by Rowena
I step inside his apartment almost tentatively, and when I hear him close the door behind me, I know at once I made a terrible mistake. It wasn’t the closing of the door, exactly—I mean, obviously, I’d expected that—who left their front door ajar? It was the stillness of the apartment that descended on me when that door closed that pointed out my error. No one else is here, after all; I can feel it. It’s just me and him.
“Where’s Andrew?” I ask hopefully. Maybe his roommate is on ‘the throne’ or something, or perhaps taking a nap. At eight p.m.
Jacob looks at me, still with that odd look in his eyes. “Drew is spending the night at some girl’s place.”
My heart starts beating faster, but I try to keep my voice and mood light.
“Oh! Because you said he’d be here with the girls, and we’d all…”
“They changed their minds.”
So why didn’t you tell me? I scream at him silently, despite my instincts having already told me why. Besides, my vocal abilities have fled me momentarily. Even when I try to squeeze out a response—any response—I can’t, and my legs feel glued in place.
His eyes don’t leave mine the whole time I struggle and I have no doubt what is burning in them now.
“Drink?” he asks eventually.
I nod. Then I clear my throat and say, “Water.”
“You know that’s not what I mean,” he says, and I could swear his voice had gone rougher and deeper. It sends ripples of awareness through me, at his raw masculinity.
“Come with me,” he says as he turns toward the kitchen.
What else was I supposed to do? Say, “I’ll wait here, thanks?” My gut has taken over by now, and unlike my brain, it has never failed me. I discovered my gut is always correct after having both followed and ignored it at various times. For example, before I came here tonight, my gut said, “You sure you want to do this? Because things are about to change in a big way if you go through with this get-together; get ready.” Whereas my brain said, “What the hell are you freaking out about, girl? It’s not like you haven’t done this before. What on earth could happen hanging out with a group? You guys are all friends. Sort of.” And now, my gut’s saying, “Resisting anything will cause a rapid escalation. But as usual, up to you.”
I follow him into the kitchen.
He starts to pull down some whisky.
I stare at it, my heart rate increasing. “Well, I have to drive back, so…”
He swats my words away. “You can always crash here, you know that. Besides, you had planned to hang out and drink with us for a few anyway, right? Why change your mind now? It’ll eventually wear off.”
“Well, I thought it would be all of us, you know? It feels different with just the two of us.” I flash him a smile to show I mean no offense. “If we’re going to have a heart to heart or something, I’d rather have all my wits about me.”
His eyes burn into me, unmoved by my attempt at lightness.
“Drink with me,” he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument; in fact, I know I’m being warned. Basically, I have a choice: take the red pill or the blue pill. In this case, the red pill means refusing alcohol, and taking whatever he’s about to dish out in full awareness. The blue pill means dulled senses, perhaps even a quick fall into unconsciousness while he has his way with me.
Oh yes—there’s no room for doubt about that; he wants me, and he has tricked me into coming here alone so he can have me. How present I would be is totally up to me, but he is suggesting I join him, and go with the blue pill.
When I look at him, I can see he knows that I have caught on.
“How many have you had so far?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Three,” he says, his eyes never leaving my face. “Or maybe four.”
Yup, he’s definitely in or close to the state I’d been warned about.
“You should see Jacob in full drunk mode,” Andrew once told me, laughing. Then he regarded me seriously. “Or maybe you shouldn’t.” Whatever that means, I thought at the time, curious, but also a bit frightened by the implications, so I didn’t ask. Andrew eventually clarified, anyway, just yesterday. Apparently, when fully in the grip of an alcoholic state, Jacob becomes a different person. Perhaps the worst part is that when he sobers up, he remembers nothing.
I had never seen him completely change, but I’ve heard stories about his drunken adventures.
“One time, we were in this strip club,” Mike once told me, “and Jake stripped down to his birthday suit and tucked his junk under, after asking us if we wanted to see his naked sister. He got bounced, of course. Thankfully, he didn’t fight back; he would have taken all those security guys down.”
Of course he would have; those security guards had no idea what they were dealing with.
I looked at Jacob once Andrew was finished with the story, and he just shrugged his muscular shoulders. “I don’t remember,” he said, and I logged that moment in my brain as a result of a slight wave of fear passing through me. Considering where I am now, maybe it was some sort of premonition. It really hit me, then. Sure, I know blackouts happen to people, but part of me still found the whole thing incredible. I mean, come on—how could you totally not remember something major like that? Public nudity? Bar fights? How can you go from a deliberate, calculated being who practices great restraint regularly for the occupation that owns you, to an irresponsible, pugnacious scrapper without a care in the world? The idea both fascinates and terrifies me—that you can know someone so well, but they can also turn into a completely different person in a flash.
“So tell me about work,” Jacob says as he hands me my mixed drink, his other hand cradling his own. His free arm stretches forward, indicating the living room behind me to suggest we head back there. Speaking of which, is he going to address the elephant in this living room, or just keep pretending he’s not going to fuck my brains out as soon as he gets tired of waiting?
