Red Hot Blues

by Rachel Dunning

  He grabs my head in his hands, forces my eyes to his! I shut my eyes. “Look at me,” he says. I don’t. He growls, “Look at me!”

  I do, feeling the sting of years of tears behind my eyes.

  “Don’t ask me again why I’m with you, OK? You’re beautiful, Gin—”

  “I’m not.”

  “Stop it!” He’s angry. So angry. “Your eyes are angelic. Your figure is statuesque. Your shape is womanly. You’re unique, Gin. Hot.”

  “Let me guess, you’ve always been into fat girls?”

  His grip tightens. Disappointment flashes through his eyes.

  “Sorry, that was mean,” I say.

  “You have no idea how enticing you are. You have raw sex appeal, Gin. You have style as well. Show me one of these bimbos who doesn’t even spend a moment touching up her hair, her make-up, or picking the right dress. They think they can turn a guy on by being sloppy couch potatoes.”

  “That’s the difference between them and me. They can do that. I have no choice.”

  “You do have a choice. And you chose elegance. And you chose confidence. That song you sang, it’s the real you.”

  “You like the Red Hot Blues?”

  “I like the girl character in the Red Hot Blues. I like it that she takes no shit. I think that’s you, Gin. I think you wrote it because that’s really who you are.”

  He’s still inches away from my lips. Still holding me behind my head. He smells so perfect, so wonderful. Soapy and lickable.

  “I want to see you naked, completely naked. I want to look at you in the light and I want to worship your body. I want to kiss and lick every part of you, every crevice, every dimple, every hill and hillock. Every mound and surface. Every opening. I want all of you, Gin. All of you. Because everything I’ve said about you, how hot you are, how sexy—that’s just what got me talking to you. It’s not what got me into this bedroom with you.”

  I’m crying now. Not gasping. Not sobbing. But silent tears falling, yes. Tears have broken through, little ones. He’s got me front-stage with a huge bright spotlight on me. His eyes are the spotlights. And it hurts because everything he’s saying is so kind, so caring, so loving.

  But none of it’s true. None of it.

  “What got me into this bedroom with you, Gin, was not even your voice. If your voice were a supermodel it’d be on every edition of Sports Illustrated’s Swimsuit Edition.” I laugh. “No, what got me into this bedroom with you, lying on top of you, wanting with all my might to get inside you, and forcing myself against every bit of good judgment not to do it because I know I’ll let you down—what got me here, was what happened yesterday. What you did for me. When you held me. When you were there for me by saying nothing, by asking nothing, but letting me know that...someone was there for me. You can’t imagine how much I needed that yesterday. You can’t. No one’s ever done that for me. Not like that. Not so honestly. Not so purely. Some people pretend that shit. They pat you on the head like a puppy and pretend to care. You really did care. I could feel it.

  “And...” He clears his throat. “Gin, I...like you more than I planned on liking you. And...I’m being honest with you. I’ll break your heart. I will. I swear it. I’m on the run, always on the run. I can’t stop, can’t stay somewhere, I can’t—”

  “Shhh.” I put my finger to his lips. “You won’t break my heart.”

  “I will. I swear it.”

  “No, you won’t. Even if we don’t stay together, you won’t break my heart. Simply that you care about breaking my heart, means you won’t. Just don’t stop talking to me, Ace. When this is over, when you can’t commit and when I can’t stay with you because I’m too scared, just promise me we’ll stay friends. That we’ll talk.”

  A hurricane bursts behind his eyes. Anger and fury flash in them as if I’ve insulted him. “You don’t even need to ask that. But I’ll promise it to you anyway. I promise.”

  “OK.” We hunt each other’s faces, feel the charged electricity sparking between us.

  And then I make a decision.

  “Ace.”

  His voice is hoarse. “Yeah.”

  “Make love to me.”

  A tear cracks in his eye, the one above the swollen cheek. It drops on my lips and I stick my tongue out to lick its saltiness.

  “I’ll hurt you. You don’t know me. I’m bad. I’m a bad person. I hurt people.”

