"You could do it any time, you know. It isn't by invitation only."
"Most of the time, when we're having sex, it's kind of all about me." My tummy fluttered when I realized what I was going to tell him next. "Why don't we make tonight about you?"
"You don't think I take enormous pleasure from getting you off?" he sighed contentedly as my hand slipped into his boxers to grasp him.
"I'm sure you do." I pulled his cock free. He was half-hard and growing beneath my fingers. "I want that, though. I want to get you off. Tonight, your wish is my command. Nothing is off the table."
"Oh?" He grinned like a delighted schoolboy. It was ridiculously cute. "You know my birthday isn't until March, correct?"
I swept my tongue over my bottom lip and leaned down, brushing my mouth across the head of his cock. Then, with deliberate slowness, I licked him from base to tip with the flat of my tongue. My eyes remained locked on his, and my pulse sped up wildly. His did, too, I could feel it as I pumped my fist along his length. I fluttered my tongue against the underside of the head, along the seam between his glans and retracted foreskin, delighting in his sudden intake of breath.
"Happy birthday to me anyway, I suppose," he groaned, dropping his head back.
Still stroking him with my fist, I rolled my lips over my teeth and took as much into my mouth as I could. I swirled my tongue around him, bobbing my head slowly, letting saliva run between my lips, coating him. I wasn't in a hurry. I wanted to savor this all night.
The truth was, I had been feeling a little... neglectful. After all, in most of the sexual relationships I'd had, a blow job had been one of the first activities we'd engaged in. I'd been sleeping with Neil for two months, and I'd done it twice. I don't think I'd ever been on more than two dates with a guy before he was at least dropping mild hints for one.
Neil could have "ordered" me to do it at any time during our D/s sex games, and he hadn't. Since it didn't feel like an obligation, I found myself fixated on his pleasure not out of a desire to impress him, but a bone-deep need to make him feel good. I paid close attention to his body and his responses as I sucked, licked, and stroked. His hand in my hair, conspicuously never exerting too much pressure. His other hand on his knee, fingers clenching and unclenching in rhythm with his sped-up breathing. I pushed my head down, flexed the back of my throat against the head of him, and his hips jerked upward.
"Sorry," he gasped as I gagged slightly. I lifted my head for just a second, to reassure him. "No worries." Then I forced myself to relax and took him in, all the way. I have kind of a secret talent where cock in my mouth is concerned. "Fuck me, that's incredible," he moaned, and I was so, so grateful for all the practice I'd gotten on popsicles at summer camp.
Granted, he was a lot wider than a popsicle, so tongue action was significantly hampered. I couldn't do much more than slide my mouth up and down him, but he seemed to appreciate it. It takes an enormous amount of concentration to not gag while deep throating in the position I was in, so I couldn't keep it up for long. I didn't need to, anyway. He grasped my chin and gently urged my head up.
"Get up here," he ordered, patting his thighs, and I eagerly climbed into his lap, straddling him in the roomy seat. He pushed his hand between my thighs, under my skirt, and groaned when he encountered the wet crotch of my panties. He pushed the scrap of satin aside and plunged two fingers into me.
"That's what sucking your cock did to me," I whispered in his ear, my breath catching as he slowly pumped those wicked fingers. "That's how much it turns me on."
The fingers of his other hand dug into my backside through my bunched up skirt, and I kissed him, gasping against his mouth, “Do you have a condom?”
He reached over to the center console, popped it open with the side of his fist and reached in, coming out with one black plastic packet.
“That’s some impressive roadside assistance there,” I giggled, leaning back so he could sheath himself with a bit of uncharacteristic fumbling. He tugged my panties further to the side, the tip of his cock found my opening, and with one hard upward thrust, he filled me completely. I gripped the lapels of his jacket and leaned back, lost in the dizzying sensation of being so intimately joined while still fully clothed. In the back of a car in Manhattan traffic, no less.
Holy shit, is this really my life?
He reached up and popped the buttons on my blouse, then jerked down my bra and fastened his lips around one nipple. I rolled my hips languidly, wishing for more leverage, more friction, but while the Maybach was roomy, car sex positioning was still awkward. Especially with a somewhat tight skirt riding up my thighs.