I wonder if I’m making a mistake turning my back to him as I lead the way to the couch, but nothing happens. I feel silly for thinking he might attack me from behind or something.
We both sit, and I’m only too happy to launch into talking about something as boring as my day job to take my mind off of the fact that his strong, sexy frame is so near and making me feel sort of crowded on the couch. The heat between us is palpable.
He lets me go on for a few minutes, and when I stop to sip my drink, he says, “I feel like I’ve known you for a while, Nicolette.”
I say with a slight grin, “Well, you sort of have. It’s been, like, four years.”
“No, I mean since way back. Since childhood, or high school. You were so easy to get used to when I met you; your personality felt familiar. I connected with your essence.”
Those blue eyes of his are very much present, engaged, and alive, and I can practically see flickers of desire in them.
My heart speeds up a bit more.
I feel like he has moved a little closer to me on the couch, but when I look, it seems the space between us hasn’t really changed.
I nervously smile again as I say, “Well, I appreciate our friendship, too.”
“The thing is,” he says, left hand still holding his drink, his right arm lifting to line the top of the couch next to me as he faces me, fingertips reaching just behind me, “I haven’t known you since high school or whatever; I’ve only known you as a woman. A beautiful woman always just out of reach.”
My breath catches. The intense, burning look in his eyes, the way his outstretched arm is near enough to feel like it’s around my shoulders instead of on the couch, the closeness of his wide, firm chest…
“And now, here you are, within my grasp.”
He definitely moves a bit closer then, and I’m pretty sure my heart actually stops, even though I am now breathing rapidly.
“Cheers?” he says, lifting his drink toward me.
I know anything I do beyond staying calm and playing along would be the wrong move. I don’t have
a single chance against fighting this guy off—he’s nearly two hundred pounds of pure muscle. He practically pulses with purpose, and is made of competence and efficiency. He’s a Navy SEAL, for Christ’s sake; he is wired to outmaneuver.
“Sure,” I reply, my voice actually coming out shaky this time, embarrassing me.
Our drinks clink.
If I actually want to get out of this, it’s best to find a way, now. The problem is that I’m in a battle with myself—half of me is terrified of what the encounter could mean, while the other half is well aware of the moisture that has gathered between my legs and the raw desire I have harbored over the years for this amazingly masculine specimen. My body wants every inch of him, while my brain keeps trying to insert logic.
My brain’s losing, for the most part; I only feel a whirl of emotions—fear, hope and need—pulsing through me, making my blood rush even more. I can’t make sense of anything.
He puts his drink down, then he takes mine out of my hand and places it next to his on the coffee table.
My heart’s probably visibly pounding out of my chest.
“I bet you’re ready for me,” he says, leaning in, his eyes blazing with meaning, full of intent and purpose, his lips close enough to kiss. “Maybe I’ll put my fingers between your legs to find out.”
I am out of time. There’s no way I can get away from him, even if I wanted to. But why not get a thrilling chase out of it? Why not amp things up a little?
I move as if to get up from the couch, but his arms are immediately firmly around me, effectively stopping me. I hadn’t even moved more than two inches.
“You can’t get away from me,” he says, stating the obvious.
I can tell I have succeeded in increasing his adrenalin levels, despite the fact that he still looks quite calm. “You’re not leaving here tonight, Nicolette; my cock has been aching for you for far too long. You have no idea how many nights I thought about you, and jerked off to fantasies of finally taking you. You can’t imagine how hard it’s been not to grab you and throw you over my shoulder, taking you off somewhere every fucking time I see you. You’re mine tonight, Nicolette.”
I already feel the beginnings of the ache he’ll leave behind, beyond the rigid cock bulging from his jeans.
He leans closer to me again, and I think he’s going for a kiss, but his body keeps going until I’m forced to lay backward on the couch and he’s over me, letting me know he means business as he thrusts his pelvis toward me. He’s rigid, all right, and I am trapped.
“Jacob, you’re drunk,” I say stupidly. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” he says as he deftly pulls my top over my head and flings it. His eyes drop to my heaving chest, and I’m suddenly self-conscious about the plain, black bra I have on, but his hands are underneath me, undoing the clasp, and that’s suddenly gone too, before I have a chance to protest.
Now I really feel exposed with my boobs displayed before him, my hard nipples pointing toward him, but there’s not much time for wallowing in that feeling either, as his mouth closes over one of my breasts.
I can’t just let this happen, can I?
“Jacob, we can’t do this. Mike…”
“Is not a factor,” he says. “I won’t tell, if you won’t.”
Then he practically rips my bottoms off and I am completely nude underneath him, while he is still clothed.
His thumb slides over my clit and all protests go out the window.
“Nicolette,” he whispers, and that voice, heavy with desire, sends my nerves crazy. He sucks on my neck like he wants to savor me, and I keep getting more and more impatient to have him inside of me. My awareness of him over me, holding me prisoner, and the occasional reminder of his hard cock as he bumps into me to shift position and suck the other side of my neck takes over me. He is torturing me.
