And then, after a few more thrusts, he stepped away, turned me around, still bound, held my hands over my head, bent me over the blanket on the hay, popped out the vibrator, spread my knees, and thrust in.
There was no other way to describe it—he was banging me in the tack room.
After thrusting hard for a while, he slowed his pace, snaking a finger down to my clit. "I could go on, but I think I'll let you come now."
He rubbed me on the outside of my pussy, while filling me from within, and the tension built up, and oh, oh, oh, finally, finally, a release. I screamed, my body vibrating, my pussy vibrating, my hips raised and pressed against him, riding out the biggest orgasm in the history of the planet. It tilted the galaxies.
I saw stars.
But he didn't let go, and another one was on its heels and holy shit, I came again, not as big but sweet and beautiful, and I screamed again.
After all this time, after this wait, after all the tension that we felt over the past two weeks, having him inside me was so heavenly, hitting the right parts, repeatedly, over and over, as he fucked me against the hay.
Fucking brilliant.
He didn't last long, slippery from my juices and the lube, and hard for days. He increased his thrusting into me at a serious, marked pace, all the feelings, all the nerves tingling, and then he released in a huge shudder, collapsing into my back, pushing me into the blanket.
We breathed together, his flat belly going into my butt, his chest on my back, his mouth on my neck.
After a bit, he pulled out and ran his hands down my sides.
Then he untied my wrists, massaging them gently. And then he untied my ankles, doing the same. And then he gathered me, naked, into his lap as he sat down on the hay, my arms wrapped around him, my legs across his lap. I snuggled into his neck and kissed it, knocking his hat off again.
"That wasn't all that kinky, Will."
He smiled. "I know. I was just breaking you in. That was only the first round."
Equal
WILL STOOD NAKED IN my room in the bunkhouse, his toned torso glistening from the warmth of a summer's day and the activities from earlier, his hands tied to the top bunk, his cock hard, a satisfied growl emanating from his throat.
To rewind.
After the trussed chicken routine in the tack room, we both felt much more relaxed than we had been for two weeks. I also felt really close to him. We’d made it through our initial attraction, the questioning because of our beliefs, the passion of getting together, but also the reevaluation of whether we should be together. It felt like we had shown each other ourselves and both of us liked the other. Loved the other. It felt like we were unafraid to be who we really were with each other, because we trusted that the other one would accept us for who we are. Will didn't care that I cussed at him all the time or got mad at him for his politics. He wasn't going to change them for me, but he also didn't make me change for him. And despite neither of us asking the other to change, both of us had changed for the other.
As silent as he was, he had a way of showing me that he had the biggest heart of anyone I had ever met. He didn't brag about it, he barely talked about what he did, but his actions spoke volumes.
Oh, and he took care of my body like no one ever had before.
I had sat, nude, snuggled in his lap on the hay bale, tracing his arms, tracing his side, tracing his face with my fingertips. He put his chin on the top of my head and said, "God, you're spectacular. You're the whole thing, Marie. The whole thing."
This just made me snuggle into him more, which was barely possible. I pressed my eyes shut to keep any tears from forming.
"I love you too," I whispered, and he squeezed me tight.
I heard his heartbeat against my ear, felt his arms around me, and clung to him, my ark, for a long time. I had never felt safer with another person. After we’d settled down from the intensity of our sex, I kissed him, long and wet, then I climbed up, and started getting dressed, stepping into my panties and pulling them up, then my jeans. He watched me for a moment, then arose to get dressed himself.
As I slid my bra straps up my arms, I informed him, "You know, I have a kinky side too."
He let out a chuckle and grabbed his jeans, putting them on.
"Yeah? You gonna show me?"
I buttoned up my shirt and smoothed out my hair. "What I need to figure out is how much I can push you?"
He leaned over, hands buttoning his fly, and kissed me gently. "Pretty far, I'd say."
"I bought you a present," I told him slyly.
"Yeah?" He pulled on his t-shirt.
"A sexual present." He got his head through the neck hole of his shirt and stopped, an eyebrow raised.
