“No, little bit. You’re not the joke. But you’re widening my world a little, I think. You are one of a kind.”
She smiled at that, a beautiful, unguarded brightness. “That’s a good thing. Any more of me would probably bring on the apocalypse. You want a drink? I have juice. And milk. I could make coffee.”
Luca wanted to reach out and take her little hands, pull her close and kiss her. Pick her up and wrap her around his body. Unable to do that, he was at a loss. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “No, I’m good.”
“Okay. Well, I don’t like people in my bed, so are you okay with the sofa?”
Again, he laughed. Something they had in common, at last.
“Dork! What?! Stop it!” She stomped her foot, which he found adorable, and he laughed harder. But she was getting pissed, and he reined himself in.
“Sorry, sorry. I don’t like to fuck in bed, either. That’s usually a problem.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good then. It’s not a problem with me.” She went over to the sofa and starting pulling little pillows away and tossing them to the floor.
“You do like a lot of shit around, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I guess it’s because…you know. The orphanage or whatever, but bare spaces make me twitchy. I like things close and busy. And texture. I like a lot of different feelings.” She cast the last of the pillows aside and stood straight, hands on her hips again. “I’m not dirty. I’m not a slob. Everything’s clean. It’s just stuff, and it all has a place.” She punctuated that statement by taking her jacket off and tossing it into the striped papasan. Then she pulled the sheer black top off, leaving only the red satin bra above her jeans. Her breasts were a little bit bigger than he’d suspected. Still small, but they looked like they might be a nice handful.
He wondered if he’d ever know for sure.
With her hands behind her back, in the act of unfastening that bra, she stopped and gave him an impatient scowl. “Do you fuck with your clothes on? Because that’s a no.”
Frankly, usually he stayed partially dressed. Not for any particular reason, except that he was usually busy as soon as he had his shirt off. But now, he bent down and loosened the laces on his boots. By the time he had them and his socks off and had stood up again, she was down to nothing but a little pair of red satin panties, the kind that were almost like tiny little shorts, the sweet curves of her cheeks peeking out the bottom.
Her nipples were pierced, too. Small silver rings through them both. God DAMN, he wanted to get his hands—and his mouth—on them. He yanked off his t-shirt and opened his belt and jeans, ridding himself of them as quickly as possible.
“You don’t wear underwear?”
“Too binding.”
She smirked. “I imagine.” Cocking her head at his crotch, she asked, “You ever find that that’s just too damn big? Like tab A just doesn’t fit in slot B? Because tab A is wicked intimidating.”
Being extremely well endowed was not nearly as awesome as most people assumed, in fact. Binding was a real problem. And the random erections guys got throughout any day were insanely obvious. Figuring out where to put the damn thing to try to minimize both binding and circus-freak hard-ons in the middle of a construction site practically required schematics.
And chicks sometimes freaked out at the very sight of it and just said No way, uh-huh, thanks but no. Still, most chicks dug it, and once things got going, he didn’t have the kind of trouble Manny was referring to. “I’ve fucked quite a few women, and haven’t had a problem yet. I know some tricks.” The tricks he knew required that he touch the woman, get her loose, and he still had no idea if Manny would let him even put his hands on her.
“Okay, then. Have a seat.” He snagged a condom out of his jeans, then walked to her sofa and sat in the middle. As he did so, she shimmied prettily out of her panties.
Shaved. Perfectly, smoothly, pinkly shaved. She moved his knees apart and knelt between them.
Before she did more, she looked up, her blue eyes burning into his. “Don’t touch me.”
“Fuck, little bit. You ask a lot.”
“I need it.”
“Okay.” He stretched his arms across the back of her sofa and let his head fall back. With his eyes closed, he felt her take him into her small hands. Fuck, he needed to see that. He brought his head forward and watched her examine him, her hands moving lightly over and around, up and down, occasionally squeezing and sliding more firmly along his length. He flexed his hips to bring himself closer to her, the only thing approaching touch he could think to do.
She took her time, feeling him for whole minutes. There was a plastic black cat clock hanging on one wall, the kind that ticked, its eyes and tail shifting back and forth, marking the seconds. To Luca, focused on Manny between his legs, that sound became a deafening drum closing out everything but it and them.
And then she put her mouth on him. Gentle, fluttery kisses, all around his head and down and up his length. Finally, she used her tongue, flicking lightly over his glans, the stud sending brilliant shocks through his nerve endings. It was too fucking much. He couldn’t come like this, there was no way he was going to come like this, with such gentle, erratic pressure, but she had him so close it was a kind of agony.
“Fuck. You’re making me—”
He stopped before he said crazy. She stopped, too, and stared up at him, perfectly still. She reached over and picked up the condom packet from where he’d dropped it on the sofa. When she rolled it on him, she then used heavy pressure, as if she was testing him to see if he’d come now, while she was dressing him for fucking, before she could even get on him.
