Dirty Talk

by Jane O'Reilly

  Like he’s showing me a glimpse of what I’ve been missing. Of how things could be. It’s the last thing I expected to happen when I got into this with him. I’m beginning to think about what will happen when the story is finished and we’ve got no excuse to do this any more.

  And I don’t like the way those thoughts make me feel.

  ‘God, I like having my cock in you,’ he says. ‘You’re so tight and hot and you feel so fucking good, Amy.’

  I close my eyes, pull those words into myself, and suddenly we’re not the wealthy recluse and her fugitive lover any more, we’re just Amy and Phil. ‘I like the way you feel inside me too,’ I tell him.

  ‘Yeah? And how does it feel?’

  ‘You’re so big.’ And he is. I’m filled to the point where it almost hurts, where if he wasn’t holding me down I might lose my nerve and shove him off. ‘And you’re so hard.’ And I know I’m talking in porn film clichés, and I might as well say give it to me big boy, but he is big, and he is really erect, like this is really turning him on.

  Like I’m really turning him on.

  Fuck.

  I’m turning him on. He likes this. He’s enjoying it. He’s enjoying it a lot. And whether or not that’s because of the game we’re playing or because of me doesn’t matter. He’s really aroused, and I find that realisation so thrillingly erotic that I don’t care. ‘Fuck me harder,’ I beg him. ‘Come on Phil, fuck me.’

  ‘Amy,’ he says. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  And then he lets go of my wrist and slides a hand around my hips, pushing it between my legs. He adjusts his position, kicking my legs apart and putting his feet in between mine, giving him clear access to the throbbing nub of my clit.

  He’s merciless. Between his hand and his cock, he has me exactly where I want to be, where I need to be. I slap the table top, moaning as each thrust puts his cock in contact with my g-spot, sending a jolt of sharp pleasure through me. It’s almost too much. I can feel my legs starting to shake, and I think I might cry out. I’m swearing viciously, shocked by the intensity of it. I’ve never been fucked like this before. I didn’t know it was possible to be fucked like this outside of a book. My mind is full of all the stories I’ve read, and my body is full of him.

  And it’s there, in my strange blurred reality, that he makes me come. One minute I’m lost in the thrust of his body into mine, the next I’m in the middle of the best orgasm I’ve ever had. It’s noisy and sweaty and fierce and intense, and he keeps fucking me, keeps fucking me, and then he’s coming too, I can feel it, his cock growing even bigger, even harder inside me, and he talks me through it in toe-curling detail. ‘God, I need to come. I need to come so bad,’ he says. ‘I’m going to shoot my load right in your tight little pussy. Are you ready, Amy?’

  I manage a barely coherent ‘yes.’

  ‘Here is it,’ he says. ‘Oh,god. Oh, god.’ And then he makes a coarse, strangled sound, almost a roar as he thrusts his pleasure into my body, as I hold myself very still and focus on him, on the way that he’s moving and the sounds that he’s making. I want to remember this. I want to remember what he was like.

  Afterwards, he laughs and rubs the small of my back, then he pulls me upright and leads me upstairs to his bathroom, which is small but clean. ‘Shower or bath?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I hedge.

  ‘Bath is it then,’ he says cheerily, and runs me one filled with peach-scented bubbles that makes me suspect Phil quite enjoys a bubble bath now and then. I sit in the water, inhaling his scent and warming my toes, and despite my best efforts to stay in control and not think about what just happened, my mind wanders there. I sink lower into the bath, stick my big toe in the tap. We crossed the line, this time. We really crossed it. And the thing is, I don’t think I can pretend that I’m OK with it. Because I’m not OK with it. I don’t want to try to pretend that we’re just friends after this. If that’s our only option, I don’t think we can be friends any more.

  I can’t be friends with someone I’m falling in love with.

  Phil comes back in with a pile of clean towels. He opens one out and holds it up as I climb out of the tub, bubbles sliding everywhere. ‘Are you OK?’ he asks.

