by Ashe Barker
“How old are you, then, Mr Methuselah?”
“I’m thirty.”
“Oh, almost drawing your pension then. Should we be applying for a half fare bus pass for you? Will they let you in to see Harry Potter at senior citizens rates do you think?”
“Ha ha. Age is just a part of it though. You need someone gentle, someone more sensitive. You need a man who’ll take things slow.”
“I like fast. And, and rough…” Not exactly true, but I’ve said it now. “And I bet you can be gentle if you want to. I want you, Matt. Please.”
Matt groans and leans back, his expression pained. “Beth, you and I…”
“What do I need to do? What if I was more like Megan?”
His brow furrows. “In what way like Megan?”
“Beautiful, sexy, clever.”
“In those ways you are like her.”
“What then? Is it because she’s well off, has a career?”
“Megan’s a teaching assistant in a primary school. Hardly a high flyer.”
“Please Matt, just tell me and I’ll do it. Anything.”
For long moments he regards me across the table as our coffees cool between us. From his expression I believe there is something, something I could do, could be, that would win me the prize I’ve set my heart on. The prize I almost didn’t know I wanted until I believed I saw it in someone else’s grasp. He opens his mouth, and I hold my breath.
“Drop it, Beth. For now, for me, just drop it. Please.”
I latch onto the only words in his reply that make any sense to me. For now.
These words imply there might be a later, a later that includes me. And Matt.
* * *
The next day is Christmas Eve. We spend it quietly together in Matt’s apartment, both of us content to avoid the awkward conversation of yesterday but mindful of it. We ignore the elephant in the room as we watch television, eat a takeaway chicken biriani, watch some more television and eventually take a stroll down the road to try out the local pub. The Red Lion is not a place we’ve been before. Matt’s usually working, and of course I haven’t been exactly gadding about the neighbourhood. But it’s pleasant, lively, full of sparkle and good cheer, not to mention a very acceptable range of real ales, which pleases Matt. I’m not much of a drinker, but a couple of ciders go down well enough. By the time the landlord chucks us back out onto the cold pavement to the strains of Slade’s Christmas classic we’re both feeling suitably festive. Matt slings his arm across my shoulders as we walk back towards his building, and I move in close. It seems natural, a sharing of body heat, and of easy affection. It’s been a while, but I could really get to like this.
If only.
Back inside, Matt offers me another glass of wine. We settle on the sofa to watch the midnight carol service from some cathedral somewhere and I wait for him to reach for me again.
He doesn’t. We finish our drinks, Matt offers me a quick peck on the cheek by way of a merry Christmas, and we both head off to our separate rooms.
An hour later I’m still awake, staring through the darkness in the direction of my ceiling. There has been no sound from Matt’s room for the last forty minutes or so. I assume he’s asleep.
I turn onto my side, willing my body and mind to shut down. No joy. I’m not exactly sure what it is I want from him, not in more than the most general of terms that is, but I have no doubts at all regarding the strength of my yearning. Matt is only in the next room, just few feet from me. I could simply get up, walk out of my door and in through his. It would be that easy. And that hard.
Even as I’m telling myself I’m on a fool’s errand, that he’ll make the running when he’s ready, I’m tossing back my duvet and sliding from my bed. The carpet is soft and warm under my bare feet. I wriggle my toes in it as I allow myself one last chance to reconsider.
Seconds later, I’m done considering at all. I slip from my room. I turn on the light in the open plan living area, then a few short steps bring me to Matt’s door. I reach for the handle. My last chance to scuttle back to my own room unnoticed disappears as I press the handle and push the door open.
Matt’s asleep. The sound of his gentle breathing reaches me, and as I stand in the doorway I can just make out the shape of his body in the bed. He is lying face down and the quilt covers him only a as far as his waist. The light spilling from the main room is just sufficient for me to make out his well-defined shoulders and the faint ridges of his ribs. His customary suits normally cover all this up, but now, in these few moments before he inevitably awakens, I can survey his relaxed male perfection at my leisure.
