Screwing With Perfect

by Louisa Trent

  His eyes hooded on the vee of her body. "Open your legs."

  She tried and couldn't. "The shorts are in the way," she explained. "Should I take them off?"

  "Would you like to take them off?"

  "Yes," she said bashfully, "but I don't think I'm ready..."

  "Then don't," he said easily. "Roll the shorts to your knees, but don't remove them."

  She quickly complied.

  "Now open your legs."

  She stretched her knees open as far as they would go while lassoed in jogging shorts.

  "You're wet. You're excited to be kneeling naked outside at a man's feet about to suck him off," he correctly interpreted.

  Gone mute again, she jerked her chin down, then up.

  "Good. I'm glad you're excited. I'm excited too. Do with me as you will."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It wasn't the most technically expert blowjob Drew had ever received, but it was by far the most enthusiastic. And who needed by-the-numbers when the top of his head was exploding? His little sweetheart had a real feel for the erotic. Her untutored excitement, the way her pink tongue slid down his cock, it was nearly all over for him before she took him into her mouth.

  He never would have asked her to perform oral sex on him, particularly not in the great outdoors where they ran the risk of arrest, but unwilling to put a damper on fantasy with petty details like getting his butt thrown in jail, he let himself be used.

  This was not to say he appreciated Kesley experimenting on him like he was a blow-up doll. Or worse yet, a sex substitute for Ted-like he'd let her go to that fuck without a fight. But Kesley had some stuff she needed to work through before she realized she loved him, so he went along. It was the least he could do after she'd put up with his ass-dragging for ten years. So, he'd go along...

  Up to a point. That point being letting her go. He wasn't letting Kesley go. Not to any man, not for any reason. Kesley was his.

  That said, he hoped and prayed he would never let her down. He'd turn himself inside out so as not to disappoint Kesley. If it took his dying breath, he'd live up to that woman's expectations. If not for her, of trying to be a better man for her, he would have amounted to a big fat zero.

  Kesley was royally pissed with him now. He couldn't say he blamed her. There were reasons for his indecision, for his slowness in committing to her, reasons for his reluctance to go to the next level. And sometimes it takes a knock over the head to bring a man to his senses.

  Ted was his knock. Truthfully, the knock was more like a sledgehammer to the skull. It woke him up to the reality that if he didn't act, he'd lose his miracle.

  Kesley was his miracle.

  He didn't deserve her--that was a no-brainer. But years ago, he stopped beating himself up over it. He no longer questioned fate; now he humbly accepted his good fortune and was grateful, so grateful he didn't want to rock any boats. If it ain't broke don't fix it--that was his motto. And what he and Kes had going was perfect.

  So they hadn't had sex. Big fucking deal. Couples regularly having great sex split up all the time. As far as he could tell, sex or the lack thereof meant little in the success of a relationship. They'd been together for ten years. If that wasn't a commitment, what was?

  But Kes was right about the moving angle. Moving meant making a decision about the future, about them. Moving meant screwing with perfect, and doing that took a lot of faith and hope and trust. He wasn't too big on intangibles.

  But he was big on Kes. She was his tangible, his proof that in a rotten world miracles existed.

  The sight of her. The lush sight of her! Her mouth. His cock delving her lips, her lips kissing him. Her tongue. Licking him, tasting him, circling the hard perimeter of him before lapping him from base to head. Sex with Kesley was more than a miracle; sex with Kesley was heaven on earth.

  He told her not to bite his balls; that was his only for-real instruction. And he only gave that one so a limp dick wouldn't spoil her fun. Pain was not his thing.

  Evidently it was hers.

  The lady had no appreciation for a gentle hand. At first, he thought he might be mistaken--this was his saintly Kesley, after all. But after gauging her responsiveness, he quickly determined roughness did it for her, not tenderness. As he lived to pleasure Kes, he would comply with her desires.