  “Don’t make me beg, Ace. I’ve had sex with one other person in my life. One. And I’ve never trusted anyone else to do it with again. No one. And I’ve had offers. I’ve had plenty offers.

  “I’m trusting you.

  “If you make me beg, you refute everything you just said to me about me being sexy and how you feel about me.”

  His eyes search mine.

  A century goes by. Then another.

  And then he nods.

  I feel his grip tightening on the back of my head, his other hand tightening on my waist.

  And then he does what I asked him to do.

  -37-

  I’ve broken through something here. I’ve pushed past some barrier. I’m not sure what it was, but it’s not there anymore.

  I know what’s happening. I know it’s too soon for us to feel anything of consequence for each other. I’m not naive. I’m not expecting more from this than what is really occurring: Two people, caught in the moment, making love. Two people, fascinated by each other, feeling a spark, feeling some magic, drowning in each other. Helping each other forget.

  With his teeth, he grips the neckline of my dress. Pulls. His hands are up at my shoulders, grabbing the straps, pulling them down to my arms, taking my dress off the wrong way.

  My right breast flops out. His eyes go wide with hunger. And then his mouth engulfs my large areola, licks it, sucks it, sucks the nipple, bites it. His hands, both of them, grab my breast and fondle me so that my nipple gets harder and taut and down below I start begging for him.

  He stops, slows, licks the pink disc fully and completely, slowly, until little bumps of desire and coolness break out around the hard and tensed nipple. My skin breaks into shivers. He tries to get my dress down lower, to expose the other breast, but it won’t budge, too tight. I wriggle. His tongue goes under the dress, licks, tastes. But nothing. The dress won’t come loose!

  “I’m going to rip your dress off, Gin.”

  I’m too stunned to say no.

  “I’ll get you another one, before we leave.”

  Through hot breaths: “Stop talking, just rip the fucking thing off.”

  He gets on his knees on the bed, between my legs, grabs the neckline of my dress with both fists, tenses his muscles—oh, god, he’s so fucking hot and hard—and he rips.

  There’s a long, wrenching tear—and screaming want rips through every part of me. Every hormone I’ve ever produced is raging full force now. I want him. I want him so bad because he’s so bad. All my fears are gone. Gone gone gone! It’s just me and him, baby. And I know he feels I’m sexy. Right here, in this bedroom, alone—I’m sexy to him. Sexy.

  And that’s all that counts. No competition. Not here.

  In this bedroom, I’m the girl. He’s the boy. No one else. And we’re hot for each other.

  Cold air-conditioning sends shivers across my skin and at the same time he swoops down, onto my stomach, and licks, up, down, around, all over me. Wetting me. Kissing. Driving me crazy for him.

  Down below, I throb. I run my hands through his hair and finally get a better look at the tattoo on his right arm while his hands fondle my breasts and his tongue moves down, down, down... Oh my god, I’ve only ever been kissed there once before.

  And I’m so glad it’s you, Ace. Stay friends with me. Stay friends with me. That’s all I ask.

  The tattoo is a shield, and in front of it is Lady Justice. Blindfolded, holding a sword, and the Scales of Justice in her other hand. There’s text above it, three lines, in a curve, but I can’t read it because he’s moving. I only see the ends of each
line:

  —shadow

  —Justice

  —se can

  His tongue flicks and licks and presses lower. I hear my dress rip some more, the last little bits. And now it’s finally completely in two. Split apart. And I’m lying on top of it. Completely naked.

  Completely. Naked.

  I feel no shame, just confidence. Because the way he’s kissing me, the way he’s loving me, I feel all woman. I feel perfect. I feel cared for and hot and bad-ass.

  And then I feel his tongue on me.

  There.

  And now I feel something else entirely.

  Now I feel exhilaration. Pinpointed. In one spot.

  And it’s gonna blow.

  -38-

  I’m taut and tight, turned on. My stomach’s in my chest. Crazy butterflies swooping and slamming against my inner walls; psychotic butterflies—drugged-up, crazy horny butterflies!

  He bites my nub, just lightly, and the stings of exquisite pleasure and pain it fires through me make me lift my butt from the bed and arch my back and growl with need. “Fuck!” I yowl.

