by Cassia Leo
“No, I’m not.”
He looks genuinely confused by my response. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He gently brushes his thumb over my cheekbone. “Look at this skin… so creamy and perfectly soft.” He reaches up and sparks of energy tingle over my scalp and down my neck when he runs his fingers through my hair, pulling his hand all the way through until he reaches the tips, where he rubs a lock between his fingertips. “Your hair is like silk and the most gorgeous color I’ve ever seen. Like… scarlet ribbons.”
All the breath has left my body. I’m drifting on a sea of Houston’s mesmerizing words.
He grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “And this face.” He pauses as he looks me over. “Beyond beautiful. There are no words to describe your beauty.”
“Stop,” I whisper, making a halfhearted attempt to push his hand off my chin.
“No. I will never stop telling you this until you believe it. You have to believe it.” He cups my face in his hands again to force me to look him in the eye. “You’re not just physically beautiful, Rory. You’re radiant. Inside and out. You’re vulnerable and smart and sexy as fuck and…”
His chest is heaving as his eyes lock on mine. Then he crushes his lips to mine and reality quickly dissolves. All I can feel is his rough hands on my face, his soft lips covering my mouth, his hot tongue brushing against mine. Holy shit. This is what it’s like to kiss Houston? Everything fades out of existence except us, and the electric friction of our bodies touching, our mouths hungrily seeking each other. His hand tangles in my hair as he grabs the back of my neck, commanding me to stay put. But he must know there’s nowhere I’d rather be.
He pulls away slightly, his teeth tugging my lip, and a deep, ravenous moan sounds in my throat. Then his tongue is back in my mouth, teasing me with a sensual dance of slow and fast, soft and hard, deep and long. The kind of kiss that says I’m going to fuck you slow and fast, soft and hard, deep and long.
My clit aches just thinking about it. Houston is the only guy I’ve ever thought about while touching myself. Now he’s here in my arms, solid as hot steel. And he wants me. Houston wants me.
I coil my arms tightly around his shoulders. “I want to do it,” I breathe, my fear unraveling inside my body as a new me rises from the depths of my desire. “I want to fuck you, Houston.”
He pulls back immediately and looks me in the eye. I bite my lip and hold his gaze, emboldened by his need for me, a newfound resolve burning inside me like wildfire.
“Say it again,” he says, his voice a low growl that raises goose bumps over my skin.
“I want to fuck you, Houston.”
The words are like hard candy on my tongue, solid and sweet, but he can hear the determination in my voice. A feverish yearning sparks in his eyes as he slides my coat off my shoulders. Then he commands me to say it again.
“I want to fuck you.” I slip my arms out of my coat sleeves and he tosses it onto the floor. “Fuck me, Houston.”
He removes his jacket and throws it behind him. Then we both sit up so we’re kneeling in front of each other.
He gazes longingly at my chest. “Take off your shirt.”
I’m glad he didn’t say please. There’s something primal about seeing him take control. I yank off my long-sleeved shirt and draw in a sharp breath as a cool breeze sweeps over me, my nipples hardening under the flimsy fabric of my lavender bra.
He stares at my breasts for a moment, the fire in his eyes searing holes straight through my flesh and into my heart. Reaching forward, he grabs both sides of my waist and pulls me toward him. He presses his lips to the satin curve of my breast. A small hiss sizzles through my clenched teeth. His hand reaches up and cups the underside as he massages my softness. Without my noticing, he’s managed to unclasp my bra, and suddenly my straps are falling.
He tosses the bra aside as he takes my stiff pink nipple into his mouth. The warmth of his tongue and the firmness of his lips send sparks of electricity coursing through me. He kisses and sucks on my flesh, looking up at me occasionally to see my reaction to the sweet pleasure. I curl my fingers in his caramel-brown hair as he traces his tongue around my areola, a circle of heat that cools under his breath, my panties getting wetter with each torturous lick.
