by Penny Wylder
Slowly, slowly, I take more of him into my mouth, pulling back and sinking down, dropping further with every stroke. I reach the point where he’s at the back of my mouth, and I pull back preparing. Everything else has been a warm-up. Sam smiles because he thinks that he’s won and that I can’t do it. He’s wrong. I take a deep breath and sink all the way onto his cock, allowing him to slip into my throat with a silent pop! He’s all the way in now, my lips sealed around the base of him, nose pressing against his stomach.
“Holy shit,” he says under his breath. And he swears again when I swallow. I keep swallowing, milking him with my throat and he moans, hands finding their way into my hair. I run out of air, pulling back so I can breathe. “Fiona,” he says. I give him a sassy smile because I know that he’s in shock.
“Told you,” I say.
“You did,” he says, and suddenly that strength and power is back. “And now, no more talking.” His hands tighten in my hair, and the look he’s giving me only increases the wetness I can feel on my thighs. “You’re going to take all of it again, and again until I’m ready for you to stop.”
I like this bossy side of him because he knows just how much I enjoy this, and that I would have done it anyway. That edge that he’s bringing to it, like the edge he brought to our hook-up at the party, turns me on, and I swallow him eagerly as he guides my mouth back to him. Straight down to the bottom I go, and I like the feeling of swallowing him completely. I’m filled up with him, in the same way he fills my pussy, and it feels intimate in an entirely different way. I look up his body, and the look on his face is priceless, part awe, part lust, and part something that I can’t entirely name.
Sam’s fingers weave more tightly into my hair, and it keeps my head still. He rocks his hips, thrusting in and out of my mouth, gently at first, and then harder. There’s a chance for me to catch my breath and then he’s in my mouth again, pressing in deeper and deeper. He holds his cock all the way down my throat, balls against my chin until I’m running out of air. “Swallow,” he says, and I do. “Again.” I do. Again and again until he pulls me off his cock and I gasp for air. It becomes a rhythm, my taking the entirety, him fucking my throat from gentle strokes to furious pounding. Suddenly his breath goes short, and he presses in and holds, short thrusts against the back of my throat, pressing me harder down onto his cock.
He swears, pulling back just far enough for him to burst into my mouth, salt and cream splashing across my tongue in waves. I remember his words, about how I would have taken everything that he gave me, and I do. I swallow his cum, the sense memory bringing me back to the way I used to do this years ago, even if I wasn’t as good as I am now.
Sam’s cock spasms in my mouth, and I take the last of it, licking him clean before releasing him from my mouth.
“Fuck, Fiona.” He leans back against the bar, a sheen of sweat on him. “Serves me right for not believing you.”
I lick my lips pointedly. “Serves you right. And you do taste the same.”
“So do you.”
He helps me off the floor, and we’re caught in a moment together. I ask, “What was that you said about every position?”
“Every position,” he says. “All night long.”
“I didn’t wear you out just now?”
Sam grabs my hips and pulls me against him, his cock pinned between us so that I can feel it stirring, hardening again. “That was without a doubt the best blowjob I’ve ever had. But with you, I’m always ready for more.”
I grin. “So what’s next?”
“Dessert.”
“I didn’t even know you had dessert planned,” I say, looking around at the kitchen, trying to see if there are any hints to what it is.
Sam approaches the fridge, “I was just going to bring out a plate of gummy bears,” he says, “but I actually couldn’t find any at the stores I went to. So I thought we’d have ice cream sundaes.”
“Thought?”
He gives me a look that makes me shiver, and know that something’s coming. “You can have an ice cream sundae. I want a Fiona sundae.”
I walk around the bar and he lifts me up, setting me on the counter next to where he’s piling all the ingredients. “What’s a Fiona sundae?”
Picking up a bottle of whipped cream, Sam shakes it and points it at my breasts, covering one nipple and then the other with white foam. His mouth follows close behind, savoring and sucking me while he consumes the cream. “Getting the idea?”
“I’m starting too.”