"Mr. Elwood?" the voice of Tony, the driver, asked over the intercom. "We've arrived."
Neil leaned forward and hit the button to speak. He sounded remarkably composed, mid-coitus. "Drive us around the block once, would you?"
"Sure thing, sir."
I ground against Neil, clenched my pussy all around him. "Just once around the block?"
"Once around the block so you can button your shirt," he said, nipping at my bottom lip. "So we can head upstairs and I can fuck you silly on the most immediately available horizontal surface."
"Horizontal?" I teased. "Where is your imagination?"
I moved to climb off him, and he stopped me. "You can button up while I'm still in you, surely? Let's not waste the drive."
I blew a strand of hair out of my face and rolled my eyes at him. "You're a real pervert, you know that?"
He buried his face in my tits and groaned a muffled, "I know, darling. A total deviant."
There was that "darling" again. Where the fuck was that coming from?
I pushed his head up and started hastily buttoning my shirt. "You could at least make me come before we get around the block," I challenged. "I've been a good girl, haven't I?"
"You've been a very good girl," he agreed, his fingers skating across my chest before I closed the final button. He pushed my skirt up further, but the slim fit made it difficult. He had to push his hand between my thighs at an awkward angle to reach me.
"How about we make a bet. If you can make me come before we get around the block..." I paused to take a sharp breath as his fingers found my clit at the same time he pressed his hips up. "You can put it anywhere you want."
A shocked smile curved his mouth. "God, but you are a naughty thing, aren't you?"
I leaned down to kiss him as the car made the first corner. While one hand was occupied between my thighs, the other encircled my waist, holding me still as I tried to squirm on his cock.
"Isn't that cheating, if you help me?" he murmured. "You know, it's almost too easy, you're not fighting at all."
"Why would I fight an orgasm?" The position we were in forced his cock tight against my g-spot. Every slow circle of his fingers over my clit made my entire world narrow to the feeling in my groin. A shiver raced up my spine.
The car braked, rocking me, and I moaned. He pumped against me slowly, grinding deeper but never really moving. The hand at my waist slipped down to my ass, urging me up. My knees dug into the seat on either side of him as I gratefully lifted myself, rising until only the head of him remained inside me. I took a breath, ready to drop my hips and take him all the way in, but he clucked his tongue.
"No, no," he admonished. "Stay right there. Or maybe..." He shifted just a bit, and a shuddering cry tore from my throat as he rubbed deliciously, barely inside of me. He grinned. "There we go."
The car took the second corner. I was panting, rocking my cunt back and forth around him. The broad tip of his cock stretched the super sensitive opening of my vagina, his fingers sped up, increased pressure. I held on to the back of the seat, my breath bursting in ridiculous little mewls I wouldn't have believed if I heard them coming from anybody else, they were so porny. "I'm coming!" I gasped, in total disbelief at the sheer pleasure that shocked through me. He thrust upward, filling me completely as my pussy spasmed around him.
"Did I win the bet, then?" he as
ked, pulling my hips down, hard.
"Fuck!" I slammed my palm against his shoulder. My head was swimming, my skin covered in goosebumps. He kept grinding into me, kept touching me, wringing every last second of pleasure out of my orgasm until I sobbed, "No more!" against his neck. The car made another turn, and I realized I had stopped paying attention at some point.
"We're here," Neil said, reaching up to brush my hair back from my face.
I felt as tired as if I had fallen asleep on a long car trip. My legs were shaking. My thighs were sticky. Neil lifted me off his lap and tucked his erection into his pants with some difficulty.
For my part, I quickly smoothed my skirt down, even though the muscles of my thighs were jumping and my knees wobbled as I raised my butt up to wriggle the fabric down. "How are we around the block already?”
"You were distracted." He zipped his fly and hit the intercom button. "Thank you, Tony, we're ready to go up now."