"Now I'm really interested."
I smiled at him. "It's in my room."
He nodded and looked thoughtful.
We finished getting dressed. Will hung up the reins, I folded the blanket and grabbed the items he had bought, and together, we put the tack room back together. Then, hand in hand, carrying the blanket and bag and faux fur, we strolled over to the bunkhouse.
"We should move you in with me," he mused, as he glanced around my room with all of the bunk beds, "’specially now that we gotta week off before the next set of kids come."
My stomach got all nervous and tingly and butterfly-ey. Moving in with Will. Letting go of my studio in Santa Barbara. Commuting to my master's program. All of it. Stomach freaking out. I aimed for cool, but probably failed miserably. "We're gonna do this?"
"You don't wanna?"
I let out my breath. It was a big step, but yeah, I wanted to stay with him. Forever. So, I smiled, and said bravely, with as much nonchalance as I could muster, "Fine by me." Then I thought of something. "We didn't get to christen this room."
He leaned over and spoke low in my ear. "No one’s around."
God, he always could make me shiver. Then I looked at him and smiled. "Okay. Do you want to get cleaned up first?"
"I'll go get a washcloth. We can shower after." He purloined one of mine, went down the hall, and came back with it, dampened. "Strip," he ordered.
I smiled at him. "Not so fast, Mister. This is my turf. I'm in charge now." That eyebrow of his got raised, with amusement. "This is the way you're going to try out being a feminist, Will. Let me try something on you that I think you've never done before. Equal play, bub. If you don't like it, fine. We'll stop," and I opened up the brown package and took out the tiny, purple plastic toy, putting it in his hand.
Chuckling, he said, "A butt plug?"
"Have you ever used one?"
"Sure." Interesting.
"On you?"
He looked taken aback. "Uh, no."
"This one is for you."
He looked at me incredulously. Then he burst out laughing, the big, full-on male laugh that I’d only heard a few times.
I pushed him in the chest. Hmm. Yum. His chest. "Try it. You're sexually adventuresome. You’re open in bed. Try it. No one has to know. This one is supposed to be for guys."
He shoved his hands in his pockets, scuffed his boots on the floor, and looked up at the ceiling.
I kept going. "I'd never been tied up before like that. No one had ever tried to not give me an orgasm before. This isn't going to suddenly make you not you, it's just an experi—"
"Shit. Okay," he interrupted.
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Just don't fuckin' emasculate me."
I looked him straight in the eye. "That will never happen. This is the type of feminism where you get a blow job, which I'll admit is kind of strange, but it's because I want to do it, not because you're telling me to do it."
"Darlin'?"
"Yes?"
"Sign me up."
But I was serious about this issue. Will had said that he wasn't a feminist, but he never did anything to make me feel lesser than him. He was just all dude, all man, all guy, and he liked to drive. I think he just had a problem with the label, but not the concept. I fel
t like I had plenty of say around him. Sex and politics could get messy, and Will and I lived in that messy world, and I didn't know if we would ever leave it, or indeed, agree on everything. But I didn't care anymore. He was a loving, caring soul, and generous and gentle. The label that he liked didn't matter, just as the labels I liked didn't matter.
Well, they mattered less to me than they did before.
What this meant was simple: I wanted the chance to be in charge. I knew what I liked, sexually, and I let him push me on all fronts and I liked it when he took control. It was fucking hot. But now I wanted the chance to push him, to see how he would take it.
"Strip, cowboy," I ordered.
"Shit, is it gonna be like that?" he muttered. But he said it with a smile and started taking off his boots.
"Yep. Now, gorgeous."
His shoes shucked off, his shirt, gone, his pants a distant memory, he stood before me, all brawny guy, and my own personal sexual playground.
God, this was fun.
"I want to tie you up."
He snorted. "Seriously?"
"Yep," I said, and I pulled out a cotton, woven belt of mine, with rings for a closure, from the chest of drawers.
"Now how ya gonna do that, darlin'?" he asked, teasing me.