Sam feeds me a bite of ice cream. “I’m going to dress you up, and the I’m going to lick you clean, before fucking you senseless.”
My pussy clenches and I open my legs a little. I want to see what he does, turning me into his perfect treat. Sam pushes my legs wide, exposing my pussy, and has me lean against the wall. I’m his canvas. He starts with chocolate sauce, drizzling it across my collarbone like a delicious necklace and then drawing circles with it around my breasts. Lines fall to my hips and he fills my belly button so the chocolate is spilling out. The lines curve in from my hips, so the chocolate is dripping over my pussy, and it feels strange and erotic. I shift myself a little, and Sam puts a hand on my knee. “Don’t move.”
He feeds me another spoonful of delicious vanilla ice cream before dribbling it across my collarbone and breasts. He gives me another spoonful and paints my lips with the lightly sticky remnants. Sprinkles go in the chocolate art he’s drawn on me, and then he picks up a candied cherry. I take a breath as splits one open, balancing it on my clit and the pressing another one into the entrance to my pussy. Finally, he grabs the whipped cream again. It covers my nipples, belly button, and pussy. “Open,” he says, and fills my mouth with the sweat cream.
Sam pulls me forward, kissing me, sharing the cream and it feels so strange and amazing. The taste of him mixed with the delicious simplicity of whipped cream. He licks down my neck and across my collarbone, smearing chocolate and ice cream in his wake. He wasn’t lying when he said he was going to lick me clean, and he takes his time across my chest and moving around my breasts, teasing me, moving slowly toward the center before he finally, finally, sucks a nipple into his mouth. My back arches and I moan, loving the silky cool feel of the cream on his tongue and the way my skin pebbles under his attention. He moves to the other, and back and forth, sucking my skin into hard points before sliding his tongue down the crevice in between my breasts.
I never knew that the belly button could be so sexy before this moment, but the sight of Sam’s tongue dipping inside, spilling chocolate across my stomach, and the feeling of his tongue, it sends aching need straight to my pussy and clit. He’s almost there, licking down the chocolate lines on my hips, teasing.
Stroke by stroke, he cleans the whipped cream from me, tongue barely touching where I need it to be touching. Oh God, the gentle brushes are driving me mad. Sam’s teeth brush my clit as he nips the cherry off the top, and I groan as his lips finally connect, sucking sweet sugar off of it and swirling his tongue around. And then I watch as he pushes my legs even wider, and locks eyes with me as he slips his tongue inside my entrance. When he pulls back, the cherry is on his tongue, clearly slick with me, and he doesn’t look away as he swallows it. “Delicious,” he says, and I flush as bright as the cherry.
Sam pulls me to the edge of the counter, and kisses me, the taste of chocolate, cherry, and me on his tongue. He’s tall, taller than I am, and perching on the counter like this puts us at a perfect height for what he’s thinking. His cock is rock hard again, and he slips it inside me in one smooth stroke. I wrap my legs around him to draw him closer—I like him close, and I love that now we’re at eye level.
There’s no condom and it feels entirely different, the texture of his skin on mine is delicious. My body is primed and ready to go, flooding with feeling and pleasure right away. Like everything that’s happened tonight has made it ready to orgasm. Sam is right there with me, thrusting fast, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, and he
holds onto my hips. I feel like I’m clinging to him for life, wrapped around him as I am, and I just might be. It feels so good, impossibly good, and I think I might break apart if I wasn’t holding onto him.
“Fiona,” Sam says, voice rough, “I’m close. I can’t last.”
“Then don’t.”
Even barely hanging on, he manages a smirk. “You first.” He kisses me, a consuming, powerful kiss, and it’s enough. I crash into an orgasm with a dazzling speed that makes me cry out. I can feel my orgasm dripping down onto Sam’s cock, and I’m crushing him against me, unable to control the flow of pleasure through my body. Is swirls like a tornado, destroying me and putting me back together before evaporating.
Sam pulls out of me, stroking his cock as he comes, his orgasm splashing across my skin, groaning as he comes. I can’t take my eyes off him, taut forearms working his cock like he’ll die if he doesn’t. Everything about him is rigid as cum spills out, and he presses his head against my shoulder as he finishes.
