by C. L. Donley
I’m trying to grasp the concept of Dale Abernathy on his knees in front of me about to put his tongue on my…
I shake my head and bring both my hands to my face.
“You alright?” he asks like a coach checking in with his player.
I quickly nod, moving my hands to the side of my face.
“This is happening,” he says.
I take a deep breath and one of my hands moves nervously under my chin. I smile at him, a bit too wide and I bite the side of my finger to keep myself from freaking out.
“Beautiful,” he simply says looking up at me, his words rippling across my heart like a smooth rock in a pond. His lips go to one exposed thigh, where the slit in my skirt is. Meanwhile his hands go beneath my dress, trailing up and down my legs. Finally they catch hold of the sides of my underwear and they come down. I step out of them and he grabs hold of my left leg and hitches it onto his shoulder. His hot breath feels even hotter on my sensitive mound. He lets out a groan right before he kisses me, like a man starved. He’s still sending potent shocks of pleasure through me even though I’ve already had an orgasm.
My hands go to his hair. I’m revelling in the sound of his machinations, the sound of his lips meeting mine down below. The moist glucking noises he makes as he circles my clitoris with his tongue, the sensation slowly shifting from a dull, somewhat painful post-orgasm ache back to a monotonous chant, summoning a deep need inside me to climax again.
Dale’s name slowly comes creeping up my throat, mingling with other choice words. Dale positively owns me and it feels like the rightest thing in the world. My second orgasm is going to be more powerful than the first, I can tell.
“This feels fucking amazing,” I breathily confess. Dale gives a moan of appreciation and continues his work earnestly.
“I’m coming again,” my voice goes up in pitch as I announce my orgasm again and again.
My head slowly tilts back as I’m plunged mercilessly below an ocean of pleasure that’s tossing my senses this way and that. When it finally relinquishes me, I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
Dale is tickled. He’s starting to get the gist of my orgasms that are more like petit mal seizures. He continues licking a bit after my protests until I’m slapping him on the back of the head. He retreats from my dress all smiles, still on his knees. He wipes his mouth with his hand and laughs.
“No one has ever found me as amusing as you do,” I say, unconsciously beaming.
“No one has ever had orgrasms as you do,” he teases me.
“Asshole,” I grin, looking out at the Spanish scenery. He continues to laugh.
“Shall we go back to the party?” he suggests.
“What? No!” I’m dumbfounded.
“You wanna keep hanging out with me?” he smirks.
“Don’t you wanna have sex?” I ask, confused. I thought we were on the same page. Our eyes meet.
He gets up from his kneeling position and sighs, as though searching himself before he answers.
“Yes,” he says resolutely.
“Then let’s go.”
“We are technically here for a wedding,” he reminds me.
“Don’t lecture me, this was your idea,” I say.
“Yeah, and now I’m sorta thinking… if we don’t see our friends off we might regret it.”
“Everyone saw us leave and now you wanna walk back in there?”
“No one cares, I promise. People hook up at weddings all the time.”
I whine as he grabs me by the hand and places it on his manhood which is still rock hard.
“I liked dancing with you,” he says in my ear.
“We can dance anywhere,” I protest.
He sucks in a breath through his teeth. His mouth goes to my nape again, to my earlobe and I arch my back and slip my hands lazily around his neck.
“You’re making me crazy, you know that?”
“How can you stand it?” I wonder aloud, talking about the orgasm he’s yet to have. He simply laughs at me again. Damn. I thought I at least knew the basics, but I guess even sex at the billionaire level is not for mere mortals.
“Just one dance, okay?” Dale pleads. He grabs my hand before I can protest.
