The Position 3

by Izzy Mason

  I smile. I’ve never felt one before. Ever. It’s firm and long, straining against the buttons of his trousers. My hand presses into it, strokes it over the fabric, follows its contours. Lazarus’s breath accelerates. I want to see it. To feel it. To taste it. As I fumble with the buttons, he watches me, frozen. I manage to open his fly and can make out the black band of his boxer-briefs. God, he’s sexy. I slide my hand over the cotton fabric, traveling between his legs, feeling for his testicles. Balls. They do feel like balls. But hot and soft. I fondle them through his underwear, cupping them in my hand and teasing with my fingers.

  Lazarus moans. His eyes close and his head tilts back. I can feel his arms trembling. And then I do it. I slip my hand into the waistband. We meet at last. His member is smooth, amazingly smooth. I run my fingertips over the surface, exploring. He begins to pant. When I wrap my hand around it and gently slide up and back, he moans again, even louder.

  “God, what is it about you?” His voice trembles.

  Good question. Surely a lot of women have held this in their hands. Touched it in every possible way. Put it every place under the sun. Why is he going to pieces over this? But I don’t care. I’m not done exploring.

  It throbs in my hand. But I want to see it. I push him over so that he collapses on the bed and rolls onto his back in a daze. He’s under my spell. He is under my spell. His heavy breathing fills the room as I gently pull it free. It springs straight up in the air like a saluting soldier. So hard! So ready! So gorgeous! I take it in my hand again and let my thumb run over the softest skin at the tip. Lazarus arches his back with a grunt. I grip it and stroke up and back several times, watching how he responds. His mouth opens, his panting grows louder. He’s so beautiful. The power of his pleasure penetrates me completely and I feel like I’m going to combust.

  Greedily, I lean low and take it into my mouth, sucking gently at the tip. Lazarus gasps and growls like a wild animal. Then he reaches down and gently pushes me away.

  “Not yet. I don’t want it to be over yet.”

  I raise my eyebrows, pleased with myself. “Really? You’re that close? Already?”

  “See what you’ve done to me?” he whispers. “You’re going to drive me insane.”

  He sits up and pulls me into his arms, collapsing onto his back again. For a moment we lay still as he tries to catch his breath.

  I smile again. He kisses me again, long and deep. His hand slides over my breasts, feeling their shape. I begin to fall under his spell. He slowly undoes the buttons, pushing the fabric aside. In an instant he’s unfastened the clasp of my bra. It springs open and his hand eagerly cups my bare breast. I moan into his mouth. The pressure mounts between my legs. He pinches my nipple and rolls it between his fingers. Holy fuck.

  He breaks the kiss and his lips fall onto my neck. I shudder with pleasure. He makes his way up to my ear and then whispers, “We have all night.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It’s different doing this with him in the dark. Not a sudden conflagration like in the janitor’s closet or the office, which was always unexpected and felt extremely naughty. This is more like smoldering embers slowly catching fire. We’re on a bed. My bed. And there’s no one around to hear us or stop us. It’s just Lazarus and me. And this time, we’re taking it slow.

  His breath is hot in my ear as his teeth bite my lobe. Then he pulls it into his mouth very carefully, sucking. I feel a burst of dampness between my legs. Holy shit! My ear is an erotic trigger point. Who knew? Then his tongue prods into my ear, sliding over the folds and hidden skin. Double holy shit! Already I’m writhing on the bed.

  I quickly unbutton his shirt so I can press my hands against his hot, smooth chest. It’s so firm and strong. I feel it rise and fall with his deep breaths. Lazarus descends to my neck again. Again, his teeth graze my skin and he softly bites into the flesh.

  “Oh, God!” I don’t even recognize my voice, so husky and thick with pleasure.

  His tongue glides over my skin, down to the dip of my clavicle. He stops to bite at the tender spot between my neck and my shoulder. Pow! I cry out again. What the hell? How does this guy know about these spots? What other undiscovered pleasure points do I have? Find them! Teach me! I want to set fire to this bed!

  When his head continues south I realize I’m holding my breath. He runs his nose over my right breast, nudging gently at the nipple. I arch my back, my body begging for it. His hand cups the left one and squeezes.