Sure enough, with a low grunt, he rolls onto his back and opens his eyes.
I know he sees me straight away, framed in the doorway and silhouetted by the light behind me. He doesn’t speak at first, but I swear I can hear the cogs whirring as he considers how to react. He opens his mouth to speak, and I know from the look of resignation in his eyes that he’s about to pack me off back to my safe, chaste bed.
I forestall that by grabbing the hem of my—his—T-shirt and pulling it over my head in one swift move.
Matt’s jaw clamps shut, and a flash of something else - anger perhaps - glitters in his eyes. Brief, then it’s gone. I lift my chin and hold his gaze.
The moments crawl by as he peruses my body, displayed for him now in all my hopeful glory. I know him well enough to be sure that if he rejects me it will be done with kindness, but it would still be rejection and I will be mortified. So much so, perhaps, that I would be unable to remain here after this. Too late I realise I’ve backed myself into a corner. He has to want me, he simply has to.
Please. Please.
“Are you looking for something, Beth? A clean T-shirt, perhaps?”
“I’m looking for you.”
He lifts one eyebrow, but his expression is softening now, his eyes darkening. He reaches for the lamp beside his bed, and the room is filled with light. Harsh, revealing light.
Still I stand before him, reluctant to move forward uninvited, but even more determined not to retreat.
“Well, you found me. So now, what do you intend to do with me?”
“I want to get into your bed.”
“You want me to fuck you.”
It’s a statement, not a question but I nod anyway. I manage not to embarrass myself further by saying ‘yes please,’ but it’s there, hovering on the tip of my tongue.
“More fool you. Come here, Beth.” He flicks back the corner of his duvet by way of invitation, and I’m across the room in a flash. I scramble into the bed beside him and throw myself across his chest. His arms close around me, his palms warm on my shoulder blades as he caresses my shivering body.
“You’re cold?”
“No.”
“Ah. Beth, you’re so fucking gorgeous you take my breath away, but this won’t work. You’re too young, too inexperienced. You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for.”
“I want you. I want you.”
He gives a low chuckle. “Determined little thing, aren’t you? Well it looks like you’re gonna have me, love.”
“Please, be quick. I can’t wait…”
“Ah, but you’ll have to. You’re dancing with a gorilla, baby.”
“What?”
“You decided to take to the dance floor, but that’s the last decision you get to make. It’s my show now.”
“Oh, but I…”
He rolls to his side, taking me underneath him. I find myself staring up at an expanse of naked chest, then his lips are on mine. I open my mouth, loving the sensation of softness and discovery as he plunges his tongue between my lips. He explores, tasting me, tightening the grip of his fingers in my hair when I try to move. I want to deepen the kiss, try to lift my head towards his, but he’s having none of it.
“Gorilla, love.” His low growl against my ear sends a shiver straight to my pussy, before he resumes his attention
s to my mouth.
I relax under him, surrendering to his wishes, to his leadership in this matter. He’s right, I did take the initiative, I did push this, and I’ve got my way. Or I’m going to. But he’s very much in charge. I relish the gentle exploration of his tongue as he strokes the backs of my teeth, my inner cheeks, then tangles it around mine. I suck on his tongue, catching it between my teeth when he would have withdrawn. He tightens his grip on my hair, and I release him.
“I’m not your first. You said that. Your second then?” His voice is low and sexy, a little bit rough.
I shake my head.
“Third?”
I nod.
“How long has it been? Since your last time?”
“A while.”
“How long?”
“Two years. Nearly.”
“You were just sixteen then?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm, not a virgin, not quite. Or should that be, very nearly? If I hurt you, or scare you, I want you to tell me, yes?”
“I… You won’t. I know you won’t.”
“Honey, you know next to nothing. Just promise me.”
“I promise.” I give him the assurance he seems to demand. I’d say anything, more or less, just to get him to move on with this. I want him, I need him, now.
Matt smiles at me and relaxes his grip on my hair. He reaches for my right wrist and lifts that above my head, then the left. He taps the metal rail of his headboard.