When we get back to the ballroom the party is a ruckus. The cake has been cut and the emcee’s playing some old school song that has all the old folks on their feet. Amara seems to have fallen asleep on Grayson’s shoulder and no one seems to care, least of all Grayson. They’re lounging in a random corner of the room instead of at the bride’s table, and Grayson has shed his contacts apparently, because he’s wearing his nerdy chic black glasses, burying his chin in Amara’s black hair. Occasionally someone comes by to greet them, fawn over the sight of the sleeping bride and shake Grayson’s hand. They specifically requested that the only gifts they required were their invited guests’ presence but some people still apparently insisted on bringing something. When Grayson sees Dale and I return hand in hand, he summons us over from across the room.
“Meet us in Mallorca,” Grayson says.
“No way bro,” Dale replies.
“Why not?”
“I won’t subject Mya or myself to that.”
“We’ll behave,” Grayson says. “We’re taking the baby, it’s not like we’ll be fucking non-stop.”
“The two of you are disgusting under normal circumstances,” I say.
“Pleeeeease” Amara suddenly speaks up, not moving.
“Is she faking?”
“She’s genuinely tired, but yes, she is also faking.”
“Where’s your reception dress?” I ask her.
“I’m never going to wear this dress again so I want to continue to wear it.”
“Bel kicked you off the jet, so you may as well come with us,” Grayson persuades Dale.
“What?”
“Bel needs the jet.”
I realize Bel and Kim have been missing since we took pictures.
“Kim,” I say, like a detective unmasking a plot.
Amara makes a raise the roof gesture with one arm.
“Amara, you can literally add ‘billionaire pimp’ to your resume,” I tell her.
Amara laughs into her Grayson’s lapel. Dale looks at me.
“What?” I innocently smile.
“So you’re coming or what?” Grayson urges us.
Aw. It’s sweet to see him so enthusiastic about our potential pairing, though it would never happen.
“You’re just so sure that something’s happened between us,” I say to him.
Amara sits up and smiles at her husband, then lays back down.
“You’re the man,” Amara says.
“How is he the man?!” Dale asks in disbelief.
“‘Cause I am,” Grayson smirks, looking at Dale.
“See, this is precisely why no one wants to be around you,” I say.
“Thank you,” Dale supports me.
“Would y’all get the hell out of here and finish whatever non-romantic business you were or were not up to? We’ll see you later,” Amara says, ignoring our protests.
“I think I need cake,” Dale says.
“I thought we were here to dance?” I say.
“Y’all can dance anywhere,” Amara points out.
“That’s what I’m sayin!” I exclaim.
Grayson gives Dale a look that says “we’re both the man.”
“Meet us there,” Grayson says again.
Dale turns to me to discern my opinion, but I say nothing. I really don’t care what happens tomorrow. I just want him to do me, even more now as he looks at me. The message appears to be received.
“We’ll let you know.” Dale says.
He spins me around and puts my arm in his. Kim and Bel are indeed nowhere to be found, and I hope we don’t run into them on the way to…wait, where are we going, exactly?
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Upstairs. Right?”
“Right. Just c
hecking.”
He takes me the long way around the dance floor. I notice one of Amara’s and my favorite TV personalities sitting casually at a table full of celebrities, sipping champagne. Still, compared to what’s about to happen to me, it’s not even surreal enough to acknowledge.
“You um, I’m assuming you have—”
“Always,” Dale read my mind.
“Always?” I tease.
“Never leave home without it,” he says.
“Such a stud,” I reply.
“Nice of you to notice,” he says, opening the door for me as his gaze roams my body.
I stop and survey him right back until I’m satisfied. We lock eyes and I sachet past him out of the ballroom, hoping he’s getting an eyeful.
“Hold on a sec,” he says. I watch him walk away.
He remembers cake.
He grabs a small plate from one of the impossibly long tables carrying a giant piece, then he makes his way out the door, following me out of the reception doors and up the grand, Spanish tiled staircase.
Twenty Eight
Chapter 28
Dale
“Hold this.”
