by KC Decker
Just as I start to feel the insistence of my approaching orgasm, he sits back, grabs my hips, and drags my shoulders down the bed as he keeps my body connected with his. Now my ass is completely off the bed as he changes our angle and gets to know my g-spot.
“Fuck, Gavin—”
“Oh my God—”
“Ahhhh—”
“You got something to say, Alabama?”
“Fucking hell, you’re good at this!”
“Aww, Honey—I’m not even trying yet,” he says with a smug little delivery. He might be telling the truth though, because next his thumb finds my clit, and it’s all over for me.
Chapter 29
It’s nearing midnight by the time Gavin parks in front of my loft. We debated me spending the night at his place, and he had offered to bring me home early enough to wash all the sex off of me before work, but in the end, I decided it would be better to go home tonight.
He surprises me by turning off the car and taking his keys out of the ignition. The door to my building is twenty feet away, he doesn’t need to walk me to the door. Then he turns to me with a serious look on his face.
“Alabama, I don’t feel good about how that just went down.”
“Wait. What? You don’t feel good about it?” Now, I’m confused. A second ago, I thought he was going to walk me to the door like a gentleman. Now, he’s telling me he has buyer’s remorse?
“No, I don’t,” he pauses before going on, “I didn’t want to fuck you senseless, Alabama. I didn’t want to fuck you at all, I wanted to romance you. I wanted to be sweet and gentle with you, not behave like a rabid animal.”
I don’t respond right away, I just lean over and kiss him. He dropped a grip of cash on dinner tonight, and he still wanted to romance me. I’m not too sure I deserve this man.
“It’s just not how I envisioned our first time together. I didn’t want it to be all wild and unchecked like that.”
“You want tender and romantic? Follow me upstairs.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. Come on, I’ll light some candles.”
***
We are giggling like kids as we run up the three flights of stairs to my loft. Not because we are about to have sex again, but because I know damn well he is trying to smack my ass, and I’m only four steps ahead of him.
When we get to my door, he presses me against it for a pretty intense kiss considering we just ran up all those stairs.
“Listen to me, this is important,” Gavin says. He is completely pressed against me, and he has only backed his face up far enough that our lips don’t touch. Both of us are panting from the exertion, and even this feels sexy with him.
“I’m listening.”
“You are going to have to curb your dirty talk for the night, ok?” he raises his eyebrows in question, and I burst out laughing. “I’m serious, Alabama. I can not be held responsible for what happens when your filthy mouth starts talking about filling you with my thick cock, or fucking your mouth, or any talk whatsoever of your tight little pussy. Got it? I want this to be romantic and sweet.”
“Ok, Daddy. Maybe you should bend me over your knee and spank me like the naughty little girl I am—”
“Jesus Christ, woman,” he exclaims as he rests his forehead against mine. “What have I gotten myself into?”
“My panties, apparently. And next? Next is my bed.”
***
Yes, Gavin is a rockstar at fucking, but he is equally good at romancing. The way he kissed me, and undressed me, and got all cuddly under the covers before licking me to another chart-topping orgasm, was pretty impressive. Maybe even legendary.
Now we are nestled together, kissing like we did that steamy night in Los Angeles. Like we can’t get enough of each other. Except this time, my hand is on his cock, and I’m teasing his tip with his own pre-cum.
Ever mindful of his wishes for me to be a lady and not a whore, I don’t mention anything about the head he is about to get. I just kiss my way down his ridiculous bod and moan with pleasure when I take him in my mouth.
The moan is for him, not me. I know he can feel all my vocalizations, so I lay it on pretty thick. There is nothing particularly awesome about giving blow jobs, but I love that I can dominate the fuck out of someone. It is an incredibly powerful position to be in, and I get off on having so much control. I can reduce him to a puddle and absolutely destroy any fond memories of past blowies or past women. That is what a good blow job does. It provides him with a memory that sits front and center in his mind.