  He exhales loudly. “Your breasts. I can’t stop thinking about your breasts.”

  His tongue traces a hot, slippery trail all over the right breast, following its swell, dipping underneath where a hundred thousand nerves are hiding. It’s feels so amazing that it’s practically torture. My pelvis is rocking desperately, constantly, against thin air. My moans are turning into cries. I never want it to end. I want to be tortured until I burst into flames.

  Then his mouth slips over my nipple, soft and wet. He suckles. It’s crazy. The sensations are indescribable. I’m going crazy. Then his tongue glides over the hard, pink nub, flicks at it, licks, suckles again. I’m losing control. My body is thrashing beneath him. This nipple was made for your mouth! I think. Your mouth should never be anywhere but on this nipple. Forever. This is where it belongs.

  Just when I think I can’t feel any wilder, he moves over to the left breast. He takes his time, leaving not a square inch of skin unlicked before tormenting that nipple. His tongue flicks over it and he sucks hard this time, teeth grazing the tip. I feel like I’m going to lose consciousness. Then, all of a sudden, Lazarus pulls back. I pant and squeeze my thighs together, trying not to lose my mind. Then I realize he’s watching me. I instantly blush.

  “God, you’re sexy,” he mumbles, his voice low.

  I stare up at him, lost. Completely his slave. But no words come.

  “Can I ask you a question?” He shifts onto his side and rests his head on his elbow. His eyes look dark and mysterious in the streetlight. The sculpted features of his face are softened. Perfect.

  I nod.

  “How many men have you been with?”

  I blink up at him. “In what way?”

  “You know what way. How many?”

  I sigh and look away, wondering if it’s a mistake to divulge the truth. But it wouldn’t be right to lie to him. He’d figure it out anyway.

  “None,” I practically whisper. “You’re the first.”

  I feel his eyes burning into me but I’m afraid to look at him. He’s very quiet. At last I force myself to meet his gaze.

  “Does that weird you out?”

  I’m surprised at the tenderness in his eyes. He gives me a half-smile.

  “Quite the opposite.” He strokes my face and pushes the dark strands of hair from my face. “Are you sure about this? Now?”

  Are you kidding? I think. What purpose does virginity serve at this point in my life? Why not give it to the first man I’ve ever loved.

  “Yes.”

  He smiles, a little bigger this time. Nods. I’m waiting for him to get back to what he was doing, but he’s become thoughtful and still. Finally he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Then we should take it slow. Do you have any tea?” he asks without irony, as he pulls something out of his pants pocket and places it on the bedside table. Then he slips out of his pants and lays them on the floor.

  Are you kidding me? I stare at him in disbelief. “I thought we were kind of in the middle of something…”

  “Oh, we are. Trust me.”

  I squint at him, confused. “Uh, sure. Kitchen cabinet. Electric kettle’s on the counter.” Weirdo.

  Lazarus heads for the door. My eyes devour the sight of his taut body in sexy black boxer briefs. But then he disappears through the door. I see the kitchen light go on. What a strange dude you’ve fallen for, I tell myself. Why would he want to stop in the middle of everything for a cup of tea? Like an English king or something. Who cares. He’s th
e most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  I lie there in the darkness and feel the cool air descend over my body. It’s like an overextended car engine, winding down. I can almost imagine the internal fan kicking on. The shouts and laughter of night owls leaving the bars drift up from the street. I think it’s the first time in my entire life that I could say there’s no one in the world I’d rather be. I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of Lazarus in the kitchen. Finally, he’s back in the room.

  When I look up he’s standing at the door, teacup in hand, looking at me. I prop myself up on my elbows.

  “Hi.” I feel strangely shy.

  He smiles. “You look beautiful lying there.”

  He sits down on the edge of the bed and takes a sip from the cup. One of his hands finds my body. His fingers stroke my breasts, running over the skin, rubbing at my nipples with his thumb. That’s all it takes. The embers catch fire again.