And he could have. But he closed his eyes and willed it back, taking a deep, slow breath, letting his mind count the ticks of that clock until he was focused on the counting.
She brought him back when she straddled him, her little ass resting on his knees. He opened his eyes to see her staring at his condom-covered cock.
“You okay?”
She looked up, biting her bottom lip in a sexy, youthfully uncertain way. “I wasn’t exaggerating. I’m intimidated. I’m afraid it’s gonna hurt.”
“I can help with that, Manny. But I need to touch you. Can I please touch you? Just a little.”
She slumped slightly. He’d seen her in this posture a couple of times before. It was like she turned inward, as if she was having a board meeting in her head. When the meeting was over, she resumed a taller posture. “Okay. I have to see you touching me, though. And don’t get carried away.”
“How about if I tell you what I’m gonna do?” She nodded, and he went on. “I’m gonna pick you up, put your legs on my shoulders, so you’re right up close. Understand?”
“You’re gonna eat me out?”
He smiled. Her directness was electrifying. “Yeah, sugar, I am gonna eat you out. When you’re loose, I’ll move you so you’re back in charge. Okay?”
“Okay.” She seemed anxious yet, and Luca understood that she was pushing her own boundaries, making a concession for him.
He put his hands under her ass, finding the little globes to be surprisingly supple with muscle, and lifted her off his lap, shrugging his shoulders under her legs. God, it was good to have her in his hands. She worked with him, her eyes wide and watchful, and let her legs hook over the back of the sofa.
Then he held her close, his hands splayed over her ass and lower back, and fed on her pretty, little naked pussy.
“Holy geez,” she whispered, and he smiled, then got back to sucking on her clit and licking his tongue through her folds, lapping up her juices.
“Luca, fuck.”
He stopped and looked up, doing a status check. She stared down at him, her eyes wide and brilliantly blue, her mouth open. She held his head in her hands.
“Okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah.” Then she bent down and kissed him, sucking his tongue into her mouth. When she released him, she was grinning. “I love your beard.”
Ch
uckling, he got back to business. When she was grunting and writhing in his hands, against his face, and he could feel that she was completely relaxed, he pulled back. “Okay, sugar. Hold on. Just go with me a sec.”
He lifted one of her legs over his head and spun her around—he’d have been surprised if she weighed even a hundred pounds, so moving her was nothing—so she was straddling him again, but this time facing away.
“Please?” She looked over her shoulder, and he could see she was confused and maybe a little anxious.
“You run the show now. Get the depth you want. You’re good and loose. Just go with it. Don’t tense up.”
“I can’t see you—I can’t see you touching me. I won’t be ready.”
“I won’t touch you.” He spread his arms across the back of the sofa again. “Go on, bit. Use me.”
Without further ado, she turned and took hold of his cock, then settled herself slowly down on it, stopping a few times, and lifting back up, then settling down a little farther. He sure as fuck filled her up, because her pussy was as tight around him as a clenched fist. A hot, clenched fist in a silk glove. But she kept going, taking all of him, and when she sat down on him and was still for a second, he gripped the edges of the sofa in both shaking hands.
“Jesus fuck, Manny. You okay?”
She didn’t respond.
“Manny?”
“Oh! Yeah. It just feels…I’m afraid to move.”
“M’I hurting you?”
“No, no. I just don’t want it to stop. If I move, we’re gonna come, and it’ll be over.”
At this point, the thought of not coming was almost enough to make Luca weep. “Over just for now. We can do it again. But sugar, I’m gonna need to come.” He flexed his hips under her, making himself groan and her toss her head back with a sharp gasp.
So she moved on him, slowly at first, feeling him out, finding the rhythm that worked.
Luca stared at her back, clutching the sofa, wanting fiercely to touch her. Her hair was mostly over her shoulders, leaving her back exposed to his view. She had a large tattoo covering most of the top half of her back—a big, intricate black mandala, with a beautifully shaded pinkish flower in the center. It was excellent work, and he wanted to touch that flower.
Her figure was considerably more womanly than he had expected. As small and slight as she was, he’d figured her for the sort of boyish body that so many small women seemed to have, at least in his experience—slim hips, not much waist, flat chest. Instead, she had some curves, just in smaller proportion. Her breasts swelled prettily from her slim chest, and her hips flared from a neatly tucked waist. In fact, as he stared at that very spot, among his favorite spots, he imagined fitting his hands along her hips, pressing his thumbs into those two perfect dimples. She was so slender that his thumbs would probably cross each other, but still. He watched her muscles move under her smooth, pale skin, as she rocked and writhed on him, and he thought he would rip her sofa to shreds before all was said and done. Keeping his hands to himself was going to fucking kill him.