  Up to another one of those points. The point this time was marking her. He wasn't going there. A little swollen, a little bruised--okay. And smacking her ass had its appeal. Especially when he saw her go off trail, running at top speed. Thinking something bad had happened to her, his heart had hit his toes. So yeah, he'd take her over his knee, but he wouldn't venture much further into S/M than spanking. That scene wasn't what he wanted for her. For Kes, he wanted a white picket fence and a happily ever after.

  He also wanted to get her off her knees, get her decent, and take her home.

  With that in mind, Drew helped his sweetheart to her feet.

  He kissed her cheek. "Thank you."

  Licking her lips, she grinned. "You're welcome."

  Yes indeedy, Kes was very pleased with herself. Why had he ever feared ruining things with sex? Things had never looked better.

  "We should get going," he said, eyeing the thrust of her nipples; Kes needed to climax and soon. His sweetheart was hurting.

  "Where?" she asked.

  "I told you, back to my place. You're spending the night."

  She shook her head. "No."

  Time to get tough. He refused to see the women he loved climb into a cab like some call girl. He hated that for them. Everything up and up, that's what he wanted for them. The sooner he got a ring on her finger the better. He'd move up his trip, get business squared away, and pop the question when he returned.

  The back of her hand went to her tits; she rubbed each elongated end back and forth.

  He nodded to her unconscious action. "Kesley, I can make the tight knot inside you go away. I can make you feel real good."

  "No. I am not spending the night with you!"

  "Why not?" he asked, pocketing her bra and then helping her into her running top.

  "Never start a habit you have no wish to continue, that's why not."

  "That's dumb."

  "Once the staying-overnight precedence begins with you, I'll have no choice but to continue it later at my apartment. And do you know what will happen then? Do you, huh? Do you?" she repeated, a finger stabbing his chest.

  "Uh ... no." Christ, he loved her so much! When would she catch on that she loved him too?

  "Well, I'll tell you! When nosey Mrs. Harris gets a load of the swathe of eligible males coming and going through my door, she'll positively stroke out. This is a primary reason why rules must be adhered to. I will not be responsible for that dear woman's declining health."

  His sweetheart could be a little less than flexible at times.

  Actually, the love of his life could be a royal kick in the ass.

  He needed that pointy shoe at his butt ... but in his experience there was usually more than one way to arrive at any given destination, some routes more circuitous than others.

  Keeping his sneaky itinerary to himself, he led her back to his van.

  Kes was remote during the short drive back to the house, and when his sweetheart didn't talk his ear off, he got a little scared.

  Fear motivating him, he made a quick decision. "I'm leaving Sunday morning. I'm sorry. I know it's earlier than I told you, but it can't be helped." He'd work around the clock if he had to, so he could finish up ahead of schedule. He wanted things resolved between them. No sense delaying any longer. He wanted this beautiful, pigheaded woman married to him so he could shower her with everything she deserved.

  "But I have so much to learn," the beautiful, pigheaded woman finally broke her silence to say. "And you told me you'd show me the ropes, mister. I want to be really, really good at sex. Creative too. And that includes acts outside the norm. I'm not saying barnyard animals, but the nicer perversions everyo
ne is doing these days."

  "The nicer perversions, Kes?"

  "You know what they are, Drew! You do those types of degenerate acts all the time. You probably belong to that Mile-High Club whereas I've hardly left the ground."

  "You just went down on me in the bushes, sweetheart. That has to count for something."

  "Mild exhibitionism," she said flinging her arms up in the air. "I want more."

  "How's work going with you, Kes? Any problems with any of the kids?"

  Her bottom lip trembled. "We're not talking about work. I talk too much about work. You promised to get me up to speed with Ted, and so far all I'm getting is vanilla. What good is vanilla when everyone else is offering mango passion fruit?"

  It used to be that giving head was considered extreme, now it was anything goes. Sometimes he wished Sex In The City never went on the air. The show just gave too many people the wrong idea. Now everybody felt as though they had to keep up with whatever everybody else was doing, when all that everybody else was doing was parking their ass at home watching Sex In The City.

