by Nikky Kaye
Her eyes rolled back in her head.
“Feel that?” I said, biting back a groan as she arched against me. “That is what you do to me. All the goddamn time.”
Lizzie’s lips curved in a purely feminine smile, like Cleopatra or something. I grinned back before covering her mouth with mine. My tongue swept inside, tasting her, testing her. She met me halfway, but with some hesitation at first.
With every stroke of my tongue against hers, I moved my hips, letting her feel the length and strength of my erection.
Her hands went to my ass. I hissed with delight.
The flowers I’d given her were bunched up in the blouse around her waist, the scent of lilies rising from her body. Filling my head.
When we were both well and truly breathless, I raised my head and moved down to her breasts again. It didn’t take long to suck her nipples into hard, tender points.
Then I drove against her again, like a teenager at a house party.
One of her legs was totally exposed, but the other was covered to her ankle, the black fabric of her skirt stretched over that sweet, perfect spot.
The layers of clothes between us only seemed to heighten the intensity. There was an innocence to this, a barrier I was unsure of breaching. How far should I take this?
“More,” she whimpered.
She was going to be the death of me.
Deep down my body was begging for permission to go further, but my brain kept cautioning me. That she wasn’t ready. That she wasn’t the kind of girl you fucked for the first time on a small sofa.
For the moment, my body was winning.
I leaned back a little, tilting my head at her. “What kind of underwear does Miss Behave wear?” I wondered out loud. Or maybe she wasn’t wearing any, like she’d foregone her bra.
“Why don’t you find out?” Lizzie asked. Her sass surprised me, delighted me.
She inhaled sharply as my fingers traced up her exposed inner thigh and disappeared under her skirt. She was hot—so hot—and her whole body went rigid when I touched the damp crotch of her panties.
“Oh!” she cried out, then she made a keening sound. The muscles and tendons in her neck stretched as her head went back, and her chest rose as she arched her back.
I ran my fingertip along the elastic of her panties, before slipping inside that hot, wet perfection. She felt like heaven.
“Ash! Oh god!” She sounded surprised, even shocked. By what, I wondered—my assertiveness? Her own body’s reaction?
Her breath came fast and shallow as I circled her opening. She trembled beneath me, trying to hold still but her traitorous flesh not cooperating. Goosebumps rose on her skin, her nipples tight and rosy, and her belly quivering.
I didn’t enter her, though. I nudged my fingertip ever so slightly into her, recognizing her tightness.
My head spun. Maybe she was a virgin. I didn’t know anymore. If she was, I wasn’t about to make her first time be on a couch, half-clothed. She deserved more than that. She deserved flowers and candles and—well, at least a bed.
And I’d be damned if I was going to take her for the first time on the night we double-dated with other people. If—when it happened, I wanted it to be the only thing she remembered that night. That day.
That month, for fuck’s sake.
Her hot panting in my ear went straight to my cock. My balls tightened. Pretty soon I was going to blow my load like a teenager. I had to get myself under control, and fast.
I held my index finger right at her entrance and slid my thumb upwards and over her clit.
“Ahhhh!” Her whole body jerked beneath me, like I’d pressed an electrical switch inside her.
It was an amazing sight.
“Yes, sweetheart. Let me see you.”
“I-I can’t.” Her cheeks were stained red, her lips rosy and swollen from her biting them.
“Yes, you can. Have you ever come before?”
She stared at me, her eyes wide and round. Holding her breath, unable to respond. Overcome by the sensations rocking her body.
“I want to see you come,” I told her. I needed to see her come. Nothing else in the world mattered more to me at that moment.
My jaw tightened as I rubbed the pad of my thumb over and around that magical spot. Slick and sizzling hot, her clit swelled up to meet my touch. With every sweep, she sucked in a breath and her whole body shuddered. Tensed. Released. Tensed again.
“Is this more, Lizzie? Is this enough? Tell me to stop.” I needed her to be in control, as I was quickly losing mine.
She shook her head from side to side, her hair falling over the side of the couch. With one more pass of my thumb, she fell apart.
“Oh my god! Ash!”
I watched her explode, felt her pussy try to reflexively grasp my fingertip, still resting at her entrance. Fresh wetness filled my hand. She reminded me of a volcanic eruption, lava running down the slopes and hardening into obsidian as it hit the ocean. Flowing, heavy and hot, then cracking in the water.
I withdrew my hand, and licked her juices off my fingers. She tasted sweet and tangy, her musk all over my hand.
Her eyes drooped into narrow slits as her chest rose and fell. “Was that well-behaved?” she breathed.
“That was amazing.” She’d let herself go, met my challenge with enthusiasm and passion. It awed me—aroused me to the point of aching.
Everything inside of me screamed to rip her clothes off and sink myself deep inside her heat. But part of me wondered—had I pushed her too far? Maybe I’d been too aggressive. Not once had she said stop, though—quite the opposite.
Fuck, had I taken advantage of her? Or maybe I was just an experiment for her? A way to prove something to herself and to me.
