by Alexis Angel
I feel his hard cock pulsing against my inner thigh. Reacting on pure instinct, I reach for it and grab it hard.
“You can’t believe how many times I’ve thought of this,” I confess, my eyes still closed as he leans in and starts kissing my neck, his teeth grazing my skin softly.
“But now we’re here.”
With that, he takes one hand down my leg, straight onto the hemline of my dress, and I hold my breath as I feel his fingers sliding underneath it. When his fingertips brush against my inner thigh, I can’t help it—I let out a subdued moan, the sound of it so perfect, I almost can’t believe this is really happening.
When he finally presses his fingers against my drenched thong, my whole blood starts boiling.
Oh, god, have I ever been this wet?
We’ve barely started, and I can tell that there’s a tidal wave of pleasure coming my way.
“I want to make you mine,” he whispers, and I react by throwing both my arms over his shoulders. With both hands on his face, I pull him into me and press my forehead against his.
“Then do it,” I purr and then crush my lips on his.
As I do it, he flicks the wet fabric of my thong to the side and presses his thumb over my clit while he caresses my aching pussy lips with his index finger. Before I know it, he slides his finger inside me like a hook, taking it straight to that pleasure center hidden deep inside of me.
Just like that, I come.
I don’t know how he did it, but pleasure has erupted inside of me, a bolt climbing up my spine and setting fire to my mind. I throw my head back once more as my eyes roll in their orbits, every single fiber in my body twitching as electricity runs wild through me.
“My turn,” I find myself saying and, with both hands on his chest, I give him a push.
He takes two steps back, and that gives me the opening I need: moving fast, I go down on my knees in a fraction of a second, my fingers flying straight to his belt. I unbuckle it with quick movements, my fingers working in a hurry, and then I pull down the zipper on his pants.
“Oh, god,” I whisper as I see the shape of his cock tenting his dark boxer briefs.
Its outline is so thick and long that I can’t even think straight.
Where the hell has Alex been all my life?
“This,” I continue, tracing the outline of his cock with my index finger, only stopping when I’m grabbing at the fabric of his boxers. “This is mine. From now on, this belongs to me.”
With that, I yank both his pants and boxer briefs down, holding my breath as his cock springs free, pre-cum glistening on its tip. Slowly, and never taking my eyes out of his, I lean in, part my lips, and then rest them on the tip of his cock. As I roll my lips down the length of his cock, I finally close my eyes and savor the warmness of his long member inside my mouth, all of his raw desire pulsing against my tongue.
“Fuck, Kat,” he groans, resting his hands on the top of my head and tangling his fingers in my hair.
As he gently starts rocking his hips, I bob my head back and forth, devouring all of his length as if I needed to do it in order to survive. The saltiness of his pre-cum tastes delicious, and I can’t help myself—I start sucking on him as I stroke him at the same time, with one hand wrapped tight around the base of his cock.
I’m hell-bent on making him come like this.
“No,” he groans, pushing my head back and forcing his cock to pop out of my mouth.
I look up at him, and my heart stops as I see the wicked grin on his lips.
“Don’t even think about it…we’re not done yet.”
Alexander
Fuck, how did I ever survive without this?
The way her fingers caress my cock, the way her lips and tongue savor my flesh…I’m struggling not to come right now.
“C’mere,” I tell her, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her up to her feet.
Grabbing her by the ass, I pull her up and into me. She laces her legs around my waist and throws her arms over my shoulders, reacting fast.
“Make me yours…all the way,” she purrs, her voice dripping with desire.
I don’t even bother with replying—I just look into her eyes, and then lean in and kiss her fiercely, our tongues locked in a vicious fight.
I move one hand underneath her dress, my fingers taking their time as they make the climb up to her thighs, and then I just grab her thong. Pulling it against her outer thigh, I don’t stop till I hear the sound of the fabric ripping apart. I let the thong fall from my fingers then, and it simply floats down to the floor, forgotten at our feet.
“All the way,” I repeat back to her, angling my cock and resting its tip right between her pussy lips, the wet warmth of her body making my fucking soul boil from the inside out.
Slowly, I start sliding my cock inside her tight pussy, and I actually have to grit my teeth and hold my breath to stop myself from coming.
I spent more than twelve years imagining how it’d be to share a moment with her like this, and now…now that I get to experience it, it’s so fucking better than anything I could’ve imagined.
The way she smells, the way she tastes…it’s fucking perfection.
Dreams do come true after all.
Fuck, I sound like such a wimp right now…but it’s the fucking truth.
“I love you, Kat…I love you so fucking much,” I tell her as I start to thrust, every movement of my body like the most perfect fucking thing.
There’s harmony to the way our two bodies work together. Swear to god, if someone told me being with a woman could be this good, I wouldn’t believe them.
Not for a second.
“I love you too, Alex…always did,” she whispers, her lips looking for mine once more.
Fuck, I can’t even start to describe how it feels like to hear those three words tumbling down from her perfect little lips. I almost want to pinch myself just to make sure that I’m not having some whiskey-fueled hallucination.