  Drew took a deep breath. So much for snuggling in bed tonight with Kes. He could kiss warm and fuzzy lovemaking goodbye. The woman wanted to see some major action.

  Resolved to give her that action, he said, "I'll give you as much sex as you can handle. And when I return, we'll continue where we left off."

  "Fine. I'll spend the night," she harrumphed. "But when you return, I'll be with Ted or somebody else. We'll end it Sunday morning. Closure."

  Dammit! He hated that word. That word did not apply to them. They weren't ending; they were beginning.

  With a yank on the steering wheel, he pulled into the driveway that ran alongside the house.

  She cocked a too-bright eye at him, licked her pouty lips. "Since I'm here until morning, how about you bind my wrists, tie my ankles to the bed?"

  "No bondage. Just you and me and our bodies coming together," he said, offering her no other inducement except his love.

  "But you must have sex toys in the house, right?"

  "No accoutrements."

  "Uno momento. This is not what I heard about you. I heard toys."

  "And I told you, people exaggerate."

  "The thing you do with the feather. We can try that."

  She wasn't listening! He was coming clean and she refused to hear. "It was a quill from an antique fountain pen."

  "Wow! I'm game."

  "Kes, look at me. Really look at me. Do I look like the type of guy who would own an antique fountain pen? I'm a ballpoint pen type of guy."

  "Okay, we'll use a feather instead. And don't tell me you don't have a feather because I know you prefer feather pillows to synthetics. We can grab a handful from there."

  A handful?

  He cringed. It had taken him many lonely nights in a motel room to come up with that little ditty about the quill. In the context of that piece of fiction, one feather was a stretch; a handful would kill any mortal man. Why had his so-called friends picked that tall tale to tell Kes? Why not relate the anecdote with the waitress and the salami? In theory at least, that fabrication was doable. His fridge was stacked with cold cuts.

  "The feather pillows--I threw them out."

  "What!"

  "I bought hyper-allergenic pillows for the bed." Feathers made Kes sneeze. "Guess we'll just have to make do with old-fashioned lovemaking." His cock applauded against his fly in celebration.

  Not so his little sweetheart. She wasn't doing any clapping at the suggestion.

  In a huff, Kes was out the van door and stomping to the house he had bought just for her.

  Not exactly how he'd pictured the first night of their new life together.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  So that was that. One more night together, then Drew and she would go their separate ways. Talk about a transient, throwaway world!

  They hadn't even lasted the specified two weeks. Ten years together platonically, not even fourteen days as lovers. Nobody's fault. No one to blame. They simply hadn't wanted the same things out of life. If disappointment didn't even come close to the devastation she felt, that was her issue to deal with. And if she could easily cry, that was her problem entirely. So since they were ending, why not spend the last few remaining hours with Drew in his new house, in his new bed, before they both moved onto their new separate lives?

  Spending the night only with a man she intended to marry seemed silly to her now. Stupid, really stupid idea. As was saving herself for marriage. Now there was a dated concept! But there it was. Once upon a time she had only wanted to share her body with the man she loved.

  Too late for that now. No longer a virgin and not a committed relationship in sight.

  Puff! Drew was leaving. Puff! She would start dating Ted. Which meant she would sleep with Ted. If after a few rounds of sex, they found they didn't suit, they would both move onto someone else. That was just the way it went in a transient, throwaway world.

  She hated it! Why couldn't the world be different? Why couldn't people fall in love and stay in love forever? Why didn't a man and a woman who said 'I do' at the altar mean 'I do' until death do them part? Why were so many teenagers named John Smith?

  "Come back here, Kesley!" Drew said quietly from his position beside his brand-new car in his brand-new driveway.

  She sucked up the tears and turned. "I'm ready to spend the night with you. I've already agreed. What more do you want?"

  "I want you to trust me. Do you trust me, Kesley?"

  "What kind of a question is that to ask?"

  "Well, do you trust me? Or after ten years, are you finally punking out on me?"

