“Fuck, I love hearing you say that.” I reached down and grabbed the cheeks of her ass, grinding her hips into me. “But there is something I want to do first.”
“What?”
I released her from my grip, jumped onto the bed, and laid down on top of the covers. I took a moment to take in all of her sexiness. Just standing there she was fucking hot. “I want you to ride my fucking face. I want to taste all of you.”
Her jaw dropped and her body shuddered, and she tumbled onto the bed. On her knees, she moved toward me. “No one has ever said that to me before,” she murmured.
“Shut up and get over here.”
An ear-to-ear smile spread across her face. “Earlier, you said you’d always dreamed about this moment.”
“Since the day I met you.”
“I’ve dreamed about it too.”
“You dreamed about sitting on my face?” I strategically stuck my tongue out a little bit and twisted it.
“Yes,” she whispered. “That and so much more.”
“Well, I advise you to get the fuck over here right now so we can indulge in this mutual fantasy of ours.”
The next thing I knew, she was kneeling over my face. She was a little tentative at first, so I started gradually. First, I licked her folds delicately, swirling my tongue over her clit. Her breathing came in short strokes. Hearing her tiny little inhales made my cock harder with every breath. Then I lapped her up greedily, like a hungry man who had been starved.
And I had been.
For five years.
She lost control, ground harder on my mouth and tongue.
“Oh God, Chandler!”
She screamed my name and rode me to her first orgasm. Her entire body convulsed, and she leaned back and put her hands on my stomach, needing the extra balance to remove herself from me. She flipped onto her back and stayed there for a moment. I watched her breasts as her chest moved up and down while she caught her breath.
“Well, after years of waiting, I finally proved myself right. Yes, you do taste very close to honey nectar.”
“Chandler…” She smiled at me lazily.
“Yes?” I smirked.
“You didn’t even take your sweatpants off,” she pointed out.
“I didn’t.”
“Let me help you with those.”
She pulled her body up to her knees. I lifted my hips off the bed, and she pulled my sweatpants and my boxer briefs off in one swift motion. She tossed them off the bed and crawled in the space between my legs, on her knees. Making eye contact with me, she wrapped a hand around the base of my cock. I let out a muffled groan as she stroked it a few times. I held my arms behind my head, smiling broadly at the sight of Amy touching my cock. She turned her face downward, as if she was thinking about going down on me, then turned back to me.
“Hey Chandler, can I tell you something.”
“Of course.”
She swallowed. “I’m nervous.”
“About what?”
“This is our first time. What if you don’t like it?”
Amy nervous in a sexual situation. She always talked so upfront about sex, I was surprised to hear her admit this to me. But then it hit me why she would be: all those bad boyfriends and poor sexual experiences. The only thing I wanted for Amy was to enjoy herself.
“I already do like it. I fucking love it.” The way I growled the words while looking her in the eye left no room for doubt.
“You do?” she asked, still uncertain.
“I loved tasting you,” I said, hoping she knew I meant it, saw it on my face, in my voice. “And now I’m enjoying watching you stroke me. For once, I’m not stroking myself to the thought of you. It’s the real thing.”
She moaned.
“You’re wet again, aren’t you?”
“You act like I stopped being wet during this session at some point.” She mumbled something under her breath that I couldn’t make out.
“What did you just say?”
She hesitated. “I said, hell, I’ve been wet since I saw you on the plane.”
“Fuck me, Squirt.”
“Okay.” She smiled, looking devilishly angelic, if that was possible. With Amy, I was learning that anything was possible if I just opened my mind up to it.
Realizing something, I laughed heartily all of the sudden.
“What?” she asked, startled.
“I love how you haven’t taken your hand off my cock during this entire conversation. This could be a like a fun new way for us to chat.”
“The ‘Amy Strokes Chandler’ Cockcast,” she joked. She squeezed a little harder and I let out a noise that was half growl, half laugh.
“Amy, get on your back.”
“Okay.”
She eagerly jumped over to the other side of the bed and starfished.
“Is missionary your favorite position?” she asked.
I went over to her side of the bed, my cock rock hard. “It is when I want to look at your pretty brown eyes as I fuck you.”
She arched her back.
I was just about to enter her when she stopped me. “Wait,” she said, suddenly. “Where is your condom?”
“Condom?” I repeated, blankly. “Fuck me.”
“No,” Amy said with just a hint of sternness. “Fuck me is exactly what you can’t do without a condom.” She mumbled a little something after that.
I rubbed my forehead and looked down at my hard dick, wondering how I could have not picked up condoms at any point this week. “What did you just mumble under your breath?” I asked her.
She sighed. “I’m on the pill. I never tell guys that, though. Ugh, especially not the first time.”
“You’re not comfortable. It’s fine.” I didn’t have to glance down again to feel how hard my cock was. Every time my heart beat, it pulsated. But I wasn’t going to do anything that made her uncomfortable, especially our first time.
She made a come hither motion with her hand, and I lunged forward, propping myself up by my hands on either side of her. She grabbed the back of my neck with her hand, pulled me in close, and whispered in my ear. “The only reason I’m doing this, Chandler, is because I trust you more than anyone I’ve ever dated—anyone I’ve ever met. And if I can’t trust you, well, I can’t trust anyone. And I don’t want to live like that.”