Mission accomplished. Gavin is grinding out the words, so…fucking…good while wrenching his head back and fisting clumps of my sheets. When his cock shudders with near violent spurts of cum, I paint his dick with it and let it all run down his shaft instead of swallowing it.
Again, as a lady, when I crawl back up his body, I do not tell him how much I liked sucking his dick or that I loved the taste of his cum. I just nuzzle my face into his neck and give him the sweet kisses he deserves. I mean, the guy was upset he didn’t romance me enough before we had sex for the first time. Trust me, he is waaaay too good for me.
I love when he holds or touches my face when he kisses me. It is so caring, and it speaks to our deep connection more than anything else. I know he will need some recovery time before round two, so I simply melt into him and revel in his talented lips and hands. I will sacrifice any amount of sleep to be with him, so I’m not in any hurry.
Before long, and without detaching our mouths, he rolls me to my back and enters me. His advance is agonizingly slow, but he presses all the way in. I have both hands on his neck and jaw, so I can’t hold him in place and stop him when he starts easing out.
“Wait—” the word comes out almost frantic.
“Are you ok?” he asks, and I am, I just need a minute.
“Yes, I just—I just want to enjoy this feeling before you move again. You feel so, so good,” I try to explain, but I can’t do the sensation justice.
“You’re shaking.”
“It’s because I’m so fucking happy. You make me so fucking happy, Gavin,” I admit. I’m a little surprised by my candor because I never get sentimental when it comes to sex, but this feels like so much more.
“You make me so happy too, baby. God, I want to live inside you. Wait. That didn’t come out right. Those were two completely different thoughts strung together by great sex.” We both laugh, him at his insinuation that he’s only happy because he’s balls deep at the moment, and me because of how horrified he is that it came out like that.
The humor sticks with us for a while, and every now and then one of us starts snickering at the memory. Which one hundred percent makes the other one start laughing too. It’s cute—sweet, giggly sex. Almost cute enough to forget that Gavin isn’t wearing a condom yet.
“What do you think of my pelvic piercing now that you’ve had a sample of it?” he asks on a backward glide.
“I think it should be a prerequisite for college. No! No, when guys get their driver’s licenses. The DMV will be like, did you take defensive driving? Do you want to be an organ donor? Have you had the base of your dick pierced yet?” Now we are both howling with laughter, and it is maybe dampening the romantic vibe.
Gavin pulls out and then rolls to his back, “This might be a good time to suit up. Please tell me you have rubbers?”
I get off the bed and walk to the bathroom, where I keep them. It’s not until I’m walking back to the bed, stark fucking naked, that I realize none of my curtains are closed and I’m parading around like I don’t have cellulite.
Gavin is lying back against my pillows with both hands propped behind his head. His proud dick is still at full mast, so I give him an assist with the condom, and then saddle up. I’m not sure if cowgirl style sex is romantic enough, but as soon as his hands are on my tits, I no longer care about romance. Our laughing fits have already doused the sappy portion of our evening anyway.
***
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When we finish screwing, I collapse onto Gavin’s chest, and he wraps his arms around me. We are fused together with sweat, and his penis is still inside me. I’m content to spend the rest of the night just like this.
“Stay with me.”
“Of course, I’m going to stay with you. We just shared explosive sex, and I’m not really the high-five type of guy.” He starts to get up, but I clamp my knees against his hips and keep him pinned beneath me.
“I’m just getting up to get rid of the condom. It defeats the purpose if millions of sperm still end up near your vagina,” he says, and he punctuates his words with a sharp smack to my ass.
“Mmmmmm, that’s so romantic, spank me again.”
“Turn around so I can see your perfect ass, and I will,” he says with conviction. I had been teasing—because spanking someone doesn’t usually rank super high in the romance department, but I’m a people pleaser, so I’ll do what I must.
