Screwing With Perfect

by Louisa Trent

  The showerhead was returned back where it belonged.

  In readiness of anal penetration, she braced her arms against the wall and lifted her hips for him as his penis pushed against her anus.

  "You make it easy for a man," he growled.

  "I am making it easy for you," she qualified.

  "Really?" he said, kissing her nape. "That enthusiastic?"

  "I want it all, Drew, every experience. The way I see it, I have a lot of catching up to do. Almost thirty is a little late for losing one's virginity. I'm coming from behind."

  "Coming from behind, eh? I like that idea." He gave a lecherous chuckle.

  She laughed too. Though inside she quaked with unbridled curiosity. His cock felt so large, so thick, so forbidden there at the hole.

  Appetite whetted, she hinted for more. "I'm not opposed to any position."

  "Glad to hear it. I'll file your lack of opposition away. For another time. My cock isn't going in any more tonight."

  "No?" she said, looking over her shoulder.

  "No. But you need to come. So, my fortunate little sweetheart, you're getting my tongue."

  The shower shut off, he stepped back, helped her exit the shower stall.

  As she stood naked and aroused on the bath rug, a towel was applied briskly to her wet hair.

  "First, though, I'm drying you off," he said.

  "Highly unlikely. I don't think I can get any wetter," she wisecracked, as the towel was languidly applied to her breasts.

  Drew dropped to his knees at her feet. The rough toweling driving her mad, her skin glowing pink with his attention, her skin flushing with sexual heat, her tormentor put the towel aside to finger, then circle, then delicately separate the outer lips of her sex. He breathed lustfully across the opening.

  Gasping, she pressed his blond head, the hair darkened to gold because of the shower, to her belly. "If you're trying to blow me dry, I assure you that activity will not accomplish your goal."

  With a chuckle, he blew on her pussy again, the warm puff of breath bringing out a shiver of need. "Drew, please?" she begged, all playfulness gone from her voice. "I can't take much more."

  He looked up at her. "Let's get you back to bed. It's time for your second orgasm."

  "You're so sure I'll have a second one? The first one could have been a fluke. Some women work an entire lifetime without the Big Payoff." He bit her knee, then her thigh; from head to foot, she trembled. "You'll have another one," he promised. "And there won't be any work involved, just enjoyment. And you better not discuss the first time you climaxed during your bitch-and-cry group. Or the second one either, or any of the rest. Some things are not open to discussion, like my talented tongue for instance." That talented tongue pierced her bellybutton and she yelped, crying out when his mouth opened over her belly. Not in pain. In embarrassment. She had a tummy. She hated sit-ups, and no matter how many miles she logged in jogging, her round little pot didn't go away. Drew's abs were deliciously flat, and he did nothing at all to earn them. He had received many gifts at birth, and because of those gifts, women fell into his arms with ridiculous ease. Was he comparing her to any of them? "I love your body, Kes," he said, sucking on her un-flat tummy. "I love everything about it. Here on out, I plan on keeping you naked." An impossibility. She had a job to return to bright and early the next morning, and a love bite on her plump belly was no reason to call in sick. "Who needs a tattoo when I have a hickey," she stirred herself enough to say. "The first of many," he replied and picked her up in his arms. He carried her back to the bed--he seemed to be carrying her a lot lately--dropping her into the middle of the mattress where she bounced, legs and arms akimbo. Diving in after her, his hands split her thighs, spreading her wide. A heel of a foot in each hand, his mouth landing where she needed him the most, he blew and kissed and lapped at her thighs, his tongue entering the folds with a short jab.

  She bucked off the bed. Screamed, tore her fingers through his hair. Pulled, yanked, nearly scalped him as he went at her with gusto, his tongue piercing her center over and over again. With his skull squeezed between her legs like a clove of garlic, she came on a sob.

  Afterwards, he kissed his way up her body, from the small knoll of her belly to the valley of her cleavage. "Told you so. Correct me if I'm mistaken but I believe that's Number Two."