His hand slides down my lower back and inside my jeans until he’s palming my ass. His fingernails bite into my cheek firmly as he pulls my hips against his so I can feel the rigid bulge in his pants. His mouth covers mine again as his other hand begins to undo the button of my jeans, his every movement a note in a symphony of sex.
Brrrr. My zipper goes down.
Shhhh. There go my pants.
Ahhhh. His hand sliding into my panties.
His finger lights on my clit and I gasp. “Is that it, baby?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
My fingernails dig into his shoulders as I tighten my arms around his neck. His finger twitches methodically, a purposeful beckoning. Every muscle in my body is taut, quivering, balanced on the edge of his careful command.
He leans his head back to look me in the eye. “I want to watch your face while I touch you.”
He drags his finger slowly back and forth, and I whimper as each scratch of his calloused skin on my clit lights me up with a sharp lustful spark of pain. My gaze falls to his chest as my body begins to curl inward. He kisses my mouth to pull my face back up.
“Look at me.” His finger glides around in light circles over my clit and I dig my nails into his neck. “That’s it, baby. Hold on tight.”
“Oh, God,” I whisper, my body twitching with every movement of his hand, a finger puppet in a sinful spectacle.
Ladies and gentlemen! Watch as this man turns this woman into a jellified, quivering mass of obedience!
“Let yourself feel it, Rory,” he murmurs, his hot lips against my jaw. “Savor it… but don’t pass out on me. This is just a preview.”
I swallow hard as I lean back and gaze into his eyes. His fingers are magic, turning my body into pure liquid lust. Every stroke coaxes a wave of pleasure out of me, a waterfall of desire cascading through me, until my muscles are too weak to support my own weight. I crumble in his arms.
He holds me tighter, propping me up as he slides his hand farther into my panties until his middle finger is buried inside me.
“Holy shit,” I wince and he freezes.
“Does that hurt?”
“No,” I insist, gathering up the small threads of energy scattered inside me, bundling them into just enough vigor to reassert my hold on his shoulders, so he can’t pull away. “It feels good. Don’t stop.”
He grunts softly as he tightens his arm around my waist again and slides his finger back inside me.
“You’re soaking wet,” he says, a devilish smile curving his mouth. “And I’m just getting started.”
“Oh, my God,” I whisper under my breath as he rakes his teeth down my neck.
It’s the most decadent pain I could have imagined. Sharp, like an oddly pleasurable knife twisting inside me as he moves his finger up and down, in and out. The flat of his palm rubs against my still-throbbing clit, my thighs trembling with ecstasy as an orgasm approaches. But he stops just before I reach my peak. The teasing is pure torture, and the godly smile that tugs at the left corner of his mouth tells me he’s enjoying his role as tormentor.
He slips his hand out of my panties and fixes me with a glare so seductive it should be criminal. Slowly, and without taking his eyes off mine, he lifts his hand and slides the finger into his mouth. I swallow hard as he pulls it out slowly, his eyes darkening with a craving as volatile as gasoline. One flicker of flame and we’re going to ignite, burning up until there’s nothing left of us but ash and bone. I can feel the explosive charge coming, like a tremor in my marrow, but it doesn’t scare me. I want it. I want to walk into the flames, let them engulf me.
He licks his lips as he reaches down and tugs on the waistband of my panties. “Take these off so I can taste all of you.”
I swallow hard and focus on my breathing, trying not to let him see how pleased I am to hear those words. He slides off the bed so he can undress as I lie back to remove my underwear.
First, he tears off his T-shirt and I’m mesmerized by the sight of his perfectly sculpted physique. He looks like a goddamned fitness model. I’ve seen Houston shirtless plenty of times. He’s always been lean, with well-defined musculature. He swam competitively and played rugby in high school. Still, I haven’t seen him with his shirt off in three years. So I’ve never seen him like this.
His shoulders are broad and strong, a slight sheen shimmering on his taut skin. His neck is solid, and as thick as his biceps. But his chest and abs are a testament to whatever he’s been doing to stay in shape for the past three years. Sculpted to perfection, every groove and valley points my gaze downward toward the enormous bulge in his jeans.