But no—the tightness of her pussy, the warm eagerness of her mouth, and the way her breasts are mashed against my chest…all that tells me that this is as a real as real can ever be.
Surrendering to the fire that’s devouring us both, we simply kiss and let our bodies do the rest. I keep on thrusting—slow, fast, then slow again—as she sways her hips back and forth, her pussy lips wrapped tight around my cock.
With one hand, I push down the straps of her dress and bra at the same time, baring her right breast. My gaze finds her perfect rosy nipple, and next thing I know, I’m leaning into it, taking it into my mouth as Kat’s breathing starts to grow deeper and deeper.
“I think I’m…I think I’m gonna…OH GOD!”
She finally explodes, burying her fingernails in my back as she screams. I don’t even stop—I just keep on pistoning into her, that subconscious fire burning in my mind dictating each and every one of my movements.
We’re not fucking, and we’re not making love. Whatever it is we’re doing, it goes beyond that. It goes beyond concepts and words.
It’s pure fucking transcendence—and that’s something, coming from someone as spiritual as I am. (Hint: I’m not fucking spiritual).
Next thing I know, she’s coming again, her moans and screams blending into a perfect symphony.
“I…want you…to come,” she manages to say against my ear, and then she takes her mouth to my neck, biting hard. At the same time, she claws at my back, forcing me to go faster and faster and…
“Oh, fuck!”
That’s all I manage to say as I feel fire travelling up the length of my cock.
I close my eyes and shoot jets of warm cum inside her, and each time my cock pulses feels as if both my body and soul have simply drifted away from existence.
Holy fuck—am I even alive?
“Oh my god,” Kat whispers as I put her down.
We both collapse on the floor, our backs to the elevator doors.
I’m breathing so hard, I think my lungs are gonna pop
anytime soon.
We look at each other, smiling.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispers, placing one hand on top of mine.
She squeezes my fingers tight, and then lays her head on my shoulder.
“Me neither,” I admit, placing one arm around her shoulders and pulling her small body against mine. “But now that I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
“You don’t know that…” she whispers, squeezing my fingers tighter now.
“I do know that. I fucking promise you, Kat: I’m not leaving. Not now, not ever…for as long as you want me in your life.”
“That might be a very long time,” she laughs, the sound of her voice enough to make me feel like a fucking teenager again.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” I tell her, turning to the side and looking into her eyes. Leaning in, I kiss her strawberry lips once more, just to make sure that I’m not dreaming.
I don’t know exactly where we’ll go from here, but it’s not like it matters anyway.
First comes love, and the rest…well, the rest comes later.
Alexis and WineBar #7
I don’t know why I texted WineBar before my flight that I was coming back to San Francisco.
But I should have known that he would be there.
Waiting for me in my apartment building in the lobby.
My heart caught as I saw him standing there.
Holding a single rose.
He looked at me and I walked towards him as if in a trance.
“Baby,” he said, and I went to reply but he put a finger to my lips and I stopped trying to talk.
“If it’s a question of other women and you, it’s always you,” he whispered.
Tears began to come to my eyes.
“If it’s a question of not being in a relationship and you, it’s still you.” My arms traveled up his sides.
“If it’s a question of other people knowing, and being with you, it’s still fucking you.”
Now I put a finger to his lips.
I pulled him closer.
And kissed him.
The rose fell to the floor as he wrapped his arms around me.
Before diving back into him, I gave him a mischievous smile.
“You so love me,” I teased.
“I do,” was all he said.
That was the last thing I remember.
Armand
I’m woken by a loud clanging that just keeps going. I almost hit the fucking roof as I leap out of my blankets, kicking at nothing.
“What the fuck?”
My own voice sounds alien to me. I don’t know where I am.
“Sorry, Andy!” Alyse calls out from the kitchen. “Dropped the fucking teapot. I’m sorry!”
“It’s okay!”
I try to ignore the clanging and banging just outside as I rub my hand over my eyes. Ever since I quit law school, I’ve been enjoying sleeping in late—when I’m allowed to, anyway.
I let Alyse, Tommy, and Rogan crash here in my apartment in The Bradford. They’re all poor and struggling in some way, so I don’t mind—when they’re not breaking my shit, anyway.
I know Alyse has been struggling as a waitress here in NYC for a while now. I still haven’t figured out if Tommy and Rogan are brothers or gay. Not that it matters; I’m no longer concerned with shit like that.
All I want is my art. That’s it. Well, that and Minette.
My rich bastard parents actually own this building.
Law school was their idea. Then when I quit, they blocked my trust fund. I watched dear old Dad write me out of his will with his own fucking hand—until I go back, that is.
Fuck him, though. You don’t walk this earth as clever as me, as good looking as me, or with as big of a cock as I have without finding a way to make it on your own. I lie back down in my king size bed, trying to ignore the sounds of Alyse cursing in the kitchen.
I have a workshop downtown where I keep my sculptures and paintings. Big-ass beautiful art deco place with vaulted ceilings and more room than I need.