My dick was still rock hard and throbbing in my pants, and I startled as her hand covered me.
“May I—?”
I groaned, beyond tempted. “No.”
Yes!
I was trying to be a gentleman, but a possessive need swirled inside me. I wanted her to the point of feeling crazed by it. I felt unhinged. The connection between us was stronger than anything I’d ever felt with another woman, and it scared the shit out of me.
This was getting too intense, too fast.
Lizzie looked at me with stars still in her eyes and her face glowing. “Ash, that was—”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupted, jumping up from the couch. I spun around, trying to adjust myself so I could make it home. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have done that.”
Silence.
“Oh.” Her voice was small behind me.
When I looked back, she’d wriggled into a seated position in the corner of the couch, her arms crossed over her chest. Her gaze was fixed on the laptop sitting on the coffee table.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I’ll write up my side of this… date tomorrow and email it to you.”
“Right. Sure. Okay.” She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “I’ll do mine tomorrow, too.” Her gaze flickered to me. “Maybe even tonight.”
“Maybe we should just pretend this didn’t happen,” I heard myself suggesting like a douchebag. I wanted to punch myself in the face, but I couldn’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth. “It was, uh, unprofessional of me.”
To say the least.
This wasn’t like me. Well, maybe it was, but I shouldn’t have taken things so far. Lizzie wasn’t like other women, and I should have remembered that.
It would be better for both of us if I backed off. I was a “guy’s guy”—that meant being a gentleman when I needed to be.
I said a quick goodnight and ran out the door so fast that I probably left a backdraft behind me.
Then I mentally punched myself in the head the whole way home.
When I’d started my advice column, I promised myself that I’d never do anything that I’d feel ashamed of writing about. Total honesty was one of the things that defined my writing.
How could I write about this?
The answer, of course, was that I wouldn’t. And I still wasn’t sure what this was. And that angered me. I was furious with myself for letting my attraction to Lizzie push me—and maybe her—to something regrettable.
I’d mentioned other women in my column before. Other encounters. But they knew the score and they didn’t care.
If I wrote about making Miss Behave come… oh fuck. I just couldn’t.
And I wouldn’t.
But I knew someone I could write to ask for advice…
9
Lizzie
“I think it’s safe to say that you went past flirting,” Dara said to me over lunch on Monday.
“Ya think?” I wanted to bang my head against the deli table, but I wasn’t entirely sure how clean it was.
“And you didn’t get to see or touch his…?” She waved the pickle that came with her sandwich.
“God. No. He left. Like he just discovered his house was on fire or something.”
“Damn.” Dara’s face fell. “Wham, bam, but no thank you, ma’am.”
“Something like that.”
I picked at my tuna salad, but didn’t have much of an appetite. I’d spent the previous day in my pajamas watching Netflix to distract myself from my behavior the night before, but now that I had a column to produce…
“And you have to write about this date?”
“End of day deadline. God only knows what he’s going to say in his column.”
“Did you tell Rob?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “If you mean, did I tell my editor about what happened after the double date, absolutely not. I did tell him that the dates he picked for us were total duds.”
The poor guy had been visibly disappointed, to my surprise. What, had he imagined that Ashleigh and Stephen would be perfect matches for both Ash and myself, or something? Love at first sight? He should know better than to trust the Internet.
“What are you going to write, then?” she asked around a mouthful of smoked meat.
“I have no idea.” I really didn’t. I didn’t want to badmouth our dates, and most of the evening had been so dull that it wouldn’t even qualify as a meme.
Afterwards, at my apartment… well, that was different. I’d wanted to get out of my comfort zone, and I certainly did. I wanted to prove to Ash that I wasn’t a prude, but I worried now that I scared him off.
I groaned internally just thinking about it, but the memory also made my face flame.
The way he kissed me, the way he touched me… I had to suppress a shiver right there in the deli.
It was embarrassing how responsive I’d been, but after eighteen months without a date, it was no surprise that I’d gone off like a rocket. I didn’t even have any battery-operated dates. Maybe Ash was right. Maybe I was a prude and I’d been behaving myself for too long.
In my column I’d always recommended a much more, uh, conservative timeline of getting it on with a new person. If he believed that I was the kind of girl that didn’t have sex on the first date—or the twenty-first—then, no wonder he bolted. What must he think of me?
I’d miscalculated. Badly.
In my attempt to prove to him that I wasn’t a goody two-shoes, I ended up losing my shoes—and very nearly my panties. Next up would be my reputation.
The little devil on my shoulder poked me and whispered, “Would that be so bad?” The angel on the other side was busy looking for my chastity belt and the lock that went with it.
Truthfully, I’d wanted to open his pants up and return the favor. Wanted to see the thick, hot bulge he’d been rocking. I’d made him hard. It was a heady feeling, if you’ll pardon the pun. Was it so wrong that I wanted to see it? Touch it? Taste it?
Dara finished her iced tea and wiped her fingers. She was done with her lunch and I’d barely touched mine. “When do you see him again?”
“Wednesday. Lunch meeting with Rob, the three of us.”