  I should lie. I should say of course, and act like nothing has happened, nothing has changed, but I can’t seem to make myself do it. ‘Actually, I don’t think I am.’ I try to smile, but it’s painful, and I can’t seem to get it to work properly.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ he says. And then his arms are around me. He pulls me close, pressing the long length of his body against mine. He’s pulled on jeans and they are rough against my legs, but otherwise he’s naked, and he’s so close to me, and it’s overwhelmingly intimate.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asks me.

  I don’t even know where to begin. ‘This,’ I say. ‘You. Me. Us. Everything.’

  ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Sounds complicated. Want to tell me about it?’

  ‘I don’t even know where to start.’ I push the hair back from my face. ‘I don’t usually sleep with my friends.’

  ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I don’t usually sleep with my friends either.’ And then he angles his head, looks at my mouth, looks me straight in the eye, and kisses me for a second time.

  Oh. Oh, god.

  It’s gentle at first, as if he’s unsure, which seems crazy, because I never thought of Phil as the sort of man who was unsure about anything. And the gentleness undoes me, too, because what we’ve shared so far has been all about heat. It’s been rough and aggressive, but not serious.

  This is serious.

  He starts to pull back, but I don’t let him. I slide my hand around the back of his neck and hold him close. We stand there, foreheads touching, sharing air. And this time, I kiss him. I kiss that full bottom lip, the one that doesn’t quite fit the rest of him, and when he slowly traces the tip of my tongue with his, I let him.

  My body is filled with a rush of emotion, of heat and desire and an undeniable urge for more. And then he takes my hand, holding it tightly as if he’s afraid that I’ll run away. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not dressed, for starters.’

  But he doesn’t loosen his grip. ‘I know,’ he says.

  He leads me out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. It’s comfortable and welcoming, and he has the most amazing collection of French movie posters framed and mounted on the wall, and a tall pile of books next to the bed. It’s very him.

  I haven’t come here for friendship this time, though, and I can sense that we both know it. Even though it’s unspoken, even though we haven’t explicitly said what we both want, we know. The kiss we shared said everything there is to say.

  He pulls the towel from my body and drops it on the floor. The room is illuminated by nothing more than the streetlight outside, and less than that when Phil moves towards it and pulls the curtains closed. He turns on the light at the side of the bed, and then he turns to me.

  He beckons me closer.

  Despite everything we’ve done, this is the most naked we’ve been in front of each other, and I have never felt more vulnerable. There’s no fantasy to hide behind now. No imaginary red silk robe. We’re not a wealthy recluse and a fugitive. We’re just two friends, wondering if they could be something more.

  He straightens up, and I can feel his gaze on me. I know he’s looking. And I know he’s waiting for me to finish undressing him. So I put myself closer to him, close enough for my nipples to brush the broad wall of his chest. He’s breathing fast, and when I touch him, he closes his eyes. I see his throat work as I trace a pattern over his chest, stroke my fingertips over the hard buds of his nipples, stroke across the soft hair that covers his belly. I touch his arm, skating over the coloured ink that patterns his skin. More red roses twined with dark leaves and birds. I could touch him all day. I could stand here and touch him all bloody day and never get bored. I ease his boxers down and free his cock. He’s hard again. I lower my hand and wrap my fingers aroun
d him. He’s hot and heavy, and I like the way it feels. ‘Talk to me,’ I whisper.

  He nuzzles his face against my hair, which is hanging loose around my shoulders. ‘What about?’

  ‘Us.’

  I can feel his breath, warm against my ear. ‘We’re going to get into that bed,’ he says, gently easing me back towards it, ‘and we’re going to fuck each other. Is that all right with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He pushes me back onto the mattress, and I pull him with me. He moves himself in between my thighs, and we lie there for a moment, looking at each other. Then he reaches over to the bedside table and takes a condom out of the drawer and tugs it on, and it should be weird and uncomfortable but it isn’t, because it’s Phil.

  It’s just Phil.