“Your dessert really knows how to make an impression,” I say, and he laughs.
“You know I always want to make an impression.”
“Do you?” The words are out there before I can think and realize that they kind of break our goal for the night. But the Sam that I knew in high school never wanted to draw attention to himself, despite the fact that he was talented and rich. He always preferred to fade into the background. Other than making a dynamic sexual impression, it doesn’t seem like that’s changed.
“Maybe,” Sam says. “I guess we’ll see what you’ll say in the morning.”
I smile. “I guess.”
“Care for a shower?” He’s actually asking, but I can see the glint in his eyes that tells me that it won’t be just a shower. The idea of seeing his body dripping wet ironically makes my mouth go dry.
“Only if you promise to clean up the mess you made,” I say, gesturing to my body and the remnants of his dessert and orgasm on my skin.
“Oh,” Sam says, “I promise.”
10
The first thing I feel when I wake up is luxury. Sam’s bed is soft, and the blankets are silky. I’m wrapped up in them naked and I love the feeling. The second feeling is like I’ve gone to the gym and pushed myself way too far. Holy shit, I never knew that sex could make you ache. It’s not a bad ache, the feeling of having been used, but I’ll definitely be wincing for a couple of days. I can’t say I regret it, though.
I roll over and find the bed empty. The light coming in the windows still has an Eastern slant, so I haven’t slept too late. I don’t have a shift today, so I have time, but I am supposed to meet Rose later. Bride’s maid dress shopping.
We didn’t exactly bother cleaning up last night, and my clothes are still strewn across the floor where Sam discarded them when he peeled them off me. I dress gingerly, testing to see just how sore I am. It’s not as bad as I thought, and I’ll be able to deal with it. Still, I’ll probably skip the gym for a few days so I don’t add to the soreness. You know you’ve had a good sex workout when you decide to skip the gym.
I wash the smudged make-up off my face, noticing my lips are swollen from kissing Sam, and I head downstairs. The minute I leave Sam’s bedroom I can smell that he’s cooking. It smells like bread and sugar, and when I come into the kitchen, I see that he’s making pancakes, a stack already set on the bar in front of the stool that I’ve kind of taken ownership of. “Good morning,” I say.
Sam spins, smiling that smile that makes the day seem brighter. “Good morning. How are you?”
“Sore,” I make a face at him. “I think you owe me a professional massage.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I can make that happen.”
“Kidding,” I say, waving a hand. “But I am very sore.”
Catching me around the waist, he pulls me in for a kiss, sneakily using his hands to massage what parts of me he can reach. “Does that feel better?”
“Yes,” I bite my lip, “but likely to lead us to more of what made me sore in the first place.” I break away from him and go to the plate of pancakes. “These look delicious.”
And oh my God, they are. They’re buttery and fluffy and some of the best pancakes that I’ve ever had. A perfect blend with the syrup. I find myself making noises that sound entirely sexual while I’m eating them. “I don’t care what you think, Sam. You’re a really good cook.”
He laughs. “You’ve only had two things that I’ve made. I could just be really good at making alfredo and pancakes.”
“Who gives a shit? They’re really good alfredo and pancakes. And don’t forget, you make a mean ice cream sundae,” I say with a wink.
“That’s true. My skills with dessert can’t be overstated.” He has his own plate of pancakes, and leans against the kitchen counter to eat them. “Can I see you again? Like this?”
“As friends?” I ask.
“Or maybe more.”
It’s so easy to ignore things at night. Everything seems a little more magical, and the impossible seems possible. All of our ideas seem a little harsher in the daylight. And I can’t ignore our history any more. But there’s a hope I can’t squash down, that maybe after last night, Sam will be more willing to talk about it.
“Twenty questions?” I ask.
He looks suspicious. “We never seem to get to the end of the game.”
“Someday we will.”
He gestures for me to continue. “Why did you do what you did on prom night.”
Sam goes rigid. “Please don’t ask me that. Not during the game.”