  He begins to knead my breast, squeezing, rolling it under his hand. It triggers a powerful pleasure point deep under the skin. The harder he kneads, the deeper and greater the pleasure. He puts the cup on my bedside table to free up both hands. They go at my breasts together, squeezing, rubbing, and he watches them intently, his eyes going blurry with lust. I realize for the first time how much there is to my breasts. So much to grab and massage. And I can tell he enjoys watching it all.

  I’m breathing fast and moaning already. When he pinches both of my nipples at the same time, I cry out.

  “Ah!”

  His hand leaves my left breast and he takes another sip of tea. A long sip. Then he puts down the cup and crawls over the bed. Before I know what’s happening, he has pushed up my skirt and pulled down my panties. And then it happens. It’s a whirlwind. I lose my senses. His mouth is on me, at my core, and it is on fire!

  The heat envelops my sensitive skin like I’ve never felt before. And inside the heat is an impossibly sensual movement, something so delicious and teasing—his tongue. It’s gliding over the burning nerve center, sliding over the tight nub that’s clenched with amazement. The heat makes everything feel slippery smooth. Everything is heat and pleasure and heat and pleasure. I’m relaxing down there. Opening to him.

  “Ah! Ah! Ah!”

  I’m rocking and bucking my hips so wildly that he grabs them and holds them firm in his hands. When he pulls that throbbing bundle of sensations into his mouth, sucking and licking, I feel the tug from every part of my body, like shards of metal being pulled by a magnet. It’s everywhere, the sensations. My whole body is a singular pleasure point. Everything is being drawn to the center. The pressure builds. Then he pushes his tongue inside of me, hard and hot. Explosion.

  The orgasm is so strong and long that my voice goes hoarse from shouting. Before the last shuddering contraction deep inside, Lazarus pulls off his boxer briefs and climbs on top of me. I barely notice as he rips open a condom wrapper and slips it on. But then I feel the smooth tip of his member prodding gently between my legs. Everything there is hot and very, very wet.

  He closes his eyes and lets out a long, shaky breath. With slow, gentle thrusts he works his way inside. The sensation is wonderful…and then painful. For a moment, there’s a tearing that makes me catch my breath. And then it’s wonderful again. I push up, meeting his rhythm, forcing him deeper and deeper inside me.

  “Oh, God,” he groans.

  Soon I’ve taken in the length of him and our bodies are connected, pressed tightly together. It’s closer than I’ve ever been to another human being. He’s on top of me, inside me, filling me completely. It’s ecstasy.

  He slowly slides out and in again. Oh, wow. He does it again. And then again. Holy cow. Oh, yes and yes and yes. He does it a little faster, and I let out a loud groan. My body moves with his. His breathing is getting loud and heavy. He moves in and out. Steady. Faster. I’m coming apart. Oh, yes. Please yes. God yes. I’m shattering. I’m dying. I cry out hoarsely. This sends him over the edge. He throws back his head and roars.

  As he shudders and collapses on top of me, he buries his face in my neck. My black, wild hair hides it completely. There’s a long silence that’s filled only with our heavy breaths and the mad pounding of our hearts. Then, as if from inside a dream, Lazarus mutters the words I want to hear.

  “You’re mine, Mickey. Do you understand? You belong to me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I’ve been aware of Lazarus’s arms around me throughout the night, cradling me, protecting me. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever known. To be held while you sleep. I’ve never even shared a bed with someone. Sleeping for me has always been a functional act. Something I have to do to keep my biological machine running. I never realized how wonderful and intimate it could be. Goodbye virgin, hello grownup.

  But when at last I open my eyes and squint into the morning light leaking through the blinds, I’m alone in the bed. For a moment I’m overwhelmed with disappointment. He’s already bailed. And without saying goodbye. That old cliche. So it’s true. But then I smell the coffee.

  “Hello.”

  I look over to see Lazarus standing in the doorway dressed only in his boxer briefs and holding a mug of coffee.

  “You’ve made mine so many times I’m embarrassed to admit I have no idea how you like yours.”

  He’s here. And making me coffee. Jude Lazarus just made me coffee. I smile. “Black is fine.”