“Grip that with both hands. Do not let go.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Good enough. I wrap my fingers around the cool rail and hang on.
Matt props himself on one elbow and drags his gaze along my body. He studies my breasts, my nipples pebbling under his scrutiny. I regret the current lack of lush curves due to poor diet and perhaps exacerbated by my illness. I used to weigh two stones more than I do now, and the impact is evident. Matt’s attention moves lower, across my flat stomach—at least that part of me has benefited from my austere lifestyle—and farther still to the dark blonde curls at the apex of my thighs. I thank the Lord I had the foresight to trim them the last time I was in the shower.
“Very pretty. But I knew that, from your first night here.”
He never said. He never said anything. On reflection, I’m glad. I would have been terrified of him then.
Matt dips his head to take one of my nipples between his lips. He draws his tongue over the engorged peak, and I arch upwards. He turns his head to look at me, and I go still. Without issuing the command I know he intends me not to move.
He opens his mouth wider to take in more of my breast, sucking on the sensitive skin until I let out a low moan. Satisfied apparently, he moves on to subject the other breast to the same treatment.
Despite his wordless instruction, and my desire to obey, I am soon writhing on the bed, my grip on the metal rail the only thing keeping me in place. The cool, hard steel grounds me, and I am glad of it now, though the notion seemed odd to me at first. He knew though, knew how I would feel, what I would need. That knowledge reassures me now, boosts my confidence.
He relinquishes my breast to nibble a path heading south, across my abdomen, circling my navel before nuzzling my newly neatened curls. I start to spread my thighs, but he turns to meet my gaze.
“Bring your knees up to your chest, but keep your legs together until I tell you different.”
I do it, and instantly appreciate the access this gives him. He shifts so he is behind my bum, looking at the backs of my thighs, and any part of my pussy that may be peeking out.
I ache, and I know I’m wet. I can feel the moisture coating my pussy lips. He must be able to see too. And he hasn’t even touched me yet, not there.
“I’m sorry, I don’t usually… I mean, it’s just because it’s been a while.”
“Is there a problem, Beth?”
“I’m all wet. Already. You must think me such a slut.”
“Ah, that. Yes, I can see. It’s true I suppose, you are a slut. But I do have a fondness for sluts. And you’re my slut right now, which makes all the difference.”
“I…Aagh” My next remark is lost as he scrapes his teeth across my upturned buttock, at the same time shifting to lie at right angles to me. His left arm is across the backs of my thighs anchoring me in position, while he uses his right hand to caress my buttocks.
“If it makes you feel any better, I could spank you…?”
“What? I…”
“Perhaps not. How about this then?”
He strokes my exposed pussy lips, tracing an exquisite circle around them before sliding one finger deep inside me. I scream.
The caress is gentle, intense, and so intimate. My inner walls are spasming around that one, solid finger, my hips rocking from side to side as I seek more friction.
“You were right, very wet. And tight. You have a sweet cunt, little Beth.”
“Please, please Matt…” My voice is ragged, breathy as I gasp for precious oxygen.
“Mmm, something wrong?” He withdraws his finger, only to plunge it back inside, the stroke long and fast.
“Oh God, oh, please…” I’m clutching the head rail as though my life depends on it, my desperation mounting though I’m not at all sure what I want him to do next.
He pulls his finger out again, and the next time he drives it deep it has a companion. This time he angles his thrusts, finger-fucking me slowly, each stroke deliberate, drawn out to increase my torture. My every nerve ending is on alert, every sense attuned to what is happening at my core.
Matt shifts his arm a little to relax his grip on my thighs, bending his elbow to bring his left hand into play too. He uses it to part the lips of my pussy to fully expose my clit. No longer restrained, I allow my legs to open, my knees on either side of me.
Even a couple of minutes ago I might have been too embarrassed to do this, to spread my legs with such abandon, but arousal has obliterated any shreds of modesty. He knew exactly what he was doing. It was the work of moments to sweep my inhibitions aside without any apparent effort, and reduce me to a panting, pleading bundle of lust-driven nerves.
