by Claire Adams
“It’s part of my charm,” I tell her.
Somehow, she manages to tolerate me well enough that she rubs her hand over my cock to make sure I’m good and hard, and she slides the condom over me.
“You’re lucky I’m a sucker for a guy who can skate,” she says and positions herself above me.
I’m working on thinking of an answer, but banter isn’t what’s holding my attention as I cup her soft, perky breasts and feel the heat of her body as she lowers herself onto my cock, gasping with that mix of pleasure and excitement that has me thinking about team sports to keep from getting too saturated with the intense pleasure of her.
My fingertips move over her sides before lightly running up her back just so I can feel the raising goosebumps on her skin.
She’s looking down at me, her mouth slightly open, her hair falling to the sides of her face, and she puts her hands on my chest to hold herself up as she grinds herself harder over me, encouraging me deeper inside of her.
Our hips move as mirror images, meeting most at the point of impact, and my hand is moving through the hair falling to one side of her face and affixing it behind her ear, giving that face as much exposure as possible to what little light is in the room.
Her eyes are closed now and she moves over me with a near-breathless smile, almost seeming to laugh voicelessly at just how simple things can be, though admittedly my understanding of the motivation behind that smile is speculative at best.
She leans down, kissing my lips before lifting herself again only to take her hands from my chest and stretch them above me, pressing the whole of her upper body resting against mine now.
I take the opportunity to wrap my arms around her, and with her ready cooperation, I roll so I’m now above, looking down at the shadowed body of my lover, growing ever more eager as she rests a forearm against the back of my neck, looking up at me like she’s expecting me to tell her a secret, only I already am, one breath at a time.
It’s hard to think between the darkened vision of her and the feel of her inviting body.
Her bottom half moves a little, and I feel her heels coming to rest on my lower back, and she uses that as leverage to lift herself to meet me, just as voracious as before.
“So, I take it this means you like me, huh?” I ask.
“Barely,” she breathes. “Don’t ruin it by talking.”
I’m amused, and honestly a little offended, but she’s smiling and caressing my hair, so my ego manages to make it through reasonably unscathed.
“Keep going,” she says. “Just keep going, okay?”
“Okay,” I tell her, and both of her arms are around me now, and she’s pulling me into her with renewed vigor.
“I’m going to…” she whispers, her body quaking beneath me. “I’m going to…”
I start to lean in for a kiss, but she’s grabbing a pillow and putting it firmly over her mouth, though it’s doing surprisingly little to dampen the sound of her ecstasy.
My only option here is to push the pillow harder over her face, and I don’t feel particularly all right doing that, so I just enjoy the music of her orgasm as she twitches and writhes beneath me, trying not to think too hard about how far the sound could travel.
She’s so wet and growing even wetter as the contractions of her muscles slowly ease into a new rhythm, and she’s tossing the pillow away now, pulling my head down and kissing me with almost scalding lips.
I work myself in and out of her, trying to contain my smile, but it’s not working.
“What?” she asks, looking up at me with her big eyes.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting this when you were telling me not to use foul language.”
“I said ‘not in public,’” she corrects. “What relevance could that possibly have right now?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her and kiss her cheek. “You just didn’t strike me as the climb up a drainpipe and have amazing sex with a skater guy from class type.”
“I’m full of surprises,” she says. “Now stop talking and get back to work. I want to come at least one more time tonight.”
I snicker.
It’s hardly, “shut up and fuck the shit out of me,” by any means, but considering the way she normally speaks, I think we’ve about reached her equivalent of it.
Still, I’ve found it best never to dawdle when a woman tells you she wants something.
I ease out of her as I make my way down her body the way she’d made her way up mine, and I’m already drunk with the scent of her.
My lips kiss the curve of her thigh and her hands go to the back of my head, gentle, but persuasive, and I go where she encourages me to go.
When my tongue reaches her clit, her body tenses, relaxes, and tenses again.
“Oh my God,” she exhales, and her hips rock beneath my mouth.
Her hands leave the back of my head, and as I glance upward, I can see her grasping her breasts, arching her back.
“I need you back inside,” she says when her legs start to shake again, and I make my way on hands and knees to kiss her neck as I place myself at her opening and enter her once more.
“You’re even bossier than I thought,” I tell her.
“Would you rather I didn’t tell you what felt good?” she asks.
“No,” I answer.
That’s the end of that.
I’ve been paying her body so much attention that I haven’t paid close enough attention to my own. I could slow down and probably be fine, but she made her wishes clear enough: she wants to come again and she wants me inside of her when it happens.
Still, as I lower my lips to taste hers, I’m going to have a hell of a time lasting long enough to get her where she wants to be.
“Shh,” she says, though the only sound I’m making is that of my heavy breathing. Her fingers are in my hair again and she’s all but cradling my head, saying, “Just keep going.”