  She took a quivery breath. For all that she bemoaned impermanence, Drew had always been her bulwark on shifting sands. Thick or thin, sick or healthy, he had been her one constant. "I trust you with my life," she said, speaking the truth.

  But not the whole truth. The whole was she trusted him with her life because he was her life.

  At his "come here to me," she walked gloomily back.

  He pushed her too-long bangs aside, cuffed the nape of her neck and brought her up on tiptoes with the pressure of his fingers. "Tell me what's bothering you."

  Her bottom lip trembled. "No!"

  "Then let it all go, Kesley," he said seductively. "Just for the night, give yourself over to me. I not only want your trust, I want everything you've got to give. In fact, I demand it. Put everything else aside, and concentrate on letting me make you feel good. Do you trust me enough for that, hmm, sweetheart? I can make you feel so nice," he said, kissing her earlobe after whispering the promise.

  Then he was taking her lips in a deep, drugging kiss that made her forget her disappointment, made her forget the future, made her forget everything except pleasure.

  She melted into him, purring. "Mmm. Oh, yes. Mmm. Yes."

  Body limp and pliable, lost to the opiate of his caresses, Kesley didn't notice at first that Drew was leading her back towards the house. When she finally did notice, she was too weak to struggle, to protest; too far gone in passion to care that he had picked her up in his arms and was carrying her over the threshold like a bride. Oh, the irony of that.

  As soon as her feet touched the kitchen floor, with un-bride-like impatience, she attacked his shirt, ripping at the buttons to get at all that warm naked male skin underneath.

  He was just as eager to get her undressed.

  Two sets of hands tangled in clothing, his fingers stuck in polyfiber, hers in cotton, they stripped each other bare though they were barely inside the house, her shorts the only remaining barrier between them.

  She purposely let the peaks of her breasts skim the wall of his chest, shuddering at the resultant ache that started at the tips and culminated in her vagina. He trembled too, as she dragged the hard, achy points across his chest again and again, shimmying her body up and down his body, nuzzling his smooth chest, her lips covering one flat nipple, suckling him, nipping him, biting him.

&nb
sp; Hard. Harder! Anger and fear and loss rising up within her, ugly emotions she didn't know she possessed, vented on his flesh. She clawed him. Bit him. A sad frenzy, a horrible frustration, an ungentle breakdown, an unleashed fury reason could not abate.

  "You made your demands, now it's my turn to make mine," she snarled. "I expect you to fuck me hard. None of this lovemaking shit. It's all crap anyway. I want it pounded into me. I want you to drive your cock into my body every way possible. All night."

  He searched her eyes. "I see."

  "Good, because I don't need you to make me feel 'nice.' I don't need you to romance me. I just need sex, no let up 'til morning. Can you do that for me, Drew? Can you do me like you've never done another woman?"

  He took a breath. "I can do you that way, Kesley." He pushed her backwards. "No problem."

  In the dark kitchen, her hips hit something, something solid.

  His erection grinding into her pelvis, he grunted, "Who needs a bed, when there's a box right here?"

  Not her. She didn't need a bed. A bed was too tame for her.

  "Take down your shorts," he said.

  She took them down, kicked them off along with her socks and running shoes. Naked in the kitchen, surrounded by the shadowy shapes of what she assumed were more boxes, tangible proof that Drew was moving on, starting his new life without her.

  "You wet?" he asked, lifting her atop the box.

  "Yes," she replied, the pressed paper rough under her bare bottom.

  She liked the rough feel of the cardboard; she wanted Drew just as rough.

  Her wish came true when he separated her legs and pushed two fingers up inside her. "Your cunt is dripping."

  "Yes," she agreed.

  "Lean back on your elbows," he told her, and began to saturate her more, the sloppy sounds of vaginal wetness filling the dark kitchen as he masturbated her to the edge of climax, snapping her over the edge when his thumb rubbed directly on her clit. Throat arched to the ceiling, the tears she'd held back before erupted.