by Cecy Robson
“But Andres looks like a cartoon character,” I remind her. “Not the cool kind like Bugs. More like Porky Pig and Yosemite Sam had a baby. But it wasn’t a cute baby. It was like they got drunk and angry-fucked.”
I’m trying to get her to laugh so she’s not so nervous and just puts it all out there, but all she does is blush again. “I don’t think I was good enough in bed,” she blurts out.
“Sure, you were.” I swallow down another potato skin.
“How can you tell?” she asks.
“It’s easy.” I try the roasted zucchini. Hey. Not bad. “Show me your fuck face.”
Her jaw slowly falls open. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“I’m not sure I know what it means,” she stammers.
Allie looks . . . scared. The hell? This can’t be the first time she’s hearing this. I take another look at her stunned face. Except that yeah, it is.
“S’all right. I’ll explain.” I take another pull of my beer and spill the facts of life. “Men don’t want the same face you make when you serve them milk and cookies, unless you plan to do something naughty with that cookie.”
“Naughty?” she asks.
I hold out a hand. “We’ll get back to the cookies. Men want their women to make them feel like they can’t get enough of them in the sack. That desire needs to be reflected in a woman’s face.”
“In the fuck face?” Allie clarifies.
It’s the first time she’s ever really cursed in front of me. I’ll admit, it’s a little distracting and kind of hot. But onward and upward. “Yup. The better the face, the more the man is going to feel like an Alpha King taking on the universe, and the more he’s going to make you beg for it. So go ahead, let ‘er rip.”
“Have you lost your mind? I can’t make that face, with you, here.” She looks around like someone else is watching or taking notes on this very important conversation.
“Why not?” I give her a wink. Women like that. She blushes. See, told you. “I thought we were friends?” I remind her.
“That’s not something a friend asks another friend to do,” she says, taking two very hard swallows of her wine.
“A real friend would,” I counter. I lean forward. “On the count of three, show me your best face. Ready?” I wait for her to take another sip of her wine and put it down. “One, two, three, go!”
I don’t think she’s going to do it or even try. She looks down on the floor and then back up, pretty much with the same expression she had when she first looked down minus reddening cheeks. “I’m trying to help you, Allie. You have to at least try.”
She points to her face. “That was it.”
I lower my empty beer. “It can’t be.”
“It is,” she insists. She hurries into her powder room and returns with a hand-held mirror, working hard to keep her features the same. “What’s wrong with this . . . look?”
I rub my jaw when she plops down next to me. “There’s no nice way to say this,” I begin.
Allie lets go of whatever the hell that face was. “There never is, Seamus.”
I ignore the dig. “The best way to describe what you showed me is the way I look when I’m trying to decide if I want fries or chips with my cheesesteak.” I lift up my hands in surrender. “No offense.”
She places her mirror on the table and folds her hands on her lap. “How am I not supposed to be offended? You basically just told me I’m terrible in bed and have no way of properly expressing my pleasure.”
“That’s the problem, you still think it’s about you.”
“It’s not?” she asks.
I scoff. “No. It’s like I told you. A man wants to feel like a sex god in bed, no matter how bad the sex is.”
Allie tilts her chin. Damn, she looks good. “Just to be clear, the women you’re with make you feel like you’re doing everything right, even though perhaps you’re doing it all wrong?”
I stare back at her, confused. “No, I’m doing it right. In fact, I’m probably the best these women will ever have.” My shoulders sag. “It makes me feel bad, you know? To ruin these women for all others. Those poor bastards that follow, it’s like they never stood a chance.”
Allie sighs, clearly torn between banging her head against the wall and putting my head through it. “Congratulations, I’m thrilled you’re so very awesome in bed. I’ll be sure to say the rosary on behalf of all those women you ruined and their poor, pitiful men.”
I place my hand on her knee. “It’ll mean a lot to them.”
It’s taking all I have not to crack up. I don’t quite stop my smirk and neither does Allie, making it all worth it.
“Let’s try this again,” I say. “You ready?”
CHAPTER 20
Seamus
“No,” she croaks.
“Why not? No one is looking.”
“It’s not that,” she says, shrinking inward.
“Come on, what are fuck faces among friends?” Her eyes narrow. “Believe it or not, I’m only trying to help.”
“I know,” she says, growing flustered. “I’m just not certain I can do this. It doesn’t feel natural and I-I-I don’t want to force things.”
I spread out on the couch. “Allie, mind blowing orgasms are not natural. They’re the result of fuck faces and don’t let anybody tell you differently.”
“Um,” she says, or something like that.
“I’m going to teach you a lot tonight,” I tell her. “Some of it you may not be ready for, but they’re things you need to learn. Men will always make you feel good if they feel they’re rocking your world. The more a man sees your pleasure, the harder they’re going to give it to you. You understand?”
“Yes,” she squeaks.
Hell, is it hot in here or is it me and Allie? “I’m not trying to brag here,” I say. “But what I’ve seen in women’s faces have helped me become the animal I am in bed.”
“I figured,” she says, swallowing hard.