He flashes me a sexy half grin as he begins undoing his pants. His confidence radiates off him and fills the room with the headiness of his masculinity. He knows how fucking hot he is. No, he’s not just hot, he’s gorgeous, exquisite, beautiful, yet exceedingly male.
In a flash, his pants are off, quickly followed by his navy-blue boxer briefs. And there it is. I clap my hand over my mouth to keep from blurting out something stupid about his huge cock.
Is it too late to back out?
My blood stands still in my veins. I’ve never seen an erect penis anywhere other than the few porn videos I’ve watched out of curiosity, but this is definitely the largest one I’ve ever seen. Thick and long, the skin stretched tight over the hard shaft. And it’s pointed straight at me.
No! There’s no way I’m backing out of this. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for since I first laid eyes on Houston seven years ago. Okay, maybe I wasn’t thinking about it at the age of eleven. But still, there’s no fucking way I’m backing out now.
He reaches into the top drawer of his dresser and pulls out a long strip of condoms.
Holy shit. Is that how many times we’re gonna do it?
He tears one foil wrapper off the strip, then he rips it open and unrolls it over his cock. He approaches as I lie down on my side, propped up on my elbow, watching him move across the bed toward me. He reaches up and pinches my nipple, tugging a little until, like magic, I can feel the tugging sensation between my legs. Letting go of my nipple, he leans in and kisses me tenderly, his hand landing on my hip and sliding back to softly caress my butt.
I lie back and wrap my arms around his neck and we make out like this for a while. Our bodies stealing each other’s warmth, his hands exploring every inch of my skin, banking my wetness like currency as he readies me for the main event. After a while, he begins to move down on me and I have to keep reminding myself not to tense up.
I’ve never had oral sex. I’m not one of those virgins who thinks oral doesn’t count. I don’t know what to expect. What if I scream or kick him or something else even more mortifying?
He plants a soft kiss on each of my hip bones before he looks up at me with a smile in his eyes. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He kisses the spot just below my navel. “I’m going to put my mouth on you, then I’m going to lick you until you’re begging me to stop.” He places a soft kiss right above my clit and my stomach clenches. “But I need you to promise me one thing.”
“Anything,” I reply, breathless with anticipation.
He looks up at me, a cunning smile curving his lips. “Don’t hold back. I want to hear you scream.”
I nod and draw in a deep breath as he lowers his head between my legs. Then his mouth is on me and my whole body convulses. He looks up at me, his eyes full of excitement, watching my reaction as he slides his tongue between my folds and drags it upward ever so slowly. The ecstasy is overwhelming. My eyelids flutter as his tongue moves slowly up and down, teasing me, dragging out the pleasure, until finally it’s on my clit.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, grabbing chunks of his hair to hold my body steady as his tongue swirls around my swollen bud.
He wraps his soft lips around my clit and gently sucks, the tip of his tongue applying pressure as his lips work the outer regions. Together, it creates a sensation that reverberates through every inch of me, sending my mind and body floating into the outer reaches of space where time doesn’t exist.
The orgasm builds quickly, bringing me back into the moment, and I’m aware of everything again. My muscles are warm and twitchy. Sweat beads on my chest, slides down my neck, tickling my skin as my body floods with magma. My legs begin to quake as the first sound comes out. It’s a sharp whimper, a desperate cry for release.
His tongue flicks my clit rapidly as he senses the orgasm rumbling through me. My back arches and my feet push against the mattress, my body desperately trying to escape the intensity of the orgasm. Then comes the scream.
It starts off as a moan and quickly evolves into a burning howl. I push him away as the sensation becomes painful. He chuckles as I let out one more exhausted groan.
My body melts into the mattress as pinpricks of colorful light burst in my vision, tiny fireworks celebrating that earth-shattering orgasm. I’m actually seeing stars.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe, blinking furiously to clear my vision. “Holy fucking shit.”