Her legs are shaking again, but I can’t contain the feeling any longer, and she’s embracing me now as I come and every wave and particle of light is blotted out of my sight and all I can feel is her body and my body, and when my sight bends back, I’m looking at her closed eyes.
She’s biting her bottom lip, and although the stir in my own body is starting to break, hers is only beginning to hit its critical mass.
“Just keep going as long as you can,” she says. “It’ll be—” she takes in a sharp breath, “—enough. Just keep…”
She doesn’t continue, but she doesn’t have to, as I’m every bit as eager for her to reach that precipice as she is, and her body melts beneath me as she bites her lip again, her eyes open and fixed on mine until her mouth opens.
Mia’s breath catches in her throat, and I’m kissing her lips now as she starts to relax her body, her legs slowly easing off of my back and to the bed outside of mine.
I pull the rest of the way out of her, and our bodies simply reverberate together a few minutes.
After a while, I lie down on the bed next to her and we kiss tenderly, if infrequently, as we gaze at each other.
“Yeah,” she says, placing her hand easily against my cheek. “I think it’s safe to say that I like you.”
* * *
I wake up to a loud banging at my door.
“What?” I shout, not quite properly seated back in the realm of consciousness.
My eyes are still closed, but I can tell that it’s light outside.
It’s light outside.
My eyes shoot open to find morning coming through my window, illuminating the covered, yet naked body of Mia.
The door to my room is closed and locked, but it’s not like Dad can’t get in here if he wants to.
“You’re going to be late for class, Ian!” he shouts. “Get out of bed. If you hurry, I can give you a ride!”
“Go on ahead, Dad!” I call back. “I still have to get ready for the day.”
I look over at Mia, who’s not quite sure whether t
o stay as she is with her head above covers, or dive between the sheets and try to tunnel her way to safety through the mattress.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to her, “he almost never comes in here, mornings.”
“Very comforting,” she more mouthes than says. She looks at the door and then back at me, saying, “I should go.”
“Better wait here a few minutes,” I tell her. “Try to go down the stairs now or try going back down the drainpipe and he’s bound to see you. My room’s right above the kitchen, and when he’s not bugging me to get up before work, he’s hovering over the coffee machine. Just hang out a minute and he’ll be—”
The lock clicks on my door and Mia pulls the covers over her head and tries to make her presence as indiscernible as possible as the door opens and my dad just lets himself in.
“What are you doing?” I shout, trying to give Mia an extra moment or two to get settled before my dad has time to really settle his focus on my bed.
“You’re going to be late, Ian,” Dad says. “Again.”
“I know,” I tell him. “I must have slept through my alarm.”
“Did you even set it?” he asks, and I’m trying to remember where all of Mia’s clothes ended up last night, because they’re sure as hell not on her body. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “What matters is that yet again, you’re throwing away your responsibility just to placate your baser urges.”
For a second, I’m afraid he’s spotted Mia, which, although I’m nearly certain he wouldn’t actually kill or injure either one of us, isn’t exactly the way I’d like to start the day today, but he shifts his gaze out the window and begins again.
“You know,” he says, “we didn’t always have a nice house in a good neighborhood. I had to work for it, just like how you’re going to have to work for the things you want out of your life.”
“Would you mind going out so I can get dressed?” I ask, but he doesn’t make any indication that he’s even heard me.
“I see a lot of potential in you, Ian. I know we’ve been butting heads a lot lately, and it’s because I see such potential that I’ve been so hard on you recently,” he says, gazing out the window as if taking in the view of some expansive empire. “I don’t begrudge you a little fun while you’re in college, and I don’t mind you even taking some time, preferably on the weekends, to indulge your hobbies, but I think the hobbies are starting to look like a future to you when that future’s on the other side of law school.”
“Dad, I’d really appreciate it if we could talk about this after I’ve had a chance to get dressed,” I tell him.
“I have to go, Ian,” he says. “I don’t have time to wait for you to decide to crawl out of bed. You’re running out of time, too, you know. If you keep putting distractions before your studies, you’re not going to end up in a good law school, and you’ll end up as a public defendant for tweakers in Nobody Cares, Michigan, while someone else has made themselves very comfortable in the life that was supposed to be yours.”
“My life is whatever life I choose to live,” I tell him, feeling a little like the teenage version of myself, though I don’t remember having a naked girl pressed next to me beneath the covers too often back then. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful for everything you’ve done, but I’m not going to live your life.”
“The thing I’m starting to realize about your generation is that you think gratitude is the same thing as saying thanks,” he tells me. “Gratitude is recognizing that someone is going out of their way for you. Anyway,” he says, “I’ll go so you can get dressed. Wouldn’t want to be late, would you?”
He leaves the room, not bothering to close the door on his way out.
After about a minute has passed and I haven’t heard anything that would indicate he’s still upstairs, I get out from under the covers and grab a loose shirt to hold in front of my more private sections, and I close the door.