“Ah, yeah,” I say, my attention zoning in on her full lips. “Because I’m confident, I see those faces staring back at me every time I take a woman to bed, giving me even more confidence. It’s a win-win situation. Two confident people in bed equal multiple orgasms. Repeat.”
“Come on, Alz,” I say when she doesn’t. “Class is in session and I’m your hot teacher. Repeat after me, two confident people in bed equal multiple orgasms.”
She shakes her head awkwardly and trips through each word. “Two confident people in bed equal multiple orgasms.”
“That was a decent first start. Now, be a little more confident, and let me have it. Give me your best ‘I’m ready to come’ face.”
She covers her heart, gasping.
“That wasn’t it,” I say. “Was it?”
Her mouth opens and closes several times.
“Shit,” I say. “Now you just look like a fish. Did Andres do things to make you look like that in bed? Fucker, I should kick his ass.”
“I wasn’t trying!” she yells. “That was me trying to work through what you just said.”
“Which part?” I ask.
“The part about coming,” she says, whispering the last word.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Not that kind of coming,” she says, covering her face.
I cough into my hand.
“You’re laughing at me,” she accuses, since I very much am.
“No, baby, I’m laughing with you, because you’re so damn cute.”
“Fine. Just . . . fine.” She shakes out her hands. “Okay, here I go.”
She squints her face, opening and closing her eyelids, fast. “Do you have something in your eye?” I ask.
“No,” she says, like she can’t believe why I’d think such a thing.
“You sure? There’s gotta be something in there.”
“There’s not,” she insists.
I look real close.
“Then what the hell are you doing?”
“Batting my eyelashes.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I ask.
“You told me to act seductive. I’m trying to be seductive like women are in the movies. And in the movies, they bat their eyelashes.”
“Women don’t do that shit,” I tell her. “You want to be seductive, take off your panties and throw them at me. I’ll be sure to catch.”
Once more, there goes her jaw falling open. “That can’t be it, either,” I say. “Tell you what, I’ll give you points by the way you hang your mouth open like that. Like you can’t believe how good it is. Now give me a little bit more with the eyes.”
“The eyes?” she asks. “Why? You just said women don’t bat their eyelashes.”
“’Cause they don’t. You want to flutter them.”
“Flutter them?” She frowns. “Wasn’t that what I was doing?”
“Hell, no. You were squinting and hiding the lust in your eyes when you should have been working it.” I make a circle motion around her face. “These babies don’t lie.”
“I’ll bet,” she says, not meaning one damn word.
“Try it again. Flutter, don’t squint, and crane your neck,” I tell her. “Like you can’t possibly keep still by the amount of pleasure blazing through you, like your head is going to shoot off your shoulders like a cannonball.”
“A cannonball?” she asks.
It’s like arousal is a completely foreign concept to her. “Your head doesn’t actually shoot off,” I explain.
She almost laughs, except then it’s like she’s suddenly shy again, rubbing her hands against her black sweats.
“Seamus, I don’t know about this. Don’t get me wrong, it’s really nice of you to help me out, but I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like.”
I don’t like how lost she appears. I take her hand, hoping to settle her fears. “Forgotten what what’s like?”
Her gaze falls to our hands. “To feel a real man touch me,” she says.
Every word lands on my chest like falling stones. She doesn’t hold my gaze, but I’m still watching her, realizing just how much she’s missed out on.
“The most physical contact I’ve shared with a man these past few years has been a solid handshake, usually from a client.”
“A handshake?” I ask. “From some guy in his eighties?”
She smiles softly. “Sometimes they’re as young as sixty.”
“Oh, good. I was worried there for a moment.”
I kiss her hand when she laughs. I’m not sure where this might go tonight, but I’m ready for it to go somewhere if she is.
“As I was saying,” she says. “It’s peachy keen you want to help me with my romance issues but—”
She stops when I hold my hand up. “See, that’s kind of your first problem. We’re not talking romance, were talking about moving furniture, ripping clothes off with teeth, and forgetting your confirmation name.”
“Oh,” she says.
“Damn right,” I assure her. “Peachy keen is not a word that comes up when you’re in the zone. You hear what I’m saying? You want words that go with that face you’re trying to make. So, no golly gee, no wowzers—nothing you’d say during mass when you see the altar boy carrying the offering trip over his Goddamn robe and send the body of Christ scattering down the aisle.” I blow out a sigh. “In my defense, I had a little holy wine before show time.”
“Mm,” she says.
“It’s time to take that leap, Alz. Time to show me what you want from a man, and how bad you want it.” I open my arms wide. “So, tell me what you’re going to say. Those dirty, nasty, freaky things you said in your head when you did go at it. It will help with the fuck face. It will help bring that navy ship into port and allow the lucky bastard in bed with you to give you all the explosions his missiles can muster. Let me have it.” Cause I need to believe you want more than my friendship.
“I can’t give you the kind of facial expressions you seek,” she says, watching me carefully.
If I didn’t feel stuck in the friend zone before, I feel it now. “Why?” I manage.
She wrings her hands. “I’m not positive I’ve had an orgasm before.”
“You mean with Andres?” I scoff. “Not exactly a shock there, Alz.”
“I mean with anyone.”