The driver opened my door and I slid out. I couldn't make eye contact with him. I was positive Neil had fucked women in the back of the car before - because who wouldn't if they had a chauffeur? - but all the vehicular shenanigans I had engaged in during my lifetime had been way more private.
"Good night, Tony," Neil said, buttoning his jacket with one hand as he walked around the back of the car.
I noted the speed with which he ushered me through the lobby and into the elevator. We weren't in the foyer of his apartment before his hands were on me again, and when we did get inside, he didn't bother to turn on the lights.
"Get on your hands and knees," he ordered me, and I knelt on the cold marble. A thrill of trepidation went through me. Was he really going to do this here? No lube, no warm up? I slightly regretted my offer of "anywhere."
When he eased into my pussy again, I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Really, Sophie," he admonished. "You didn't think I would make you do that, without any preparation?"
He reached beneath me and ripped my blouse open. Actually ripped it. My cunt squeezed on him, hard.
"You did it before," I reminded him. Then, in a breathy, put-on voice, I repeated the words I'd begged him with years before. "'Please? You said anything I wanted. I've never done it before. You could be the first.'"
He grasped my hips in his big hands, then one thumb slid between my cheeks. "God, but you were a pouty, demanding thing back then."
The tip of his thumb pushed into my hole, and hot and cold shivers raced over my skin. "We will do it again, though, won't we?"
"Absolutely. But not without practice." He chuckled softly and slowly withdrew from my pussy, inch by aching inch. "You were so incredibly tight back then, I think you actually bruised my cock."
A shocked laugh escaped me, and was quickly overcome by a moan as he thrust into me again. "That's enough talk. Fuck me."
He did. Holy hell, did he ever. He withdrew his thumb and slapped my ass, hard. He reached beneath me, gripped the front of my bra, and jerked it down. One of the straps broke, but I didn't care. I knew he was good for a replacement. He shoved my skirt up further, and pounded into me until I was screaming, wailing, thrashing on his cock in some serious indecision as to whether this was pleasurable, or agonizing. When I came, it wasn't a peacefully breaking wave, but an urgent, electrical current that seized my limbs and sapped my entire body of strength. I collapsed on the floor, shuddering at the cold marble on my bare chest. He followed me down, forcing himself into my involuntarily resisting body, growling in relief.
It was probably the only time I'd ever been fucked beyond my capacity to speak or function. He helped me to my feet and guided me on my shaking legs to the bedroom. He turned the lights on, very low, and helped me out of my clothes, because I was stumbling and clumsy trying to do it on my own. Then he left me for a moment to go into the bathroom, and I collapsed in the bed, not really meaning to fall asleep, but unable to stop myself, all the same.
I don't know how long I slept, but when I woke, the room was dark and Neil was lying beside me, snoring softly. I smiled to myself and rolled over to snuggle him.
In his sleep, Neil wrapped an arm around me and shifted his body against mine. One foot crept between mine, hooking around my ankle.
My heart ached. I loved him. I loved him way more than I should have. And I was pretty sure he loved me, too. We hadn't said it yet, and that was nice; I didn't think I could handle an "I love you," when "darling," had thrown me for a pretty significant loop.
But that brought a whole other level of anxiety. He hadn't said he loved me, and we weren't exactly dating, no matter how much time we were spending together. I had meant to talk to him about Porteras tonight, about the lukewarm reception his changes had been receiving. Instead, I'd just gotten fucknesia and forgotten about the whole thing. Was that for the better? If I told him about my concerns with the magazine, would he think I was being too pushy? Would he end things with me if I spoke up? It seemed like a long shot that he might, but I was almost unwilling to take the chance.
That strengthened my resolve. There was no reason I should hold my tongue and not tell Neil something I felt he needed to know, just because I was afraid of his disapproval. If he did love me, then he would value my independent thought, right? And if he didn't, would I really want to be with him?
Well, even if I did, I shouldn't. I decided I'd mention my concerns over breakfast.
