrapped in our bathrobes and I let her use the bathroom first while I got coffee going. She came out, and finished what I started so I could take care of business. We didn’t have to ask each other, we didn’t even really speak, instead maintaining a close and comfortable silence. It was the closest I had ever felt with anyone other than my twin, and it felt good, this sharing my space and the mundane little pieces of life with her. I would hate to go back to work the next morning.
“So, what did you want to do with your new-found freedom today?”
“Never give up and never surrender,” she answered. “I want to hit the gym and I want to start sending emails.”
“Which one first?”
“Ugh, I want to do the gym, so that means I should probably do the emails first.”
“Fair assessment,” I agreed, laughing a little.
“I’ll go get my laptop,” she said sulkily.
“Keep it up there, take your coffee in the sunroom. What do you want for breakfast? I’ll make myself useful and bring it up.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You’re the best.” She stood up on her toes and kissed me. “And whatever is fine. I’m in one of those moods where food is just something you eat so you don’t die.”
I laughed. “Not a breakfast person?”
“No, not really, but I need to eat with as many calories as I tend to burn in a day.”
“True. You may have to adjust for a while,” I said and she made a face at me.
“You’re right, damn it.”
I was sorry I’d brought up the loss of her job again, but I knew she wanted to stay in peak condition and putting in as many calories as she was probably used to, without expending as much as she had been, could lead to a host of other self-image problems for her. Not to mention, when she got her job back or if she found another job performing, she would have a lot less to worry about when it came to getting back into top shape.
“Stop it,” she said gently, and I scowled.
“Stop what?”
“Worrying that you offended me. I get it. It’s not a commentary on me keeping my figure; it’s you genuinely looking after my health, happiness, and well-being.”
I smiled and asked, “That obvious?”
“You’re like an open book, baby,” she said to me and winked. She took a drink of her coffee and drifted towards the stairs.
A few moments later she called down, “What’s the Wi-Fi password?”
I chuckled and called it up to her as I set about making us some baked oatmeal, mostly because it was still grey and dreary outside, and baked oatmeal was hearty, tasty, and just sounded amazing on such a cold and miserable day.
When I went up, she hit a few keys, looked over what she read, hit a final key, and leaned back with a gusty sigh. I set a bowl by her laptop and sat across from her with mine, laying down a napkin and a spoon for her. She picked up the spoon and said, “House smells great.”
&n
bsp; “Bonus feature.”
She smiled and took a bite and I felt my own smile grow with hers. She nodded and finished her bite.
“This is fantastic.”
“Yeah, just because it’s something you eat so you don’t die, doesn’t mean it should taste like shit.”
She laughed and it was a brighter sound than the sun outside, hidden by the clouds as it was. She nodded and said, “You got me there.”
“So, now what?” I asked, glancing at her laptop by way of clarification.
She sighed. “Now, we wait, I guess. I don’t really know. First time I’ve ever been fired from anything in my life.”
“Really?” I asked. “Not even as a teenager, from your first shitty dead-end job?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Nope.”
“Wow. I’m impressed.”
She nodded and said, “What about you?”
“Never been fired, been laid-off before from a private ambulance company just before I got on with the city. Rage-quit the bodega I worked at when I was sixteen because Mr. Corleone was a massive cheapskate, dick, but yeah, that’s about the extent of it.”
“Hmm.” She chewed thoughtfully, and nodded, finally.
“You have anything else in mind for today other than the gym?”
She shook her head. “I was expecting to be at rehearsal after that, so, no, I have no idea what else to do.”
“Weather is crap, you down to come back here, cuddle in bed, and watch some movies?”
Her shoulders dropped and an expression of longing crossed her face, “That sounds so amazing, actually.”
I nodded. “We can stop at the store on the way back in, figure out what we want for dinner and snacks.”
“Popcorn and Red Vines, if we’re doing movies.”
“Ooo, yeah. You know how to do it right, don’t you?”
She laughed and nodded. “That I do.”
We finished our breakfast and talked movies, what each of us liked and what was out at the box-rental kiosks around the city. She didn’t get to see many movies when she was overseas, so she was really looking forward to this as a treat. Truthfully, so was I. It sounded like bliss to me. Just me and her, curled up in comfy clothes and relaxing.