I hand Mya a huge slice of white double layer cake from the reception so I can open the door to my suite. The huge room has two massive beds and sitting rooms, modernized with warm neutral greiges but still old world with its ornate mahogany trim and coffered ceiling. The room is now flooded with light from its impossibly long windows with impossibly long drapes overlooking the bay.
I discard my tuxedo jacket on the sitting room chair and turn back to Mya in dismay as she is helping herself to my cake.
“What?” she stares blankly.
“What are you doing?” I ask accusatory.
“Eating cake,” she says chewing, fork in hand.
“I was saving that,” I smile.
“For what?”
“For… after.”
“Oh,” she titters.
“You said you didn’t want cake,”
“I never said I didn’t want cake,” she corrects me.
“Hand it over,” I bark.
Mya laughs and gives me my cake back, which I sit on the nightstand and start to undo my tie.
Mya wraps her arms around one of the thick bed posts and watches me as I begin to undress. There isn’t the slightest hint of shyness in me as she watches me. I used to balk at the many steps, the tiny hardware involved in dressing well, but I suppose I’m used to it. As much as women dressed up and as long as it took, the undoing was generally just a matter of a strap or a zipper. I quickly unfasten my dress shirt buttons and take my focus from my work to glance at her. She’s staring as though transfixed. I smile.
“What?” she asks. I just shake my head. This is not where I ever dreamed I would be when I got out of bed this morning.
“Are you hiding?” I say when I’m down to my boxer briefs.
She bangs her tilted head against the post and shut her eyes tight. I chuckle.
Slowly I saunter over to her and put my hands on her tiny waist, trying to calm her nerves.
“Now it’s your turn,” I say.
“Damn, I can’t stop looking at you,” she purrs silkily.
Her words liquify me. I smile as I unclasp Mya’s diamond tiara from her hair and her soft, wispy locs fall like waves around her face.
I lick a bit of frosting off the side of her mouth and give her a peck before bringing a thumb to her soft full lips.
Now, I’m going to kiss her.
I remember Grayson’s stories about kissing Amara. I don’t make a habit of buying into stereotypes, but it’s hard not to take the word of a man who believes with the conviction of Emily Post that a man shouldn’t have an orgasm until a woman’s had two.
Maybe the stories have gotten to my head, because the kiss is dizzying. Slow and deep and deliciously sensual. She sticks her tongue out to meet mine and I shudder when they connect. I breathe deep as I sink my fingers into her lower back. Her hands have gone from around my neck to my chest, and I’ve no trouble unhooking her halter top dress. The heavy fabric drops and pools down around her ankles. She’s wearing no bra, only a matching pale green pair of lace underwear that dots her dark lithe form with sumptuous color, and this time I really do bite her. Playfully, on the shoulder. She throws her head back and eeks out a high pitched laugh as she holds onto me.
She’s practically a different person under my touch. She is warm, funny, flirty, almost childlike. Utterly irresistible.
“Thanks, Dale. For… doing this,” she manages to say when we’re nose to nose, her taut nipples gently grazing my chest. She’s referring to her virginity that I’m about to take. I had half a mind to give her the “your first time should be special” speech when we were out on the hillside, but as first time stories go, she’s actually doing pretty damn good.
“But I haven’t done anything yet,” I say, moving one hand up the back of her thigh to her backside.
“You’ve done plenty and it’s…amazing,” she sighs. My hand pulls aside her underwear from behind, caressing her wet warmth as my mouth trails her neck.
“Lay down,” I whisper.
Mya’s on the bed at my command, slowly crawling on all fours to the head and then sinking into the plush white duvet. She stretches her arms out like a snow angel, skimming her bare skin across the feel of the blankets. I already have a condom packet between my teeth and I use the moment as an excuse to look at her exquisite form from where I’m standing. I try to memorize the way the afternoon shines on her smooth sable skin tone, the minty green of her underwear and the stark white of the sheets. It’s a mental exercise I haven’t done in awhile. Not since Avery.