* * * *
"'Usually, Porteras is as thick as a Bible,'" I read aloud the next morning, leaning over the kitchen island while Neil whisked eggs in a ceramic bowl. He'd started cooking breakfast for us on mornings after I'd slept over. It had become a pleasant little routine. Except for maybe this morning. "'But the staggering volume of advertising has been notably trimmed. Is this the decision of Elwood and Stern, Porteras's new parent company, or a line in the sand drawn by designers loyal to the toppled de facto fashion ruler, Gabriella Winters?'"
"We've made some changes, and people are welcome to respond to them," Neil said mildly, pouring the thoroughly beaten eggs into a hot frying pan on the stove. He was wearing a t-shirt and sweats, the way he usually did in the morning, and the kitchen towel thrown casually over his shoulder made the ensemble oddly sexy.
"Yeah, but this isn't people, this is an editorial in the New York Times," I pointed out, as gently as possible.
"The digital edition," he nodded to my iPad. "Hand me the peppers?"
I put my iPad down and reached for the shallow dish with chopped green bell peppers in it. "Don't you think maybe too many changes, too quickly... It's not going to inspire confidence in readers who kind of worshipped Gabriella. And what’s going to happen in January, with the new ban on all designers who use animal products? I think you’re limiting a lot of choices on behalf of the readers. That's all I'm saying."
"I don't want to talk about work, Sophie. This is the rare occasion where I don't have to think about the damned magazine at all." He was definitely irritated with me. I wasn’t used to that, and I really didn’t like the sick feeling in my gut that resulted.
But this was important to me, and I had made a promise to myself that I wasn’t going to back down just to keep him happy. "That damned magazine is my job, Neil. My only job. I think I have a right to be concerned about it."
He turned, whipping the towel from his shoulder to drop it on the counter. "Do you really think the magazine is going to fail over one bad issue? There are growing pains every time a company changes hands; it's the nature of publishing."
"It's not going to be just one bad issue," I argued. "Going entirely cruelty free severely limits the magazine's ability to sell ad space, or to get designers to support us."
"And that doesn't really matter at all, does it? Because in the end, Porteras is the most important fashion magazine in America. In the world. If we decide no... orange, for example, then orange falls out of favor," he explained distractedly, turning back to flip the omelet.
"But you don't just say, 'no orange.' You feature the designe
rs who aren't using orange in their collection." How could he not get this? "If you say, 'no fur, no leather, no animal testing,' you're ruling out such a huge chunk of advertisers and designers. You're basically telling some of the biggest, most important companies in the world that they're not welcome at Porteras anymore."
"And they aren't. New designers and cosmetics companies will step in to fill their places. This could be a revolution. A welcome one, I think."
I tried a different tactic. "What does Rudy think?"
His non-answer told me everything I needed to know. The pan clattered onto the cold back burner. "Rudy is a genius when it comes to fashion, no one would argue otherwise. But he doesn't know the first thing about publishing."
"So, he thinks it's insane, too?" I shook my head. "Do you listen to anyone? Or do you just pay them huge amounts of money and then ignore their opinions?"
Neil picked up a stalk of green onion and slapped it on the cutting board in exasperation. "This isn't a conversation I'm willing to have with you, Sophie."
"Why? Because I'm just a lowly beauty editor?" I snapped.
"Assistant beauty editor," he reminded me tersely as he chopped the onion.
Oh no, he did not.
"Fine." I turned to stalk away. The hell I was going to take that from him. Behind me, he swore under his breath. I heard the knife clatter to the countertop. He caught up with me and put himself between me and the door. I hate when people do that. If I weren't so fucking rational, I would have just knocked him down. Damn my logical calm.
He put one hand on my shoulder to stop me, and he was cautiously gentle as he did it. "Are you really going to storm out of here just because we got into a silly little argument?"
"Yes!" I shrugged off his arm. "And it's not silly. This is my job! This is my career. I have to be able to support myself, and I can't do that if the magazine goes down in flames because you wouldn't listen to anyone."
"I listen to people," he argued, and when he gestured with his hands, droplets of red splashed across the front of his t-shirt. "I listen to - "
"You're bleeding!" I was immediately grateful for the lack of omelet in my stomach. I could not handle blood. Not mine, not someone else's. The very sight of it freaked me out.
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