My art doesn’t sell well—not yet. I’m not weird enough, dead enough, or keen enough to blabber on about metaphors or existentialism for that.
The workshop rents out for wild parties just fucking fine, though. That’s where I met Alyse & Co.—down on their luck, living on the streets, and gate-crashing parties just to stay somewhere warm for the night.
If there’s one good thing that comes from the fact that my parents haven’t kicked my ass out of this cushy fucking apartment yet, it’s that I can at least utilize it to help people who actually fucking need it.
That was my problem with law school, really. Not the tests or the professors or the bullshit papers—it was that when I looked around at all my old money classmates, all I saw were people who wanted to help themselves.
So I bounced. I’ve always been my own man—quitting law school was just my chance to prove it to Mom and Dad.
Sometimes I think all they care about is the perfect vision of me that exists in their minds. They don’t give a fuck what’s good for me—or what I actually want to do with my life.
I finish my smoke and grind it out the little red glazed ashtray I made. I have to get up soon anyway—I’m not that mad Alyse woke me, even if it is five a.m.
If NYC’s finest waitress has to be up and at work before the sun, there’s no reason I can’t do the same. I should get to my studio and organize some art. I only have that storage space because Uncle Matt gave it to me.
Once my parents found out I left law school and enrolled in an art program, I had to act fast. They wanted my art to disappear.
They didn’t even come and see it. They called the school, pulled my money, and my art got put out on the street. But Uncle Matt’s a bit of a black sheep.
He gave me the workshop and six months to make it as an artist. No money, but he wouldn’t let all my art go to waste. He’s a painter, too, after all—even if he’s only really interested in the nude female form.
I get up to brush my teeth and get ready. I make sure to make my hair look elegantly disheveled, and my five o’clock-shadow scruffy but not unkempt. Not because I care about that shit, either.
But because I have to walk past Minette’s flower shop on the way.
Minette will be there. She always opens early.
I haven’t met her—I don’t think a fucking scoundrel like me even deserves her. She’s slight and delicate. Pale brown hair and gorgeous blue eyes.
She’s so quiet and still, I feel peaceful just watching her.
But she’s from that same old money world that I was born into, so I’m not going to fucking flatter myself. Girls like that have expectations. They marry doctors, bankers, CEOs, and politicians.
Girls like that marry lawyers—and I’ve left that life behind.
Her parents died a few months ago, and she inherited all their properties and businesses. She used to go out and party a lot. I still remember seeing her pretty face in the social section of newspapers, posing with a bunch of models and other heiresses.
But since her parents died, she’s been withdrawn. I don’t think she even spends their money anymore. She just runs the flower shop and looks a little down.
But ever since I realized she lives here in my building, she’s enchanted me. I don’t know what it is. Her stillness, maybe?
She looks like a work of art herself. I don’t fucking know—but it’s something.
Something about her makes me weak in the chest.
Alyse slams out the door with a muffled goodbye. Out in the lounge room, Tommy and Rogan show no sign of stirring, and they most likely won’t—they work nights in a bar across Central Park.
My phone rings. It’s Evan.
Evan’s the reason I’m not on the street now.
I was ready to say, Fuck it, and then sleep under and be a starving fucking artist for a little while.
He convinced me not to. I still haven’t thanked him prop
erly for that.
“Hey, buddy,” I answer. “What’s up?”
“Dude. I want to invite you to the big party tonight. Its upstairs.”
“Ah, I don’t know, man. I’m painting this still life right now, and—”
“C’mon, Andy. You have to. I’m having trouble with Emilia. I have to talk to someone.”
A sigh like the end of the world leaks out of me. “I told you—”
“I know what you fucking told me! Shut up and come to the party. Minette’s going to be there.”
My heart skips a beat. And it never fucking does that.
Excitement.
Shit. I want to see her.
Reality: I need to stay the fuck away from that girl if I know what’s good for me.
For her.
For both of us.
She’ll end up married to some fat cat billionaire with a private jet and a corporate empire by the end of the year anyway. Why would she want me?
“Come on, Andy, it’ll be fun.”
“You just want to bitch about your girl, dude. That doesn’t sound fun. Contradiction in terms my friend.”
“Yeah, well…I’ll say anything at this point.”
I know I need to have a heart here. I should be charitable.
And even if I can’t do more than stare at Minette across the room, it might be better than thinking about her while I’m alone in my apartment all night with my hand around my dick.
“Yeah…alright. I’ll be there. I’ll head up when I get home from work.”
“See ya then.”
I grab my jacket and head out the door. Thanks to Alyse, I have plenty of time to run down to my studio and get a solid day in if I don’t fuck around too much.
I still walk past the flower shop on the way, though.
Can’t hurt to have a peek.
Minette
I love starting work early. The grey, quiet dawn pulls around me as I walk down the street.
The shop is always so beautifully still, I can almost hear the flowers speak to me.
I always dispose of the older flowers first. It’s a sad job, but I like to know they have been mulched and donated to local gardens for compost. Then I receive my orders of fresh flowers and spend my morning organizing bouquets and arrangements.