She’s proud of the state of her body. Proud to have occasion show it to someone else. She looks like something out of a comic book. One of those I would steal from the corner store when I was a kid. It made my heart beat fast as soon I would stuff it in my bag, and even long after I’d made it out of the store, onto my bike and upstairs to my room. It’s the same way my heart beats now. The same anticipation of a whole new feast for my senses.
I find myself wondering if she’ll find a way to hide her feet, the way my ballet dancing mother always did. It isn’t the time or the place to be thinking about my mother, but when I look up to see them suddenly shrouded at the foot of the bed, I have to smile.
Mya
I’m completely calm as I watch him watching me. He’s naked at the edge of the bed, long, lean and pleasantly sculpted. I’m afraid to shamelessly stare at his manhood. I’ve made it this far without embarrassing myself, and that will surely be my downfall. I breathe a sigh of relief and close my eyes. My first time is going to be as good as I wanted, potentially better.
Slowly I’m being bombarded with beauty. The room is beautiful, the slow siesta sunlight, with the sound of the water from the open windows is beautiful, Dale’s strong agile body is achingly beautiful, and when he finally joins me in bed, when he finally takes what’s mine until it becomes his, what he’s doing to me is indescribable.
All kinds of pretty moans escape him as he enters me slowly, gently at first. The pain I anticipate is of course, not at all what I thought it would be. It is invasive, shrouded in a shadow of pleasure that makes the pain worth it. Within moments the pain completely melts away and I am overwhelmed as the reality of sex begins to live up to its hype. The feel of him coupled with the sound of him make an indelible mark on my soul: this is sex. This is a man. As he begins retreating all the way out, only to thrust himself all the way in me, I come pretty much instantly. He missed that one too.
“Are you okay?” he asks me. I can’t answer right away because orgasm is racking my body. It’s lowkey embarrassing, but eventually he seems to realize what he’s witnessing.
“Are you coming right now??” he asks in disbelief. Still no answer, just a sudden gasping for air that seems to startle him. Awkward. I throw my head back as if spent.
“Shit,” Dale exclaims, sound
ing tickled and a bit disappointed. He wasn’t expecting that. He slows down his speed, his thrusts still sending bursts through my body that end in tingles. I think my body is trying to make me bond with him, because his firm hands on my waist while he’s fucking me is new favorite sight, sound and sensation. I meekly bask in the afterglow as Dale keeps his rhythm. He seems to relax, enjoying my bliss, tiny gasps escaping my lips as his movements continue, taking up space in me. Soon he has inadvertently managed to build me back up again.
If that wasn’t enough, I realize that I’m now seeing Dale at his most wildly turned on. He doesn’t look like he’s enjoying himself, however, he looks like a man shipwrecked. I think he’s trying to make me cum again. Which is fucking insane. And it’s so damn hot, that I’m torn between my release and his. He’s cursing, he’s panting, he’s gritting his teeth. Every stroke demands another, every thrust feels like it’s destined to be his last. All I can think about is the fact that it’s my body doing this to him. I know because he told me. And he told me because I keep asking him.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“So good,” is the only part I understand.
“Feel’s good?” I repeat.
“…so fucking good.”
It’s cruel to make him talk right now, I think. But I can’t stop myself. I want the struggle to be over, but I never want it to stop. Don’t stop. Holy hell. I can barely believe I’m about to come for the fourth fucking time today. This time I give him fair warning, and I’m in complete ecstasy as I hear and feel the force of his release practically ambush him in waves.
Dale
We make love until day turns to evening, which is quite a feat during the white nights of summer in Spain.
Mya’s found a fantastic new hobby, and I have lots of lost time to make up for. She likes being on top, and I like that she likes being on top, grabbing hold of the massive wood carved headboard with one hand as she tries all manner of muscle conditioning positions, which she of course executes with ease and never fails to draw awe-filled curses from my lips.
It’s the best lay I’ve ever laid, and not just because she’s a ballet trained virgin.