"Hands together." And he put his wrists together in front of him. I wrapped the belt around his wrists, and then fastened it to the top bunk behind his head. "You okay?" I asked.
"I think so, yeah," he said. "This is fucking weird."
Using the washcloth he’d dampened, I cleaned him off, which had the added bonus of making him fully aroused. I washed him and stroked him.
All clean and wet, I licked the tip of his cock, and he let out a groan. I let my lips go all over the place, tonguing his balls, licking the entire length, getting his taste in my mouth. I played with him, teasing him. His hands over his head, he leaned away from them and toward me, letting me love him up.
But then I took the lube out of my back pocket, and he looked down at me, heated, but leery.
"If you don't like it, you don't have to do it, and I'll never tell a soul."
He nodded.
I reached between his legs, with my fingers, and explored. When I got to the right spot with my finger, he hissed at me, but didn't object. I put even more lube on my hand and played with him, while I sucked on his cock, and he moaned in pleasure.
Then I got out his little toy, lubed it up, and carefully reached around and inserted it.
"Fuck," he said loudly.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said. "More than."
"It feel good?"
"Yeah," he answered. "Different sensation. Fucking hell."
"Okay, darlin’, here we go for reals," I said, and I started sucking on him in earnest. I kept going and going, using my hands, using my tongue, using my lips, using my throat, until he came, shuddering, into my mouth, and collapsed, leaning against the restraints, my shoulders holding him up.
I carefully removed the plug and wiped my hands off on the washcloth. Then I stood up and untied him.
And then he grabbed me in the biggest hug I’d ever received from him, his eyes gratified, his voice low, saying, "That was phenomenal, babe. I’ve never come so hard. Fuck, I love you."
We got him dressed again and lay down on my bunk for a while, just holding each other.
And then he helped me pack up and move into his house for real.
I Just Want to Dance With You
AS I TRUDGED THE last suitcase into Will's house, I started, "Now for that next kinky round—" but he interrupted me.
"Christ, give me a Gatorade," he groaned. "I have stamina, but shit, a man needs recovery time. I'm not fifteen."
I giggled. "We could go to a health food store and get you ginseng." He raised an eyebrow. "What were you planning before I hijacked your kinky?"
"No plans." He paused, giving me a heated look. "A lot of ideas, though."
"Ideas?"
"How 'bout I take you out to dinner tonight, and dancin', and tell you 'bout 'em?"
That evening, I put on a butter yellow, smocked sundress and my espadrilles and drove with Will, who had on a crisp, plaid, short sleeve shirt and jeans, to an Italian restaurant he liked. His hair was still wet and wavy from the shower, and he smelled utterly yummy. And the restaurant? Vegan paradise. Over my pasta primavera, he proceeded to tell me, in exquisite detail, the sexual things that he liked. Thank God we were squirreled away in a dark corner. My panties barely survived.
"Like that part of your neck, Marie, the part where your neck meets your shoulder. Good for bitin’." He reached over and traced his hand along my bare shoulder in my sun dress. He lowered his voice. "Like the taste of you in my mouth. Like it when you squirm when you're tied up. Like it when you come—any time, but especially when you beg for it, when you're pissed off about not getting it. Love your tits. I wanna eat every part of you. I wanna have some fun with whipped cream—"
"That's not vegan," I interrupted, as my stomach fluttered with the thought, and he grinned, reaching for a bite of his dinner.
"You're not the one eating it," he argued, fork held high.
Will's tongue all over my body.
Yeah, fuck vegan. At least for ice cream, whipped cream, and Will’s red meat. Another exception to my rule.
After dinner, he drove me to the same country steakhouse as before, but tonight it was filled with an after-dinner bar crowd, rather than restaurant diners. I noticed the dim light and country music playing, and as we walked in, Will held out his arm. "Dance with me."