  My hands clutch his hair and my nether lips sing. I’m right on the edge. Every flick of his tongue is magic and heaven and each one threatens to catapult me over the Grand Canyon, down the ravine and into the ground below with a splattering smash of orgasmic molasses.

  He pulls. With his teeth. And I scream.

  Then he pulls away, moves down. Waits. Nothing. Just his hot breath on my soaking, begging entrance.

  Finally his tongue appears, calmly, just the tip, right at the bottom of my slit. He presses it there. Leaves it. Waits. Presses. Waits some more...

  “Mmmmmmmm,” I beg, my hands moving to his glorious black hair, fingers interweaving through it, begging him, begging, begging and pleading with every movement to take me!

  My legs tighten around his ears, but he pushes them away, forever leaving just the tip of his tongue right below my entrance. Pressing.

  And then he moves it up.

  And in.

  And he thrusts.

  His hands go to my thighs. He pulls me down to him and thrusts so deep and then licks around, above, in, out, on the lips, over.

  He stops. I feel myself sliding down, trying to reach his tongue, trying to feel that heavenly chocolate on my center again—but he moves away.

  My entire body shivers, shakes, trembles. I’m so close to the edge. So close!

  My hands rub his sweaty hair. In, out, weaving through. “Oh, fuck me, baby. Fuck me, please. Please.” I’m talking dirty. But I mean something else than what I say. I want him to enter me. I want to feel one with him. But these things are a little too poetic for the bedroom. (I think.) I don’t know. I’m not a pro at this. I’m just saying what comes to my mind.

  And I feel good saying these things to Ace.

  What finally does push me over the edge, however, is not another lick, or a press, or a push, or even a thrust.

  It’s wind. From his lips. His breath, blowing. Right onto my sweet spot, focused, and cold.

  I begin to sizzle.

  And then I shatter, into a million shiny pieces of glass.

  -39-

  The bed slams against the wall as my convulsing weight shakes and moves it. My whole body goes into shock. The orgasm lasts a day. And what’s worse, is that he isn’t touching me! Not touching me at all! If he’d only touch me it might end!

  The pleasant pain is excruciating. Just his breath, moving out in a pressurized hose of air, blowing on the most erotic point of my body while I burst, and nothing more.

  I howl. Yowl. Scream! I blaspheme imaginatively, ever so creatively.

  And then I burst.

  Finally, finally, he takes two fingers, pushes them deep inside me—oh hell god what a relief!—and presses down against my core with his palm. Hard. And he eases me, eventually, over the edge.

  In the end, I reach for him, reach for his sweet ears and his soft face and his charming eyes.

  I bring him to me, and I kiss him. I kiss him forever. I kiss him nakedly. All I want to do is kiss him. And hold him. And lie here. Hugging him. Kissing his chest, his abs, his ears and his back and his arms. I want to put my tongue in him, rub him, hold him. I want to feel his warmth and his hardness. And I want to hear him groan. Want to feel him weep. I want to never let him go.

  I push him onto his back. Start undoing his belt buckle. Quickly.

  I kiss him on the lips. Wrap my hand around his warmth and hardness below. That alone sends me reeling again, gets me ready again, moist and taut and my stomach climbing.

  I pull his pants off fast. His socks are still on. I don’t care. I rub his gems, feel their softness, their warmth, their slight sheen of sweat. I squeeze his shaft, watch the scintillating tip ooze a drop of shiny pleasure. He’s ready for me. I wish I could feel his naked skin on mine, inside me. Maybe one day we’ll do it like that. Maybe.

  If we’re still together.

  I start hoping we will be...

  Looking at his cock, I say with desperation, “Please tell me you have a rubber.”

  I look up at him, and his face says, What do you think?

  I don’t ask about it.

  “Wallet,” he says. “But I’ll have to get some more. Because I only have two.”

  Gush.

  I grab his wallet, grab the rubber. He takes it from me, puts it on himself. I’m glad he does, because I really don’t know too well how these things work...

  I get on top of him, momentarily a little afraid that I’ll crush him.