  So unlike Drew to keep track!

  "In the name of advancing your education," he said, plundering her mouth in much the same way he had plundered her between the legs, giving her a pussy-flavored kiss before his mouth descended again. The valley. The knoll. The pussy. His talented tongue slipping inside.

  Another buck, scream and sob, and he was smiling down into her face.

  "Do not say it," she warned.

  "Then I won't, except to say you're like a keg of dynamite."

  "I never thought I was predisposed to having an addictive personality, but all the signs of sex addiction appear to be there," she replied happily, high on the drug of him. "Unfortunately, that fix will need to do me 'til next we meet."

  "Next we meet?" He sat up on his heels. "What does that mean? Where are you going?"

  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "Home."

  "I thought we were sleeping together?"

  "We just did."

  "No, I mean as in snoring."

  "I would like to. There are the elbows etcetera I need to get used to in bed. But alas I have decided to implement a strict rule against spending the night with a lover. This does not preclude the occasional post-coital nap."

  "What! For the sake of some dumb-ass arbitrary rule, you're leaving me to rattle around in this big house alone, in this big bed, my first night here?"

  "You never spend the night with a lover, do you?"

  "I told you I didn't."

  "So why should I? What's good for the teacher is good for the student."

  She went to the bathroom, came back out carrying her pile of clothes. "People learn by example," she said, finding her underwear in the rolled up ball.

  "Yeah, they do, Kes. But they don't always continue to follow a bad example set for them by someone else. People can change," he grumbled. "By the way, speaking of changing--no bra. No panties. You won't need them in the SUV."

  "Oh, but I'm not accepting a ride home from you. I'm taking a cab."

  "I just took your virginity. I'm driving you home."

  "As I begin, so too shall I proceed. After leaving a lover's bed, I take a cab home. Unless, of course, we live together in a committed relationship and then we'll already be home in which case we can snuggle for the rest of the night in our very own bed."

  "I expected to sleep with you tonight," he grumbled, obviously in a foul mood, a rare occurrence for the affable Drew.

  "Now don't get angry," she placated. "I'm only thinking of poor Mrs. Harris and her weak heart. If she sees a steady stream of strange men pulling up to the house she'll freak."

  "What steady stream of strange men? I'm only one man, and Mrs. Harris knows me," he blustered.

  Time to set him straight. "Remember that mile-wide swathe you told me I'd be able to cut through all the eligible men in Boston?"

  "Yeah, I remember. What of it?"

  "Well, if Ted doesn't work out, I have a lot of swathe-cutting to do. A steady stream of swathe-cutting. That's why I'm cabbing it home. I'm only thinking of Mrs. Harris' health. At her age, I don't think she's able to appreciate the amount of men a girl has to sleep with to find Mr. Right." Kesley shook her head. "We could be talking thousands here. I do tend towards fussiness."

  Sparing Drew not a glance, Kesley climbed into her wrinkled clothes, searched her sling bag for her cell phone, and dialed the taxi.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Kesley pulled another all-nighter on Thursday. On Friday, it was a twenty-four hour shift. It was now early Saturday night, and Drew hadn't seen her in two days. Some sex explosion they were having.

  On the phone when he called her, she told him they'd have to
put their lust marathon on hold.

  What the hell was going on with her and this new case?

  She refused to talk to him about it, but he heard the tension in her voice. Drew's gut told him Kes was losing the kid she was trying to bring in. When that happened, she always took it hard, like a personal failure or something.

  Drew knew different. A non-cooperative kid wasn't a failure. Not hers. Not anyone's. Sometimes people, young and old and in-between, just aren't ready to make a change in their lives. Just because the kid was being uncooperative didn't mean he couldn't change his situation. The kid might still turn it around all on his own.

  Or maybe not.

  Sometimes a young male needed to hit rock-bottom first before putting forth the effort required in making something out of nothing. Bottomed out, previously unwelcome options start getting some serious exploration. When a kid finally realizes he's drowning in the sludge of his own go-nowhere life, that's when he becomes a little more willing to reach out to an extended hand, to accept the lifesaver offered him.