  Then he’s back between my thighs again, with the weight of his hips pressing me open, with one hand on my arse and the other in my hair, and he’s looking at me, and he’s talking. ‘We’re just going to fuck,’ he says, as the head of his cock presses against the entrance to my body, as he slides in a little, and then a little more. ‘It’s just going to be my cock inside your pussy, and it’s going to feel so fucking amazing, because you’re so hot and tight and I’m so fucking hard for you. Is that okay, Amy?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whisper.

  He gives me a little more, then, and a little more, until I’m so full of him that I whimper and close my eyes. I think that’s all of him, until he rolls his hips and fucks into me so deep and so hard that I know it wasn’t even close. I hold on to him, hold him tight as he slowly pleasures me with the strong thrust of his hard cock, over and over. ‘I’ve been thinking about you,’ he says. ‘I’ve been thinking about all the ways I want to fuck you.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I want to put my face between your legs and eat your pussy until you come,’ he says. ‘I want to be under you, watching you ride me.’

  I shudder with delight. He slides a hand between us, down over my belly, and finds my clit with those clever, knowing fingers. He strokes me in slow, deliberate circles, matching the rhythm of his hand to the rhythm of his thrusts. ‘What do you want, Amy?’ he asks, as he continues to work me, to pleasure me, to tease me.

  ‘I want…’

  He thrusts a little harder, a little deeper.

  ‘Fuck me,’ I beg him. ‘Just…fuck me.’

  He smiles down at me. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  Then he untangles my arms from around his neck, pushing himself up on both hands, so that he’s holding himself above me. The muscles in his arms are tight and tense, and the flex of his hips makes me gasp. He’s so deep inside me now that I’m not sure where I end and where he begins, and it’s so rude and filthy and intimate, and I’m not sure that what we’re doing now can ever be undone.

  ‘Come on, Amy,’ he says. ‘Ride that cock.’

  He reaches down, pushes my knee up, hooks it round his arm, then does the same with the other leg. He’s got me completely at his mercy now, pinned to his bed as he shags me hard into the mattress. To hell with it, I think. If this is the worst mistake I’ve ever made, I might as well enjoy it. I sneak a hand between my legs and touch myself, thrilled when he sees what I’m doing and his face flushes and his thrusts become even more desperate. Our bodies are slick with sweat, and we’re beyond words, now. We don’t need them. The rough slap of our bodies as we desperately fuck each other says more than any words ever could.

  There are whimpers and groans of pleasure and the smack of the bed against the wall and the smell of hot skin and sex, and then there is the moment of surrender. But it’s more than a moment. I dig my fingers into his flesh, marking him, owning him, my orgasm terrifying in its intensity. And then with one, two, three final thrusts, Phil pours his own into me. I can feel the force of it, feel the way his body shakes. But as the pleasure fades, the fear rushes up to take its place. I thought I could handle this. I thought I could do this and still cope when he moves on to one of those glossy, glamorous girls that he likes.I thought I could say it was all for the story.

  I was wrong.

  Chapter Six

  I scramble off the bed, half falling to the floor in my hurry. I have to get out of here. I should never have done this. I should have known that there was no turning back, that sex would ruin everything. I shouldn’t have accepted the stupid bet in the first place. I should have said no. Then none of this would ever have happened. I ignore the little voice inside my head telling me that this was inevitable. That we would have slept together eventually. That I would have fallen for him regardless. That there are some things you can’t fight.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Phil asks me.

  ‘Home.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if I leave now, we still have a chance of pretending this never happened.’

  ‘Why the hell would you want to pretend it never happened?’ He sounds hurt and angry, and that makes me pause. He sits up, cross-legged, and starts tugging off the condom.

  ‘Because we’re friends,’ I point out, trying not to look at what he’s doing, because that would mean looking at his penis, and looking at it makes me want. And that hurts.

  ‘What has that got to do with it?’ he says.

  ‘How are we supposed to be friends now?’

  ‘The same way we were before,’ he says.

  ‘Friends don’t do what we just did!’

  ‘OK, so we’re not friends.’

  My heart plummets. ‘Then what are we?’

  ‘Lovers, I hope.’