All of these assorted needs had the benefit of distracting him from the wildly erotic sensation of that sweet little writhing pussy pulsing and rocking on his cock. But then she got close and started to make gasping little grunts, and she leaned forward, her fingers digging into the meat of his thighs. And she sped up, faster and faster, the little sounds became one continuous sound, a breathy wail, and then she reared back and bounced energetically on him, crying out every time she landed.
And that was all he could fucking take. Not even sure if she was finished, he threw his head back and roared as he let loose.
She wasn’t finished, but she got there while he was hard, going quiet and rigid with little spasms, until she sagged back against his chest.
He sat there, stunned and panting, for several swings of the black cat’s tail. He didn’t know if she was okay. Hell, he didn’t even know if she was awake.
“Manny, let me put my hands on you. Please.”
She sighed heavily, then held her arms out wide, toward his hands, which were still holding onto her sofa. He let go, flexing his fingers a couple of times to work out the clawed muscles, then put his hands around hers. She wrapped his arms around her waist and then crossed her own over them, lacing her fingers with his.
He kissed her little shoulder, and she didn’t tense up. She smelled like…cherries, or something. No—pomegranate. Nice.
They were cuddling. Instead of getting itchy to be done with it, Luca felt it like an honor. He wasn’t yet ready to let her go.
But after a few minutes, Manny murmured, “I need you to go now. But I’d like to see you again sometime. If you’d be into that.”
Perplexed by his disappointment as much as by the sudden eviction, Luca cleared his throat and said, “Yeah. Yeah. I would.”
“Okay.” She pushed off his legs, and his eyes rolled back as he slid, semi-soft, out of her.
She went into another room, through a glittery curtain of beads, while he got dressed. When he was ready to go, he said as much, and she came out wearing a pink fuzzy robe with white bunnies all over it. It made her look about twelve.
She saw him to the door, but refused his request for a kiss goodnight.
As Luca went down the stairs toward the main door, he heard her turning a series of locks.
6
Unless she took Ambien, which she hated and was one of the few meds she had an actual choice whether to take or not, Manny didn’t usually sleep much. Her nights were generally segmented into two or three naps lasting an hour each, maybe two. She was used to that and operated pretty well on it. Every now and then, she’d not sleep at all. Just as randomly, she’d have a night when she’d get seven, eight, or even nine hours of uninterrupted sleep. Those nights usually foretold an illness coming on, though.
The night after Luca left was a night she didn’t sleep at all. It hadn’t even been eleven o’clock when she’d locked the door behind him. They hadn’t even been together for three full hours, but her brain felt shaken and stirred. She’d stood in the middle of her living room, staring at the mussed sofa, and her clothes still strewn over the papasan and wadded on the floor. The room smelled of sex.
For long minutes, she’d just been frozen, staring, unable to move while her brain did all kinds of acrobatics. She couldn’t process any of what had happened, or how she felt about it. None of it had a place in the cubbies in her head, where she kept her experiences.
She had sex pretty often—at least often enough for her. Two or three times a month, give or take. But they were just one-off encounters. It drove Dmitri crazy, because he was sure she was going to bring some nutjob home and get hurt, but Manny found one-night stands much easier to navigate. Plus, she was the nutjob.
She had sex, but she didn’t date. Dating was not something she understood. Talk about people not saying what they meant—dating seemed to be founded on the concept of subterfuge. Besides, once somebody had known her long enough to ask her out, she’d more than likely reacted wrongly to something, or done something otherwise weird, and exposed herself as maybe not exactly dating material. She’d never been on a date. She’d thus never had a boyfriend.
Tonight, though, she’d had a date—a short one, but a date nonetheless. There was dinner, of a sort. Actually, that had been a wicked badass dinner, sitting on the beach and talking. So much better than being stuck in some hoity-toity restaurant with snooty waiters and shit like that.
And Luca was…nice. Patient. He looked like a caveman—broad, hard muscle everywhere, his nose with the slight hitch that said it had been broken at least once, the knuckles of his mallet hands all scarred, and scabbed on his right—but he’d been gentle with her. He’d asked if he could do things, and he hadn’t pushed—at all—when she’d said no.
She could tell that he’d been really trying not to cross her lines. Like he was trying to understand her. Nobody understood her, except Dmitri. Not ever her mom and dad really und
erstood her. They understood her limits, and they understood where they came from, but they didn’t understand why their love couldn’t just fix her. Hard as they tried, they couldn’t understand that. They never stopped trying, though.
He’d said he wanted to see her again. Could that be true? Did she really want to see him again? What would that mean? Was she even capable of sustaining a relationship with a person who hadn’t been through her wars with her?
She didn’t know. She just didn’t fucking know. But she already felt sad and wistful that their date was over. He’d been easy to talk to, and people not her family were never easy to talk to. He hadn’t gotten snotty when she’d asked for clarifications, and he hadn’t seemed to mind when she called shit out. He’d seemed to like it, in fact.
She had no cubby for a guy like Luca.
Touch (The Pagano Family Book 2) Page 7