  Leastwise, that's how Drew remembered it happening for him.

  At eighteen, he'd been bumming the streets, panhandling spare change, doing some other stuff too to survive, stuff he'd just as soon not think about. He'd been going down for the third time, drowning in his own self-hatred, when he entered a program similar to The Shelter. That's where he got his act together and his life in control and his world got turned around.

  Kes didn't know that about him, and Drew was keeping it quiet. His past was in the past and that's where he wanted it kept. He gave back in his own way, helping troubled kids through mentoring whenever he could, making financial donations, and let it go at that. Those years were never going to be open to general conversation. Some things in a man ran too deep to discuss.

  He'd always admired Kes for what she did at The Shelter. It took guts. She had to be the bravest, toughest, strongest person he'd ever met. But even she needed a shoulder to cry on when things turned to shit. Why was she locking him out?

  It hurt real bad that she wouldn't let him in.

  Today he would try to get her to talk about this kid. It was Saturday and whenever he was home from his travels, they always made a point of jogging around Jamaica Pond together on the weekends. They'd catch up on what was happening in one another's lives, generally shoot the bull, be there for one another. Why should that change just because they'd done the deed?

  The deed.

  That's what he used to call it. Not any more. He'd made love to Kes. Afterwards, he had wanted to hold her. Sleep with her in his arms. He'd bought the bed just for her, then she didn't want to sleep with him in it. Why didn't she want to spend the night with him?

  Kes was real big on rules, but that was some stupid rule, and he wasn't sure that rule was the reason he got shot down. Had to be something else.

  And that cab business?

  Bogus.

  Kesley wasn't about to do any mile-wide swathe cutting. She just wasn't the one-night stand type. And he wasn't about to let her, anyway. Did she really think he would let her walk out of his life?

  If she did, she didn't know him.

  He never gave her the chance to know him.

  That might have to change. If it meant the difference between keeping and losing her, he would peel back the skin and show her the scars that didn't show. Whatever it took, that's what he would do to hang onto Kes.

  Back at the three-decker, after giving a wave to Mrs. Harris on ground zero, Drew took the stairs to the third floor walk-up, stopping at the landing, facing the door.

  The door stumped him. Should he turn the knob and go in, just like always, or knock first and wait for her to get up from what she was doing and let him in?

  His hand went to the knob. Why inconvenience her? She might be getting dressed for her jog. Damn inconsiderate to interrupt.

  Damn inconsiderate to walk in on her too. It's not like he had any rights, like a lover had rights.

  He was Kesley's lover. Hard to believe. It still felt like a dream to him.

  He'd worn a condom, figuring the reservoir at the tip would go unfilled. Once her virginity was history, he thought a few gentle strokes and that would be that.

  He figured wrong, he thought wrong.

  They say you can never go home again, and that saying applied to him. After making his escape at thirteen from a home that really wasn't a home, he had never looked back.

  Being inside Kesley was like finally finding a place where he belonged. Without getting all sappy, he knew she was his home. He tried to tell her so, tried to explain how it was, tried to tell her he was coming home.

  He came, all right. Without her. How selfish could a guy get?

  She didn't get hers. But she came close. Maybe if he'd been able to hang on a few strokes longer...

  But he couldn't hang on. When he needed his control, her responsiveness shot it out from under him. The way she hugged him to her, like she didn't want to let him go, that's when he lost his grip altogether, and went off like a cannon.

  And as soon as it was over, he'd wanted to start in all over again.

  Knowing she had to be sore, knowing she had to be hurting, all he could think about was pushing them both to the limit. It took all his willpower to yank himself out and propel himself to the edge of the mattress, not touching her. He could not touch her or he'd turn into a plundering barbarian.

  He kept away from her, shaking because he wanted to touch her so much. After telling him she was okay--that was one huge load off--she did this sexy as all hell move and started talking about "fun stuff."