I turn around, reverse cowgirl, for the most part. Except that I lean forward and tip my ass up, giving him an exceedingly impolite view. Although he doesn’t seem to mind, if his groan of Ohhhhhh Yeahhhhhh, is any indication.
He was serious about spanking me though, because he swats me twice, spreading a prickling sensation that seems to encompass my entire lower half. It’s not exactly the sharp slap I like, it’s more the immediate aftermath—the receding tingle, and then the soothing palm.
Another smack, this one draws a moan out of me that I didn’t expect. Then he rubs and squeezes my pink cheek before he does it again. This time, when he caresses my ass cheek, his other fingers don’t remain idle.
He swipes two of them through my slit, back and forth a few times, and then slides forward to find my clit. When I gasp, we both realize how sensitive it still is.
“We should get some rest anyway. I have a full schedule tomorrow—and you, you are going to land that big client, right?”
“How about we start with getting some rest?”
“Fair enough, now come give me a goodnight kiss.”
Chapter 30
There is a strikingly transparent reason the work week is referred to as a grind. For me, that description is doubly so because I’ve yet to get caught up on sleep, and I can vividly feel the passion for my job slipping through my fingers.
I still work like a crazy woman while I’m here, but I’m less and less likely to put in the long hours that once typified my day. The main reason being, I want my evenings back.
My boss seems to be getting used to the idea. Well, that might be a stretch, but he has been less purple and apoplectic the last few days when I’ve strut to the elevator to leave the office.
This week, being both a short week and my first week back from the tattoo convention, has been a gleaming example of how I’ve allowed various tasks to circle the shitter. First and very foremost is the big client I was expected to land an exclusivity agreement with. I wouldn’t say my company is out of the running, I would just say I’ve led the charge in taking a quantum leap backward.
I’ve placated my boss with some impressive stall tactics, but eventually, I’ll need to sign them or come up with a dazzling excuse for why I haven’t. Problem is, it’s damn hard to concentrate. Having Gavin on my mind while I’m at work is like running in concrete shoes—it can be done, but it won’t be graceful.
Tonight, we are finally corking up the work week, and joining my friends for happy hour. Believe me, I’m just as curious as anyone about how it will play out. Arden and Brady will be there, and so will Ivy and the guy we picked out for her; Christian.
If that were it for the list of attendants, I wouldn’t worry a bit because they all think the Gavin/Alabama set-up went off without a hitch. The wildcard of the evening will be Miles. And, although that designation is far from uncommon when it comes to him, I’m entirely right to be nervous.
Miles is the kind of guy that likes to start campfires with gasoline and a blowtorch, except that that whole scenario is just a metaphor for how he likes to conduct himself. Which is precisely why I consider him a wildcard.
***
The dreaded email came just before I left the office. My big client signed with another agency. It was a nasty blow, but not altogether unexpected. It also didn’t stop my boss from trusting me with another coveted batch of promising accounts, which will percolate on my desk all weekend and then welcome me like a breath of fresh air on Monday morning.
Due to my bosses’ thumb, of which I am still under, I leave work late and am the last to arrive for cocktails. While I make my way to the table, I notice a sort of dynamic equilibrium within the group, and since this is happy hour instead of physics class, I approach with caution.
Gavin absorbs me into his space with an arm around my shoulders and a just-short-of-chaste kiss to my lips. Evidently, he has penetrated my friendship circle like some sort of sexy osmosis, and now looks like he was born into our group. Twenty minutes and enough charm for ten men, and he’s already one of us.
The exception to the group is Christian, Ivy’s date, who still looks a little uncomfortable. I immediately want to come to his aid because the pack of us are a lot to take all at once. We all acknowledge that simple fact.
“Christian, it’s so good to see you ag—” I attempt.
“—For the first time ever,” Miles inserts. His execution is flawed, but it serves as a reminder that I have never, in fact, met Christian. I know a great deal about him, and think he is perfect for Ivy—but my familiarity with him is technically unwarranted.