“Well, at least you know he won’t bring it up then.”
In front of my boss? He better not. I frowned as I played with my lemonade bottle. “In the meantime, I have to pull a column out of my ass today.”
Dara pointed her empty paper plate at me as she got up to put it in the trash. “Now that’s definitely more than flirting. No ass play until at least the fifth date—that’s my rule.”
I nearly choked on the swallow of lemonade I’d just taken. Slapping a napkin to my mouth, I managed to stop it from dribbling down my chin. “Duly noted,” I muttered.
When we got back to the office, Dara escaped into Photoshop and I scanned my email looking for something other than Saturday to write about. I knew I’d get in trouble if I didn’t at least mention the date, but I could gloss over it, right?
Aha! The office romance repeat offender! This was the kind of thing that Rob wanted, right?
“Dear Miss Behave: I made a move, like you suggested, but I think I came on too strong. Now I’m worried that she thinks I’m just after sex, when I really want to get to know her better. How do I backtrack without looking like a pussy?”
Cubicle Crush
I sat back in my chair, thinking.
This was exactly the kind of ongoing dialogue that my editor had pushed for. It had potential, for sure. Hell, even I could relate to it. The more I thought about it, the more I believed I should channel my inner Ash for this one. So I did.
“Dear Cubicle Crush: I guess it depends on how strongly you, uh, came on. If you introduced her to your parents and asked what her dream wedding would be, then I’d say you need to back off, big-time. If you rounded a couple of bases without any bad calls from the umpire, then you’re probably safe.
The next time you see her, try showing your interest without any physical contact and see how she responds. If she politely blows you off, then it’s time to backpedal. If, instead, she asks to blows you, then it’s time to put your back into it. And let me know how it turns out!”
Miss Behave
I giggled when re-reading it.
The smile on my face died when I realized that I still had to write something about our Internet dating set-up on Saturday night. Oh god, I was going to end up writing a restaurant review, in a feeble attempt to avoid talking about anything personal.
Why was I writing an advice column, again? Right, because I was waiting for a spot at the news desk—for going on two years. I used to be proud of this column. Now it was making me doubt everything about myself.
At least I knew my desk was clean when I dropped my head onto it.
* * *
Two days later, I heard Ash before I saw him.
His and my editor’s voices floated over the cubicle farm from the hallway, toward the elevators. It was a little like Charlie Brown’s teacher in the cartoons—my brain processed a wah wah wah wah noise with no discernible words, but I knew it was him. He laughed, and the little hairs on my arms rose.
I heard a rattling noise, and then Dara appeared at the entrance to my cubicle in her rolling chair.
“He’s here.”
“I know.” My heart was racing. I stared at my computer screen, randomly closing and opening tabs like I had a purpose.
“Are you going to talk to him?”
“Yep.” If I could get my heart out of my throat, first. Oh, forget it. I was distracted beyond belief, and had been all morning. “How do I look?”
“Like a streetwalker.”
“What?” I looked down at my brown pantsuit in dismay. “I was going for professional.” Okay, maybe it was a little tight and the top I wore underneath was a little lower cut than I would normally wear to the office…
“Like I said.” She rolled back, disappearing faster than the office stapler.
Unable to resist, I opened up the bookmarked tab with Ash’s column from the day before. I was still trying to interpret his proposed “rules”:
Rules of Internet Dating
Don’t trust the Internet.
Don’
t trust your date. Trust and honesty must be earned, not achieved through simply swiping right.
Don’t send dick pics. Just. Don’t.
Even if they aren’t (and especially if they aren’t), act as if your date is the most interesting, intelligent, attractive person you’ve ever met. Even the worst date ends in a few hours. You can live that long. Hell, you can lie that long.
Leave with the one you came with.
Break the rules.
What did he mean? Did he mean that he was putting on an act with me on Saturday night? Was he laughing at me?
Or was I just a crazy person, trying to read too much into an online advice column, like someone ruled by their horoscope or planning their next career based on a “what is your spirit animal” quiz?
“Hey.”
I spazzed in my chair like someone stuck a cattle prod under me. Spun around like a wobbly toy.
Ash stood there, looking devastatingly handsome and casual. His black jeans were torn at the knee and he wore the same leather jacket from Saturday. His hair was growing out, thick and dark, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved since the weekend. In short, he looked lickable.
Lickable? Lizzie, get a hold of yourself. The man gives you one orgasm and you’re ready to wave a golden ticket and let yourself into the chocolate factory.
I searched for the right comeback. “Uh, hey.”
“I didn’t bring lunch.” His mouth turned down in apology.
“Um, I didn’t expect you to.” Okay, that was a lie. I sort of expected him to. I’d become spoiled by his lunches.
“Mooney is ordering in something for us.”
Hmmm. Ash must have batted his bedroom eyes at my editor—no way would he buy lunch just for me.
“Can we talk, first?” he asked.
“Um, sure.” I looked at my hands, which I’d twisted together in my lap and consciously separated my fingers. “Go ahead.”
He looked around. “Not here.”