  Fun stuff? She wore a crimson stain on her body, a stain he had caused. He wasn't thinking fun stuff; he was thinking dark stuff, stuff he didn't want to think. She was bleeding, the sight of her blood nearly strangling him with fear. He knew women bled the first time, but was it normal to bleed so much?

  But as horrible as it was to own up to, at the sight of her virgin's blood, he'd felt excited and possessive, like he had just claimed her as his in the most primal of rites.

  He stared into her eyes, so gentle and compassionate, and knew Kes didn't have a clue as to what was going on his mind. Some seriously dark and dangerous stuff was swirling around inside his head. They were getting into some areas where saints like Kesley should fear to tread.

  He forced himself to leave the bed and her, intentionally taking care of business in front of her, trashing the used rubber that was smeared with her blood. For sure, he never had done that in front of a woman before. So as not to break a romantic moment, he always cleaned up in the bathroom and there was never virgin blood on the blunt. But with Kes, he needed it to be real. He'd offered her romance, but he got to thinking maybe she had too many stars shining in her eyes where he was concerned. Suddenly it was important she know that even making love had its animalistic side.

  The honesty backfired. Under her watchful stare, he started getting hard. He never meant for it to happen. It was too soon for it to happen. Usually, after a spurt, it took a while to get erect again. But there it was, a hard-on to end all hard-ons, a reality too large to be denied. And that was before she started touching herself.

  An unconscious gesture, he thought at first. Until a lusty "Mmm" left her slightly parted lips and she raised a leg.

  Christ, if he didn't know better he would've thought she was treating him to a hardcore peep show! But that kind of thing wasn't Kes. Sex was on the table now, but not that kind of sex, not the dirty kind of sex. Not his sweetheart! She was straight as an arrow, the girl next door; or one flight up the stairs, in this instance. She wouldn't know how to play to a man's fantasies. Sure, they had both of them made teasing references to the kinky stuff, but that was all talk and no action. She couldn't be about to do what it looked like she was about to do.

  Moaning a sultry "Mmm," she began that certain stroke.

  She was doing it! Masturbating in front of him, where he could see.

  Unable to look away, his
cock just about launched at the sight.

  And what did she do?

  The hussy smiled. He just about busted a nut, and she was grinning like that was a good thing. It was not a good thing! It was a very, very, bad thing when a man loses control.

  "Mmm." Her body undulated--the witch.

  He approached the bed, her pussy his destination, only to collapse next to her, his throat so dry with lust he could barely speak, an arm over his burning eyes, afraid to go near, unable to keep away. His cock was on fire, sticking straight up, the head dripping pre-cum. It was her right to see him for the man he was; weak, unsure, scared out of his gourd.

  He loved her, had loved her for years. It was her right to know!

  And what did she say, the little cock-tease, after she'd stripped him of all his defenses, revealing all his manly insecurities, leaving him naked in his desire?

  "Yes," says she, "it was very nice, wasn't it?"

  "It" being that monumental, life-altering epiphany he'd just experienced.

  Then, to add insult to injury, she told him she still planned on dating Ted.

  He was killing Ted. It was the number-one item on Drew's "to do" list.

  Too innocent to comprehend the inherent dangers of a jealous man, she continued to tease him, taunting him with piercings and tattooings and other men. It was like he was a bare wire looking for a socket to plug. She was wet, he was frayed, conditions were right for electrocution. Before they both got fried, he gave her seductive ass a warning spank.

  The she-cat meowed with pleasure.

  In the shower, his soaped-up hands moved all over her. Never, not even in his wildest wet dreams, did he picture doing this with her.

  Bubbles and skin. Two slippery bodies. A man and a woman sighing. Erotic poetry.

  In bed, Kes came apart under his mouth, her honey dropping down his throat, her screams of release resounding in his ears, a man's finest praise from his woman.

  She came for him, but was Kes his woman now that they had passed from whatever they had been into something else?

  Drew's hand lifted. His knuckles rapped the door, the knock that echoed in the hallway answering his unspoken question.