“Come again?” I ask, certain I misheard.
“An orgasm,” she says.
“I know what it is,” I make a flipping motion with my finger. “I mean the other part, about you not being sure if you’ve ever had one. That can’t be right.”
She buries her face in her hands. “Look, I know you could probably make any woman orgasm with just a flex of your muscles and a wink of those darling baby blues.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” I admit. I frown when I realize how upset she is. “What’s wrong?”
Her voice is barely a whisper. “I’m having a hard time,” she says. “These issues and experiences. I’ve never had anyone to discuss them with.”
“You do now,” I say. I’m trying to make her feel better, but now it’s like she wants to cry.
“All right,” she says. “Fine. I’ll tell you.” She turns down the T.V. “I’m not sure I’ve had an orgasm. Ever.”
It’s like she’s ready to crawl under the table. “I can’t blame Andres for leaving me,” she adds. “Like you said, had I made the appropriate faces, he would have been more confident and improved his technique.”
“He has a little dick, doesn’t he?”
It might take everything Allie has not to kick me in the face. “Does it matter? I was always told size doesn’t matter.”
“Two things,” I say, holding out a finger for each for emphasis. “One, only men with small dicks say that. And two, what woman in her right mind thinks a rowboat is better than a Navy ship packing plenty of ammo?”
“Well, when you put it that way…” she says.
I move closer to her when she curls forward. “Allie, I wish you could see what I see when I look at you. You’re a woman any man would be lucky to have.”
Through eyes shimmering with tears, she smiles at me. “I wish I could believe you. But Andres did have me and he cheated. Not with a stranger. With my sister.”
“I know. But did you ever think it wasn’t about how Andres felt, but how Valentina feels?”
She cocks her head. “What do you mean?”
I glance around her townhouse, how nice everything is, how clean, how loved. “Alz,” I say. “Look at where you live. How much did you drop on this place, three-quarters of a mil, maybe more?”
“Something like that,” she admits, her gaze sweeping over my face.
“Bills you earned with hard work that Valentina was too lazy to commit to. Valentina didn’t go to college. She could have, but she didn’t. Instead, she went to Paris, leaving you to spend years earning a degree. It gave you a one-up Valentina didn’t want you to have. So would marriage and a family with Andres. So, what did she do? She knocked you down a few pegs by taking Andres, then making you think you’d never have anything better.”
Allie purses her lips together, listening, saying nothing.
“Think about it,” I say. “Valentina didn’t run away with Andres. She ran around Europe until those modeling contracts dried up. When was the last time you saw her on the cover of anything? Or heard about her at all, besides shit she fed your family?” I’m not saying this to Allie to make her feel better. I’ve had my suspicions and Googled Valentina. The most recent post about her was almost three years ago. “Valentina is only back because Andres has the money to support her lifestyle. You know it. I know it.”
I’m sure Allie will argue with me and almost kiss her when she doesn’t. “That’s possible,” she says, giving what I say a lot of thought. “I almost didn’t graduate. I was so upset when I learned she and Andres had slept together. With one blow, that world
I’d so carefully constructed blew up in my face and my sister was the one who flipped the switch.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Which is why I think you should move on from them both. Today was one hell of a start.”
She squeezes my hand. I don’t realize I’m back to holding it. It’s nice, especially in the silence that follows. I let her have all the time she needs, preparing for more talk about Andres and Valentina, but grinning when that’s not what comes.
“Okay, Mr. Alpha Male,” she says at last. “We’ve established your prowess. Can we perhaps work on mine?”
I chuckle and scratch my head. “Oh, yeah, this is about you, isn’t it?” She rolls her eyes, laughing. “Okay. If you want great sex, make the man want to give it to you. Show him you like what he’s doing so you get more of it. That’s where the fuck face comes in. It’s not enough to make noises—you make noises, right?” I don’t really want to know, but it’s like I have to know.
“I guess.”
“You guess?” I ask.
“Do whimpers count?”
“Depends on how loud,” I ask, biting my tongue so I don’t beg her to demonstrate. I know it’s wrong that Andres and all the needle-dicks that followed never gave Allie anything good. But I can’t say I feel that bad about it.
“Will you show me?” Allie asks, her voice an octave higher. “So I may have a better idea?”
“I don’t whimper,” I admit. “Unless the cookies are hard and stale.”
Her jaw pops open again. “That was a joke, Alz,” I assure her.
Allie shakes out her hands. “Show me yours. Your . . . face. Please.”
Man, do I love the way she says please. “Watch and learn,” I say.
I dive deep into my memories. Back to the last time I had sex, going on about six months ago. Shit. Was it that long ago? I look back at Allie and how sexy she looks. Guess it was.
The bartender was tall, big rack, and flashy; everything I like in a woman. I focus hard, trying to remember her face. I frown. I’m bad with names and remembering women, but I should be able to remember enough of her face during the act to conjure my own expression.
My eyes partially close. I remember grabbing her ankles, holding them up so her toes pointed toward the ceiling, and plowing deep. My skin starts to prickle with heat. But instead of long dark braids fanning across the bed, short bed-tossed curls gather around Allie’s face beneath me.