  God, he’s sexy. So sexy. How the fuck did I score this!?

  I don’t question it. I just decide to enjoy it.

  On my knees. Straddling him. Feeling the tip of his cock as it presses against my entrance, just the tip, I start to shake—

  “Wait,” he says, desperate. “Wait. Hold it there.”

  His tip is just inside me. The need to have him thrust deeply up into me is maddening, all-engulfing. It’s all I can think of in this moment, like a man to water in the desert. My mind is clouded: Just one. Single. Thought.

  “Wait. Please.” His eyes are so desperate. “This just feels so good. You feel so good.” He rubs my thighs. My legs start to tremble.

  “I can’t hold it any longer, Ace. I—”

  I get off him, lie back. I’m sizzling, tingling.

  “I want you on top of me, Gin. Please.”

  I laugh, because it feels so impossible to get on top of him again. Just the mere touch of him to me, in my most sensitive area, makes me lose all the strength in my legs! I get up. Straddle him again. He grabs his shaft, maneuvers it so the tip is just touching me, just as it was before. He moves it backwards and I see my swollen lips engulf his tip.

  “Oh, god,” I say, yearning.

  He rubs the tip again bottom to top, much like his tongue had done only minutes ago.

  Then he puts it so the tip is just touching, just entering me. Again.

  Oh god.

  I start to shake. My legs start to tremble. So close. Oh, my god I need to feel you inside me, I need you to thrust up into me and satiate this need—

  And then, just like that, without warning, he does.

  “Oh-yeah!”

  My words are a low, rumbling, earth-trembling moan.

  But he doesn’t pump. He holds himself there—ass up off the bed and driving up into me!—and this position is so wild because it’s so deep and I feel my eyes loll back and I lose all strength in my neck muscles—

  “I’m yours,” I say. It was a thought, but it came out aloud. “Completely yours.”

  My head’s tilted back. My mind’s on opium.

  He keeps holding himself up inside me, his shaft penetrating and impaling deep within me. And I’m butter in the hot sun.

  He brings himself down to the bed again, and me down with him. His abs are incredible. I counted six sharp ones, and then another two pretty well defined ones below that!

  I start to bend forward, ju
st to ease the depth, but he says, “No, please, this is good. I like it.”

  “It’s deep,” I counter.

  “I know. But it feels good for me.”

  Me too. It’s just deep. So deep. I feel completely yours like this. Completely owned by you. Completely...fragile. “I guess it takes a lot of trust to stay like this,” I say. His cock twitches once inside me, and I see his eyes tighten. In my inexperience, I figure he’s about to blow.

  But he doesn’t.

  “Yeah, I guess it does. Rock for me, Gin. Just rock slowly, back and forth. Just a little.”

  I do as he says. His expression and groans tell me I’m doing the right thing.

  I press down against him with my nub, but inside me, oh god, inside me it’s a shaft of hard metal and I’m dangling off of it.

  It’s exquisite. It’s incredible. It’s the best goddamn physical sensation I’ve ever had in my life!

  He starts to move his pelvis, up, down. Back. Forth. Then up and down again.

  We settle into a rhythm. A slow, easy rhythm. Where both of us are on the edge but never getting any further. Every now and then he says, “Stop. Stop. Wait.” And I do.

  “You don’t want to come?”

  “I want to be inside you for as long as I can. I like being inside you.”

  Gush.

  I can’t say anything to that. Can’t. Speechless.

  So I rock. Back. Forth. Back. Forth.

  As I do it, my body gets hotter. Actually hotter. It feels like the AC needs to be made cooler but when I look at it I see it’s on sixty already.

  And we rock. Slowly. Moaning. Groaning. The moment lasting forever.

  With his cock way deep inside me, and his hands on my thighs, and me rocking and pushing and melting and burning, he says to me, “Tell me about yourself.”

  Huh?

  I give a nervous gasp. I’m so horny. So horny! And he asks me this!? “What?”

  “I said—oh yeah—tell me about yourself.”

  “Right now?”

  “Mmmmmm. Yeah, right now. Tell me about yourself.”

  I can’t believe this. “You’re making me self conscious.”