“I feel the same way,” I said.
“Then fuck me how you want.” She looked me right in the eyes when she spoke. It wasn’t lost on me that this was the very first time she’d put the emphasis on the fuck as opposed to the me.
Lying on her back, she reached for my cock to guide me in. I grabbed a knot of her hair. Not to tug—yet—but to anchor me.
As I eased inside of her, Amy stared back at me, and I realized that for maybe the first time in my life—fucking was much more than about the sex.
It was about sex with her.
She was slick, but still, I started slow. She let out several mutters. A purr, a whine, and several short breaths.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Goddamn you feel so good Chandler.”
I ground my hips slowly, letting her feel every inch of me inside her as I stroked her.
She turned her head and bit into the pillow. I grabbed her chin with my hand and made her face me again. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“When I fuck you, I need you to look at me.”
“Okay,” she whispered and turned her head back. As I kissed her again, I sped up the pace of my strokes. She wrapped her legs around my back. I bit her lower lip. My breathing sped up. Hers did too.
“Oh, and one more thing before I lose control and go crazy on you,” I managed to say. “The walls of this apartment are soundproof.”
At that moment I struck deep inside her and she let out a cry. Her legs came apart, and I peeled her body back.
I picked up the pace to a smashing speed, and felt her hips slap against mine in rhythm with every stroke. She wailed, a
nd every time our bodies slammed together it was like another wave had struck, forcing her voice to break for a moment.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck. Gonna come,” she muttered, the only decipherable syllables she’d said in quite some time.
“I want you to come. Come hard all over me.”
She rocked back and forth faster and I went with her, matching her pace. “Holy fuck,” she yelled.
She turned her head again toward the pillow. Once again, I grabbed her chin and made her face me. “Don’t you dare come without looking me in the eye,” I said. Then a noise filled the air that I can only best describe as singing.
Amy sung her way to orgasm.
She was a loud one.
As she came, she dug her nails into my back.
I yelled too, because hearing her voice reverberating through my body made me need to come.
She moaned, and her legs wrapped around me again, locking me inside her. She grabbed the back of my head with both hands as she spoke. “Come inside me.”
It was as if she had a power over me, because when she spoke the words, I shot strand after strand into her.
When it was over, I wrapped my arms around her and waited before I fully pulled out.
“What the hell just happened?” I moaned, my heart beating hard.
I rolled over on my side, peering down at her. I took her hand in mine—something I couldn’t remember doing before.
“I think we just discovered that we’re the best fuck of each others’ lives,” she said as she stared up at me.
“Yeah.” I looked at her, looked at the ceiling, and then looked back at her with a wry smile. “You want to do that again?”
Twenty
Amy
Chandler snoozed and I looked up at the mirror he had on the ceiling, a broad and natural grin on my face.
My arms were outstretched over my head, part of my leg was covered with the sheet. Chandler, on the other hand, was completely naked.
I watched him sleeping with fascination. Even asleep, a cocky grin seemed plastered on his face. His arms were long, lean and muscular, and every one of his eight abdominal muscles were visible with each breath he took. I stared at him in the mirror, then turned my head to look at him, to remind myself that yes, this was real life.
Chandler and I spent the better part of the morning and the afternoon doing what a couple of friends do when they discover they have amazing bedroom chemistry. When the biography of Amy Kershaw was written, this day was going down as the number one best sex ever day.
Nothing else could compare. Years of thinking I’d never see Chandler again and now here we were in the same house.
After we left each other five years ago, I had gone through the worst depression ever. It probably didn’t help that I never talked about what was really bothering me with my therapist but I just couldn’t. I still remembered his last day, at how we’d parted; so many questions unanswered and left hanging for five years. So many ‘what ifs’ that had plagued me.
So much of that time after I went back home was a huge fog to me. It took me over two years to get out of my last depressive state. Once I got my career on track, that had helped enormously to get me focused on something other then my depression and the cause of it: Chandler. The one that got away, that I’d pushed away, and for what?
My one promise to myself was that I had to get over him for good and to do that, I had to pretend he didn’t exist. I didn’t look him up on Facebook or online, and had never tried to find him or find out about his life. I didn’t even stay in contact with Becca, or Chandler’s friend, Tony, staying away from social media entirely.
Now, being in his bed, and knowing he hadn’t changed, especially after meeting Nina then Bethany on our first day, I already knew what I’d find online. And it’d crush me to be reminded that I was just a girl he finally got to nail. He didn’t get bonus points for waiting five years to do me.
After what David had done, I was suddenly back on the road to another downward funk when Chandler, once again, saved me from slipping under.
And now, we were both very much reeled back in.
Last night would be something I’d never forget. And the fallout from us hooking up wasn’t there. Oh, the possibility of getting hurt was still there but right now, I wasn’t going to think about the end, just enjoy the now for once. The future could wait. I looked over at him again.
The man fucked with reckless abandon. His body was a good deal bigger and obviously stronger than mine, and he came after me in a way that was feral.