  From anyone else, that would sound cheesy and wrong, but from him, it doesn’t. I bend down and pick up his T-shirt and pull it on. It smells of him. It doesn’t fit me. I can’t bring myself to take it off. ‘I don’t even know what that means,’ I admit.

  ‘It means that we’re not friends with fucking benefits,’ he says. ‘It means that we’re something more. That we mean something to each other.’

  I rub my arms. I’m suddenly cold.

  ‘Come here,’ Phil orders me. He gets off the bed, throws back the duvet, then walks over to me. He pushes me towards the bed. I get into it, and he tucks the duvet round me. ‘Don’t move,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  He leaves the room and then reappears a few minutes later minus the condom, carrying two mugs. He holds one out to me, and I take it. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Just drink it,’ he says.

  It’s hot and soothing, with a definite alcoholic kick. ‘You made me hot chocolate with brandy in it?’

  ‘You looked like you could use it.’

  ‘The chocolate or the brandy?’

  ‘Both.’

  I drink a little more, and he’s right, I did need it. ‘I don’t want to lose you as a friend,’ I say.

  Phil sits down next to me on the bed. ‘I don’t want to lose you as a friend, either.’

  ‘Why does everything have to be so complicated?’

  ‘It’s not complicated,’ he says. ‘It’s easy.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel easy,’ I tell him. ‘It feels like a nightmare. First Jules, now you.’ He takes the mug from me as the first tear falls. When the second one falls, he wipes it away. ‘Why does sex always have to get in the way of friendship?’

  ‘Because women can’t control themselves?’

  I look at him.

  ‘Just a suggestion,’ he says.

  ‘Women get boyfriends, and they ditch their friends. You make friends with a man, and sex is always there, between you, whether you do it or not. Sex makes people crazy.’

  ‘Sex is a bad, bad thing,’ he agrees.

  ‘Jules and I were really close, before she met Dave.’ I pluck at the edge of the duvet. ‘When they’re together, it’s like she’s a different person.’ I bite my lip, and then I admit what I’ve been unable to admit to anyone else. ‘I don’t particularly like her when she’s with him, and that makes me feel horrible. We used to be best friends. Now I can’t stand her. Does that make me an
awful person?’

  ‘No,’ Phil says. ‘It just makes you human. Dave doesn’t bring out the best in her.’

  ‘I don’t want to lose you as a friend,’ I tell him. ‘And I don’t want to turn into someone I don’t like.’ I don’t want to turn into Jules.

  ‘Is that what you’re afraid of?’

  I nod.

  ‘Then don’t,’ he says, as if it’s as easy as that.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Just be yourself.’ He pulls back the duvet, climbs into bed with me. ‘That’s all you have to do, Amy. That’s all anyone ever has to do. Just be themselves. The reason you don’t like Jules when she’s with Dave is because she changes when she’s with him.’

  I don’t even have to think about that to know it’s true.

  ‘I don’t want to do that.’ I move closer to him.

  ‘Then don’t,’ he says. ‘I certainly don’t want you to.’

  I slide my hand along his naked body. He’s so warm, and firm, and I want him. I want him. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Just you,’ he says. ‘Just this.’

  He moves me on top of him, his hands hard and determined on my hips. He strips off the T-shirt and tosses it aside, then skates his palms along my thighs. ‘All you have to do is be yourself, Amy. The real you, not the one you show to everyone else.’

  That shocks me. ‘But…’

  ‘I’m your friend, remember? I know you.’ He moves his hands to my hips, draws tiny circles on the flesh there. ‘I know what you’re really like.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  His hands have made their way round to my backside, and he’s urging me forwards. I’m practically sitting on his chest as it is. ‘You’re intelligent, and interesting, and sensitive, and you care about other people. You’re also sexy and dirty.’

  I open my mouth to argue, then realise that I can’t. And that maybe, I don’t want to.

  ‘Come here, pretty girl,’ he says, urging me further forwards.

  ‘Come where?’

  ‘Here,’ he says, gesturing to his mouth.

  ‘You can’t be serious.’