He moves up, his bare chest sliding over my heated skin. Despite the snow falling outside the bedroom window, we’re both slick with sweat. He kisses me hard, not giving me a chance to recover from that unbelievably intense orgasm. And I go with it, wrapping my legs around his hips and kissing him back with the same ferocity, reveling in the taste of me on his lips. More proof that this is not a dream.
The tip of his erection presses against my entrance and I resist the urge to grab it and shove it inside me. I know that’s not possible. He’s going to have to ease that enormous thing inside a little bit at a time.
He plants his hands on either side of my head and pushes himself up so he can look down at me. “Are you ready for me?”
I nod. “I’m ready.”
He leans his weight on one elbow so he can look down at his beautiful cock, probably admiring it just as much as I am. Taking it in his hand, he glides the tip through my wetness, and my body twitches when he hits my clit. Then he slides it in about an inch and I let out a soft gasp.
The thickness stretches me painfully. This is going to hurt. I harbor no illusions about that. But I try not to let the pain register on my face.
He looks up at me, a slightly guilty grimace on his face as he guides his erection in just a bit farther. I bite my lip to hide the agony, then I lock my arms and legs tighter around him to pull him back on top of me. The change in position pushes him even farther inside and I let out a high-pitched whimper.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his brow etched with worry.
I gaze at the perfect slope of his nose, the peaks of his soft lips, and the messiness of his lush caramel-brown hair, nodding as I smile through the pain. Because Houston is right. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. This is our destiny. From now on, this is us.
December 4, 2014
Liam’s truck pulls up to 13 Harbor Court, our new suburban address, just before eleven p.m. and my heart races at the sight of it. It’s an actual house. Not an apartment. I haven’t lived in a house since the few months I lived with my mom after graduating from UO.
The porch light is on, illuminating the lawn and the front of the house. The light-gray stucco looks as if someone slathered cement on the walls and forgot to come back and paint it. The clay tile roof reminds me of the sprawling Spanish-style estates you see in the movies, but this house is far from sprawling. It’s tiny. And the lush green lawn makes me question whether we’re at the wrong house.
“Is this the right address?” I ask as Liam pulls into the driveway in front of the one-car garage. “That grass is so green. It looks like someone lives here.”
Liam laughs. “This is a planned unit development. I’m sure keeping the grass green i
s one of the stipulations in the association bylaws.”
Planned unit development? Association bylaws?
If my heart could speak it would say, “I don’t belong here. Take me home. To Portland… and Houston.”
Hearts are stupid, which is why the phrase “listen to your heart” is an idiom, not an axiom. Idioms are figurative. They’re not meant to be taken literally. Axioms are accepted truths. And the truth is something Houston is unfamiliar with.
I can forgive him for keeping Hallie’s suicide note from me out of some misguided attempt to protect me. But I can’t forgive him for deceiving me into a relationship. For making me believe he wanted me just as much as I wanted him that first night we were together. I don’t care how many voicemails he leaves me claiming he had wanted me since the Christmas before Hallie died. I don’t believe a word of it. I have no reason to believe it. He’s proven to me that the truth means nothing to him.
If he had really confessed his feelings about me to Hallie that Christmas, why didn’t she mention anything about it in her suicide note? I know the note wasn’t addressed to me, but she could have said something like “I know you don’t want to hurt Rory any more than I do.” Something as simple as that would have made me believe Houston, because I so desperately want to believe him. I don’t want to accept that the most amazing moments of my life weren’t real.
But that’s the truth. Not that bullshit Houston is spouting at me in all his messages. I’m glad I deleted the last one without listening to it. That is how I will deal with all his attempts to contact me from now on.
We take Skippy and Sparky into our new gated backyard, then we yank our suitcases out of the truck bed, dragging them up the driveway and along the short concrete path leading to the front door. Liam slides the key into the deadbolt and the sound is so loud it grates on me. My skin is itching with anxiety just wondering what we’ll find inside.