Fucked up as it was, I could see why women kept coming back to him with their mouths open, that crazy look like they were thirsty in the desert and Chandler was the only one who had access to water.
Now that we’d had sex, this was my standard. An average of four orgasms per hour.
Average.
As crazy as my logic, having the pact made even more sense now. If I ever had to date a regular guy after this experience, I was fucked, and so was the guy I was dating.
My stomach lurched even considering dating someone else. And worse, what if I did end up as another one of Chandler’s hookups? What if he did this with girls all the time? Sure, he’d made a promise to not hookup while I was with him but he could have said it just to get me on my back. And it’d worked. Like a charm.
If we do this, I’m yours, and you’re mine, and that’s the way it’s going to stay until one of us says any different.
I recalled those words like they’d been tattooed on my skin. Did he mean them? If so, for how long? Not forever, that much I knew. After this week, would he be the one to say it’s over? Nice seeing ya, have a great life? However, I had to accept that it was a possibility, as much as I hated it.
I don’t care what label we put on it. Amigos. Novias. Amigovias. Whatever.
He’d said something like that once before, during our study abroad program. Chandler was, if anything, consistent in his views.
But—what were we now? I needed clarification on that. The silly pact that had kept us apart was over and done with. Chandler wasn’t going to change his ways for anybody. I could have him, but only in the form that he chose. At some point, that wouldn’t be enough for me, which is why I’d made that damn pact in the beginning and had tried so hard to maintain it—because I’d known from the beginning that Chandler was special.
Being here with him, finally having him, was a euphoric feeling. And possibly bittersweet. The man was my personal medicine, my antidote to all the pains of life. Since we’d left the plane, I hadn’t taken any of my meds. It hadn’t even crossed my mind because I felt so good when I was around him. I closed my eyes and I couldn’t help the wandering my mind did as I daydreamed of moving to Barcelona to live with Chandler. I could stay here permanently, maybe teach some English classes. I could learn to salsa dance like a pro. It would be the perfect life. I could raise a kid who knew Spanish.
I stared at my reflection then Chandler’s. I wondered what our kids would look like. Would they be short and more pale-skinned like me? No, certainly Chandler’s dominant genes would take over, and our kid would be tall and have that olive skin of Chandler’s. And his blue and green eyes. They had to have his eyes.
I closed my eyes, knowing I was getting completely ahead of myself. I still remembered his blunt way of saying he never wanted kids. Amongst other things.
And besides, what would my mom think? God, she’d be pissed. “We didn’t pay for your college so you could move to Barcelona and follow some guy you hardly know,” she’d probably say. She’d curse me for abandoning the company that Andrea and I were about to start. Whatever Mom, being with Chandler is the only time in the last five years I’ve been happy without taking my depression medication.
That realization jarred me out of my daydream. When I opened my eyes, Chandler was hovering over me, not quite touching me.
“Hey Squirt. What are you thinking about? You look worried.”
My heart began to beat so hard. I swe
ar I could feel my left boob vibrating. Oh nothing Chandler, just imagining our life together after one morning of love making, no big deal. You are too, right?
But I knew he wasn’t thinking that at all. He was still the same old Chandler.
Luckily, another question had been on my mind, one that didn’t have to do with having Chandler’s babies.
“I was just wondering, and don’t take this the wrong way but, did you try out for the NBA?”
He looked away and I could sense his mood shift, his face tightened a little. His expression betrayed a small hint of vulnerability, and now he’d piqued my curiosity.
He tried to speak a couple of times before he finally spoke. “That, babe, is a story for another time.” He gave me a kiss on the lips, as though to silence more questions. “You want to know what I was thinking about?”
I smiled. “Of course.”
“I was thinking about what your stupid ex-boyfriend Scott said to you that one time.”
I furrowed my brow, suddenly confused. “Why the hell were you thinking about him?”
Chandler dragged the finger of his other hand over my breasts and stomach as he spoke. I wondered if he realized what he was doing, or it was done unconsciously. Either way, it was a nice effect. “You remember the one time you were telling me how the guy needed porn to get hard, and I always thought that was the saddest thing I’d ever heard? A man needing a fucking technological aid to get it up?”
I squinted and thought hard before I nodded. It still amazed me how much he’d remembered about me, the small things and the big ones too. “Honestly, it’s funny you mention this because I do remember that conversation,” I said, “but I could not care less what he thinks of me anymore. The guy was a total asshole.”
His eyes started on my face, and I swear I could feel his pupils run across my face, neck, and body. He shrugged. “Well, I don’t know why I thought of this but—actually, fuck it, I do know. I don’t want you to ever think it was you—because it wasn’t. It was him that was the problem.”
I’d figured that out a long time ago but hearing him say that meant a lot. And if Chandler was trying to sweet talk me, it was working. I could also see his cock moving, getting harder. “I see you don’t need any porn to get hard.” I glanced up at Chandler’s face, then down between his legs. “Although you do have the cock of a porn star.”
The Casanova Experience: A Friends to Lovers Romance (Ballers Book 2) Page 18