Gavin knows the situation, but Christian most certainly does not. Ivy, in her perfect trustingness, allowed us to cherry-pick a boyfriend for her. However, like a star, she would collapse under her own weight if Christian were to find out about such deceit. Ivy would rather set her face on fire than be anything but honest and overflowing with integrity, so now I understand the ridged look on her face.
“Alabama, I’d like you to meet, Christian,” Ivy adds like a tourniquet, while Brady signals the waitress for another round of drinks. He and Arden look like they are punching a clock and can’t wait to get out of here to be alone.
For the first time, I understand the pull. It’s been a consistent inside joke that the two of them always seem to have better things to do besides sitting around drinking with friends. Now, here that same feeling is, sitting on my lap like a weighty epiphany.
“Did you know they met on the same dating app we did? Isn’t that an amazing coincidence and a testament to online dating in this day in age?” Gavin says with unnatural passion.
Miles has two choices here, skewer Gavin with a look that says shut-the-fuck-up, or jump on the bandwagon. He, of course, jumps on.
“Dating profiles make it so easy to choose someone almost custom designed for you, am I right?” Miles asks as he looks around the table.
“Yep, you just sit back and let the cream rise to the top,” Gavin says almost choking on his grin, as he looks directly into Miles’ eyes. It’s like they share a sarcastic brotherhood that bonds them together.
“Dating apps are great, but Arden and Brady’s story is even better than that. He pulled her over and gave her a speeding ticket,” I say, in an attempt to dilute the focus.
“That sounds like a story I need to hear,” Christian says as he loops an arm around Ivy’s waist and sweetly kisses her on the temple. That simple gesture swells my heart outside of the confines of my ribs.
“Why don’t you stick to kissing your own kind?” a voice from behind us tosses out like a grenade. I stop breathing. Gavin tightens his grip on my thigh. Arden and Brady look at each other wide-eyed. Ivy’s eyes fall to her untouched martini, and Christian’s mouth drops open. All of that in the same instant that Miles rises to his full height, and in two determined strides, stands toe to toe with a man whose friends have suddenly vacated their seats in favor of drinks at the bar.
“Looks like you are all alone in your ignorance,” Miles grinds out. I have only seen him
lose his temper a handful of times, and every instance has been in defense of someone else.
“Back off, man. I just think she needs to take up with someone more like her, that’s all,” the guy says as he tries to dismiss Miles and all his churning fury.
“If you mean, someone who’s devastatingly beautiful, or someone who possesses more kindness than you have in your entire family tree, or who is more intelligent and successful than you can ever hope to be, then yes, she should. The problem with little cum stains like you, is that—much like your premature ejaculations, your ideas have no real value.”
“I said back off, man.”
This is the point where Gavin shifts his presence. Whether he is getting ready to stop a fight, or get a few blows in himself, I’m not sure. I don’t think he is even sure. Brady has also put some space between himself and Arden and is watching the exchange intently.
“Sure, I’ll back off just as soon as you apologize to my friends for having nothing but thin shit inside your brain.” The guy starts to puff up his chest, but Miles leans in closer and stops the idiot from posturing.
The entire lounge area has taken an interest in the exchange, and not one single person will get in Miles’ way. He is formidable when he is not angry, but the rage brewing right now makes him fucking lethal.
“And if I don’t?” the guy questions, right before Christian steps up and spins his stupid head around with a well-placed fist.
“You had your chance, and that’s more than you deserved,” Christian says calmly. Miles is stunned but proud of Christian for the sudden change of events, and Gavin and Brady are already hauling the sack of shit away— presumably to introduce him to the cold, hard sidewalk.
Suddenly, the room is alive again. Christian extends his hand to Ivy, pulls her in for a kiss that makes the other three of us surprisingly uncomfortable, and then asks, “Are you ready for dinner, beautiful? I’ll get us a table.”