He took me out to the dance floor and gave me a spin and I laughed and giggled as my skirt spun around. Then he took me in his arms and danced with me all around, totally in control. The song came to an end and he whispered in my ear, as the next song began, "This is George Strait, baby. Good song. ‘I Just Wanna Dance With You.’ How I feel." Feeling his muscles under his clothes, smelling his clean smell, holding him, I was in bliss. Then he leaned down and kissed me on the dance floor, soft tongue darting against mine, and I was done for.
"Let's get out of here," I whispered.
"Yeah," he agreed quickly.
We arrived home—my home now—and tumbled out of our clothes and into bed. No kinky this time. No games, no tricks. Just fingers, hands, touch, sensation, tongues, and lips all over. He traced my star tattoos on my hips with his fingers and gave each of them wet kisses. Then, when I was primed, he entered me, his cock filling me, giving me pleasure, connecting us together. After we both had climaxed, he fell onto me, his weight feeling secure, and then lifted himself off and gave me a sweet kiss. "Love you," he said. "Let's go outside, it's a nice night."
We slowly got dressed in sweatpants. He handed me his tie-dye and I put it on without a bra, giggling, and we walked down the stairs, Will whistling for Trixie to join us.
Hand in hand, we walked to the bluff, stopping every once in a while to look up at the vast majesty of the sky. Out here, there was no light pollution, no street lights to dim the stars, no sound but the ocean.
We’re all part of something universal. What we call it doesn’t matter. There’s not much separating us, We’re all connected. And it’s the most apparent under the night sky, where we look at the specks out there, and know that we are just specks on a blue marble looking back.
After a while, not saying much, he squeezed my hand, and we walked back to the ranch house, tucked in, and went to sleep.
I've moved in, officially, with Will, I texted Amelia two days later. Gave up my studio. Changed addresses. All my shit's in his house. It's gonna look like the Grateful Dead meets Little House on the Prairie.
Wow. That's . . . something. It might work out as a decorating style.
We're working out too. Amelia, I'm in love. Out of control, my whole heart, never to return, in love with Will Thrash.
On Thursday night, Will and I strolled, hand in hand, down San Luis Obispo'
s Higuera Street, enjoying the busy Farmer's Market. Table after table overflowed with fresh, local produce: shiny, plump, red tomatoes, piles of orange and purple carrots, green lettuce stacked high. An Andes band with those flutes played along a side street. Other booths advertised political causes, massages, crafts, and just about everything else you could imagine.
I looked up at my tall, divine cowboy, wearing a dark blue western-style shirt, and his Wranglers and boots. He looked like a lot of people here. I was dressed in a long, hippie skirt that went down to my toes, and a white tank top that showed off my tats. I looked like a lot of people here too.
Oh, but he wore his cowboy hat instead of his trucker hat, and I positively swooned the second he put it on. I don't know what it was. I never had a thing for cowboys before. But Will was so authentically country, that it just fit him, fit his personality, and because he was so tall, it made him look, if possible, like he was even more in charge. I ate it up.
We stopped to buy street corn—no butter—for me, and a tri-tip sandwich for him, and he traced his fingers down the "Omnia causa fiunt" tattoo on my arm.
"Everything happens for a reason?" he asked. "You believe that?"
I nodded. "I'm sure I was meant to take the job at Headlands so that I could meet you. And get my head out of my ass."
"Same," he said, and kissed the top of my head and we watched the people walk by.
As we waited, a group of people came up to him, all of them about his age and country-looking like him in Wranglers, boots, and baseball caps. The women were in flashy, rhinestone cowgirl jeans.
"Well if it isn't Will Thrash?" said a stocky guy in the country boy uniform, modified with a Nascar baseball hat, stepping forward to shake his hand.
"Phil," Will replied, "good to see you, man." He nodded to everyone else. "This is my girlfriend, Marie."
I felt like all eyes were on me. This was the moment that I’d been scared of ever since we got together. The judging. The “What is an edgy weirdo like her doing with a guy like that?” The looks of disapproval from people who knew Will and thought that we didn't belong together. The comments that we didn't match.
The Stars in the Sky (Giving You ... #2) Page 19