“Why not? Because you have to tell the truth during the game?” He places the plate of pancakes to the side and assumes a pose I know all too well. Crossed arms, clenched jaw, averted eyes. He’s not going to tell me. “Even after last night, you can’t just tell me? God, Sam, it’s been ten years. I just want to know the truth. I just want to know why. It’s like this gaping wound that I feel whenever I look at you and I know that it’s never going to start to heal if I can’t have closure.”
He looks up at me, and his eyes are angry. “I didn’t do what you think I did.”
There’s a prick of anger in my chest that grows. This is the most he’s ever said about it, and that’s what he chooses to say? “That’s all? That it’s not what I think?” I lean forward, hands on the counter. “Why does this have to be this hard? If it’s not what I think, then just tell me. But you won’t. You’ve never wanted to, and after what I saw, what else am I supposed to assume?”
It feels like there’s electricity in the air, a storm about to break open. I said last night that I could pretend that this never existed, but deep down I didn’t. Deep down I hoped that I could show him that I was worth it. That I could prove that it would be kay if he told me whatever he’s been hiding all these years. That it might still work between us if we can get past it. Tears prick at my eyes and I blink them back. I will not cry. I will not.
“We were together for a year and a half. I assumed that you would give me the benefit of the doubt. But you decided what had happened, and I never saw you again.”
“Because it hurt,” I say, my voice breaking across the room loudly. “It hurt to look at you, knowing what I’d seen and that you wouldn’t tell me what really happened. You wouldn’t explain. My heart was broken, Sam. Shattered.” I try to keep myself from crying. “Shattered.”
He comes to the bar opposite me, leaning on it, challenging me. “You don’t think my heart was broken too?” His voice has an unfamiliar rasp, a depth of emotion that I’ve rarely seen from him. “I loved you. More than anyone thought I did. More than you thought I did, and you didn’t trust me. Didn’t believe me. And then you disappeared for ten years. We live in the same fucking town and I didn’t see you for ten years.” His voice echoes off the walls. “You’re not the only person who needs closure.”
“Is that what last night was? Closure?”
He laughs sadly. “I wish. I had hoped it would be. But all last night d
id was make me want you more. But we’re still here having the same fight, over and over again.”
“Then tell me what happened.” I beg. “Please.”
“I CAN’T.” He yells it, and I see on his face that he regrets it. “Believe it or not, Fiona, you’re not the only person affected by this. And I can’t tell you. I can’t. I wish I could. It would make all this so much easier.”
There’s silence in the kitchen, and nothing to say. I don’t know what I would even if I had the ability to speak. Slowly, Sam comes around the counter and stands next to me. He reaches for me, gently gathering me into his arms, and I don’t have the strength not to let him. His lips press against my hair and I close my eyes, tears flowing out even though I don’t want them to. “Please, Fiona.” Sam says softly. His voice is close to breaking. “Please. We found each other again. Let us have this chance.”
I lean into him, giving in to a final weakness. “I want to. And if I’d been mature enough to have this conversation then, things might have been different. But it’s been too long, Sam. It eats at me every day. Everything you do is deliberate. Every single thing. I need to know why.” I pull back, and look him in the eye. The emotion simmering there almost makes me change my mind. Almost. “Until I do, I can’t. I’m sorry.”
He lets me go when I move away, and that adds one more little crack in my heart. Because even though I’m choosing to leave, I really wish that he would fight to make me stay.
I can’t seem to stop crying. I mean, I knew it was coming, but I hate it. And on top of crying, my body is sore, which the crying makes worse. And I can’t stop thinking about the way in which I got sore, which makes the crying worse still. I had to pull over on the side of Sam’s rural road and just let it all out. Because if feels like my heart is breaking all over again. I remember this feeling, this painful ache in my chest, like a knife was lodged there. I woke up with that feeling in my chest for years.
My mind plays it back, and I have it memorized at this point. Even though I don’t want to see it, I know it’ll be faster to relive it. To purge it and move on. God knows that I’ve done that hundreds of times before.