The way he rouses me nearly makes me want to beg for it, but I can’t. I won’t.
I will make him believe he is having his way with me, and that I am simply too weak to do anything but surrender to his raging desire.
But as his lips start to make their way down my heaving body, each touch of those lips to my skin sends jolts through me, and my pelvis thrusts toward him, like a silent request.
He ignores that request—at least with his cock, but soon his lips reach my stomach and I convulse with every deliberate peck. My breaths come hard and quick.
He knows exactly what he is doing, driving me into a frenzy.
Then, he buries his face in my core, and when his lips close over my pussy and his tongue finds my aching folds and then flicks over my clit, I nearly lose it. I start to fuck his face—I now have no control of my bottom half as it turns and twists toward him, begging him to stop, begging him to go on.
When will he put me out of my joyful misery?
Finally, with a smirk, he puts the head of his cock at my entrance, but that only leads to more teasing as he rubs it over my tingling surfaces until I’m on the verge of trying to flip him over and stuff it in myself.
Finally, he slides it in me, and my body sings with pleasure as he fills me.
He pushes hard and deep, over and over again, and I arch my back, taking all of his thick, rigid cock in.
The glimpses I catch of him, he is staring at me intently, as if his own pleasure comes from watching me bend my head back and gasp and moan.
“Yes, Jacob!” I can’t help saying. “Oh god, yes!”
He pounds me harder, my slick entryway making it easier to accept his stiff, probing flesh as he pushes in and out of me.
“God, you feel so good in my pussy,” I say, and he growls, the animalistic sound making its way through my body, the raw maleness of it firing up my nerves in more places than I’d been aware of. Feeling his pleasure and seeing his face transform to reflect it intensifies my own.
Then, his rhythm and pace shift, and the angle he is now hitting me from, occasionally rubbing against my clit, is sure to take me over the edge in no time.
Soon, I feel my body heading toward an orgasm, and I scream “yes” over and over, alternating with his name. I let myself rise to meet the climax, even though I wish we could go all night.
He is right there with me, and as he thrusts harder, deeper, and faster, I come with him, and he milks himself inside of me with one final, delicious thrust, leaving me trembling.
I hold on to him as euphoria takes over, leaving me in a fog of pleasure, almost deaf to sound, but aware of his hard body on top of mine, his still-hard cock in me, and his male scent filling my nostrils, leaving me smiling like a drunk.
And yes, I am in a drunken stupor; I’m drunk on him, every bit of him. My hands hold on to his strong back, and then one hand travels upward to caress his head and feel his soft, short dark hair.
I squeeze him to me one last time before relaxing into the afterglow.
I am about to drift to sleep when I become aware of Jacob’s stiff organ still inside of me and find myself aroused again.
I wonder if he is still awake.
I thrust my pelvis forward, and I both hear and feel his groan of pleasure in response.
He turns to me with blue eyes wide open.
“You ready?” he says, his deep voice arousing me more.
I smile at him.
He starts moving slowly on top of me, massaging my insides with his juicy cock and I feel my body arching again as I start to moan and settle in for the ride.
Then I feel him suddenly withdraw from me, and I pitch forward, staring at him in protest, but he pulls me up from the couch and positions me to bend over it.
He pushes himself back inside me from behind, and I gratefully accept him.
He pounds me doggy style for a while, my butt slapping against him, before shoving me back down to the couch onto my back.
“I will take you every which way, but I think I love you beneath me the most,” he says before entering me again and thrusting into me in a rhythm tha
t soon has us both coming again in short order.
He shudders in pleasure above me once more, and this time, after a few minutes, I am sure he’s asleep.
Before I drift off myself, I wonder, is he even going to remember this? Will his blackout state erase every beautiful moment we had from his mind, and will he awaken, confused and alarmed, and then shove himself away from me in shock?
Part of me is sad at the possibility that this night could end up in my memory alone.
IV.
JACOB
I awaken to the sound of keys at the front door.
I quickly realize that, not only am I naked and in the living room, but that Nicolette is here with me, beautifully nude.
I jump up and shove against the door, just as it is about to swing wide open.
“Sorry, Drew! Give me a second,” I say as I bring the latch down and prevent him from trying again.
Hell, I don’t care if my old friend sees me in the buff, but the sight of Nicolette this way is for me alone.
Besides, I didn’t exactly give him the full story when I told him he needed to stay away from the apartment overnight and until noon, today—Sunday.
I check the nearest clock.
Fuck. We had really overslept—it was twelve forty-four. What the hell did we do last night besides the obvious? How long were we going at it? My memory is foggy.
I know Andrew understands and won’t try to open the door again, even if I hadn’t latched it, but what do I do? Tell him to come back later?
I rush over to Nicolette to gently wake her.
I will definitely send him away if she wants to get out of here incognito.
“Nicolette,” I whisper, shaking her a little. “Nicolette,” I whisper again as she makes a sound, but her eyes stay closed. “Nicolette, Drew’s here—you have to put something on.”