The barest of touches on the tip of my clit sends my hips jerking upwards. My orgasm is gathering, taking form deep inside, ready to erupt. He has only to light the blue touch paper.
He does, with his tongue against my clit. He licks, flicks it twice, then takes the swollen bud between his lips and sucks hard.
I’m rigid, the waves of hot pleasure washing through me, reaching every dark, chilled corner. I gasp, forget to breathe for a few moments as the sensations consume me. My pussy is convulsing around his fingers as he drives them in and out, the motion fast and accurate, the inner caress synchronised with the action of his tongue and lips against my clit.
My orgasm is swift and powerful, and way more intense than I had expected. My previous experiences had been pleasant enough, but not on this scale. Nothing to compare to the skilled artistry of Matt Logan.
As my tremors die away Matt withdraws his fingers from inside me and rolls to my side, allowing my legs to drop back down onto the mattress. I’m still reeling from the sudden rush of delight when he brushes his lips across mine. I can taste my juices on him, musky and rich. I want more, so I open my mouth and this time it’s my tongue exploring, Matt accepts, welcomes my intrusion as he tunnels his fingers through my hair again.
He breaks the kiss but only lifts his head fraction. His erection is hard, solid against my thigh. Mine now, soon to be buried inside me.
“Do you still want me to fuck you or is that enough?”
“What? No, of course not.” Nowhere near enough.
“No you don’t want me to fuck you, or…”
“Yes, I do. I do. Please, Matt, now. I need you, now.” I shift under him, trying to edge him into position. I should have known it would be futile. Matt does what he wants, when he wants to. Except
now, it seems, as he’s again checking what I want.
“Say it. Say it, Beth.”
“I want you to fuck me.”
“My pleasure.”
He stretches out an arm to grab a foil packet from the drawer beside the bed. Idiot that I am I never gave this side of things a thought. Matt did though, and sheathes himself in moments.
He adjusts his position only slightly, but it’s enough to bring the head of his cock to my entrance. He slides it around my pussy lips, tantalising me with the blunt solidity of it, the raw promise of what is to come.
Beyond coherent speech I tilt my hips upwards and whimper. Matt takes pity and lunges forward. He fills me, right to the hilt, in one long rush that expels the air from my lungs. I still have the head rail in a death grip, but I relinquish that now to place my hands on Matt’s shoulders. His elbows are on the bed on either side of my body, taking his weight. He places his palms on each side of my face, his thumbs under my chin, and tips my head back. His kiss is deep, possessing, relentless as he fucks me with his tongue. When I might have resumed my pleading I can’t. Instead I rely on wordless requests. I squeeze my inner muscles around him as hard as I’m able, gyrating my hips. I lift my legs and wrap them around his waist, hooking my heels together in the small of his back. My fingers are in his hair too, grabbing handfuls of it in silent entreaty.
Matt gets the message. Or maybe he’s just ready and decides that I am too. He withdraws his cock, only to thrust harder the next time. Then harder still. His strokes are accurate, angled to hit that sweet spot inside me, but still fast and deep, filling me, stretching me.
It hurts, almost. I wanted this, begged for it, but the sheer depth of sensation and emotion is more extreme than I could ever have imagined. I cling on, and surrender to the delicious onslaught.
Matt gentles a little, slows his strokes. He releases my mouth, his voice low as he murmurs in my ear.
“Baby, so sweet. So fucking adorable.”
Yes. You too. I grip him harder, then harder still as my body bubbles once more with impending climax. I don’t want this to be over, but neither can I stop the tremors again taking control of my body. My senses are spiralling, spinning beyond my control as I come. This second orgasm is even more powerful than the first, my pleasure reflected back at me in the knowledge that he is sharing it. I lift my head and latch onto the top of his shoulder to stifle my scream as the convulsions rocking my core spread out to reach my limbs, and send tingling shafts of pure delight out through my fingers and toes.