The lock clicks back in place, and Mia cautiously peeks out from underneath the covers, mouthing, “Is he gone?”
I walk back over to her, letting the shirt drop as I look for something clean to put on for the day. “He’s still here in the house, but I don’t think he’s upstairs.” I look at the clock. “He should be on his way out of here before too long.”
As if on cue, I can hear the familiar sound of my dad’s car starting, and when the sound of the engine fades into the distance, my blood pressure starts to return to a less alarming level.
“All right,” I tell her. “I guess that’s it. We can get dressed and get out of here.”
“Just a minute,” Mia says. “Come over here for a second. I have a question to ask you.”
“Go ahead and ask,” I tell her. “He’s gone. We can talk as much as we want.”
“Just come here,” she says.
“Okay,” I tell her, though I’m slow to act as I’m taking in the vision of Mia in the light of morning.
She’s still holding the top of the blanket tight against her breast, but the view couldn’t feel more intimate as she looks up at me, her hair out of place and her lips pulled back into a knowing smile.
“Come on,” she says. “Sit down a sec.”
I go to sit, but I’ve no more than hit the bed when Mia makes her move, wrapping her arms around me in a playful half-tackle, and we fall off the bed onto the floor.
“You know,” she says, straddling me, her hands holding my wrists, “your dad’s right: you really need to stop being late to class so often. That said,” she continues and smirks before giving me a quick peck on the lips, “it’s too late to make that change today.”
Now she’s kissing me deeply, even deeper, it seems, than she did last night.
It’s looking like I’m going to miss my first class entirely.
Chapter Eleven
The Slow Crash
Mia
It’s been a long time since I’ve been this excited about, well, anything.
Things between Ian and me may have gotten off to a bit of a rocky start, but I think the course has been corrected. It’s all I can do to wait for my last class to be over.
I’m meeting Ian at the skate park and, come hell or compound fractures, I’m going to help him get comfortable dropping in. Really, it’s about the only thing left I’m finding unattractive about Ian.
I get a text from Abs, asking what I’m up to, but I’m already running behind schedule—my last professor kept us after to talk about the implications of gravity and other forces in the near-void of space. It would have made a little more sense if he was an astronomy professor or a physics professor or basically any science professor, but I guess people in the English department get bored from time to time—so I respond with a quick, “Running late. Talk to you later.”
I’m out in front of the humanities building in time to see the taillights of my bus a couple blocks down.
Great.
Oh well, I still have one idea.
“Sorry about that. Professor’s driving me crazy. What are you up to?” I write Abs.
Maybe it’s not the coolest thing for a friend to use another friend for a ride to go spend some time with a third party who the first friend had sex with last night and twice this morning, especially after that first friend told the second friend that she, the first friend, that is, was in some kind of rush and couldn’t talk, thus blowing off the second friend, but I have to see Ian and I have to see him now.
As far as my brain is concerned, Ian is a drug called oxytocin and he’s pretty much settled in for the foreseeable future.
The phone vibrates in my hand and I pull up the new message. “Not so busy after all, eh?” Abby writes.
“I was running to try to catch my bus,” I write. “I didn’t make it.”
The favor’s implied in the explanation, and I still haven’t settled on an explanation for leaving Abby’s house after she went to sleep, so this should be a pretty entertaining response.
It’s not that I mind walking, but the skate park is no
where near the university, and I don’t know how long Ian’s got before his nerves start getting the better of him and he decides to back out of vert practice today.
As much as I love skating and skating culture, I’m not an expert when it comes to telling someone how to do anything on a board, much less something like prepping one’s self for a vert competition. That being said, I do have another specialty that might prove to be just as valuable: the human mind.
I know Ian probably thinks he’s something special because he got my head with the condom wrapper thing last night, but when it comes to hardcore psychology, I’ve got the bigger assets.
My phone buzzes. The new text reads, “That blows. Wanna do something?”
I sigh and look around, hoping to spot an acquaintance, only to realize that I really don’t have that many of them to choose from and none of them seem to be in this general area at the moment.
I write, “I told Ian I’d help him with a thing down at the skate park. I don’t suppose I could weasel a ride from you, could I?”
We’ll just have to see how that’s going to go over. Until then, I’m not going to let Ian know that anything’s changed. He didn’t really seem that enthusiastic about going back to the park in broad daylight—at least as far as that one little area of the park with the really long drop in goes.
My phone buzzes and I check the message. It reads, “You know the toll for taxi service.”
Good. She’s still trying to bilk me for cat food money. There’s no surer sign that things are status quo when I’m asking Abs a favor than a play for free cat food. It’s her favor currency.
“How much do I already owe you?” I write back.
Some favors, naturally, are smaller than others, and don’t always necessitate the purchase of a full bag. That being the case, Abs measures her favors in ounces.
A 1-ounce favor is something like passing the salt, where she’s just as likely as not to count it.