  He comes inside and sits down on the bed as I prop myself up on my pillows. His hair is adorably disheveled and he looks so young. Almost as if we were the same age. But when he looks down at me and smiles I can see the laugh lines around his eyes. He is unbearably sexy.

  “You have no food in the house,” he says handing me the mug. “Unless you count mustard and white wine as food.”

  I blush. “I’m still getting the hang of having my own place. If you check the cupboards, they’re pretty full of canned stuff. But I do need to go grocery shopping.” I look at him, hopeful. “Maybe we should go out to breakfast!”

  Lazarus leans in and kisses my forehead. “I went across the street and bought croissants. I’m heating them in the oven.”

  I blink at him. “You are?”

  “But then I have to go. There’s a big thing on Monday that I have to prepare for. I’ll be working all weekend.”

  I stare down at my mug and frown. What did I think would happen? That he’d whisk me out for a day in the city? A picnic in the park? A matinee? He’s engaged to a woman and I’m just the girl he’s cheating with. The home wrecker, or whatever. I have to be okay with this!

  “Hey.” He lifts my chin and gives me a soft, sensual kiss on the lips. “I could come by later to see you, if that’s okay. Will you be around tonight?”

  “Come here?” My heart rises in my chest. “What time?”

  He shrugs. “Late, probably. If that’s a problem, I…”

  “It’s fine,” I say quickly. I sound like such a desperate dork. I’m officially the new booty call. “Come whenever.”

  “I’ll bring dinner. If you don’t mind eating that late.”

  I shrug and smile. “Not at all.”

  We eat warm croissants and drink coffee in the kitchen, though neither of us have much to say. Still, it’s nice seeing Lazarus sitting in my kitchen in his underwear sipping from one of my Goodwill mugs. I can at least pretend things are cozy. Domestic.

  “Can I ask you another question?” he says at last between sips.

  “Okay.”

  “How long were you living in your car? And why?”

  I feel a flash of heat sear through me, and not the good kind. It’s mortifying. Lazarus leans over the table and gently brushes away the hair hanging in my face. I force myself to meet his eyes. They’re so gentle. Still, no words come.

  “You shouldn’t feel ashamed,” he says in a low voice, as if there were people sitting within earshot. “I grew up poor, too. I used to drive around town with my mother collecting bottles and cans until we had enough
money to put gas in the car.”

  My mouth falls open. What the fuck? I also assumed Jude Lazarus came from epic family money. He exudes rich guy confidence. There’s no way he came from poverty. Just like me.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “It’s true. My dad was a drunk and died when I was a kid. Choked on his own vomit passed out in the bathroom of a dive bar. My mom worked the check out at our local supermarket. My brother and I practically had to raise ourselves. She died when I was in college. Had a stroke. She was only 51.”

  I can only stare at him. It feels like a soap opera story invented to make me feel better. But it sounds too awful. Too real. Too true. The kind of true people like me can recognize. I realize his face has gone ashen and his amber eyes have darkened to coal. He’s looking down at his hands, a million miles away.

  “I’m so sorry,” I breathe at last.

  Lazarus looks up as if surprised out of his terrible reverie. Now he looks embarrassed. “I haven’t told anyone that since… Hell, I’ve never really told anyone. Not all that.”

  I reach over and put a hand on his. He takes it and holds on like it’s a lifeline.

  “My parents are both drunks. They beat the shit out me from the day I could walk until the day I left. A lot of times we were on welfare. It wasn’t exactly a trip to Disney Land.”

  Our eyes connect in a way that paralyzes me. It’s weird. Almost transcendent. We’re not looking at each other, we’re looking into each other. And we recognize the lost, frightened person that’s been forever hiding in there. We understand each other. And my hand to God, no one, and I mean no one, has ever understood me. Not that side of me.

  “But you got out,” Lazarus whispers. “And so did I.”

  We stay like this for a long time, holding hands and just looking at each other. Then Lazarus moves around the table and pulls me into his arms. They’re strong and hold me firmly. He presses his face into my hair and I can feel the heat of his breath on my scalp. I slip my arms around his waist and hold him just as tightly. It’s not erotic this time. It’s much scarier and more intense than that. This feels more like love.