by Lisa Ferrari
Kellan nods appreciatively. “Nice. We could have some fun here.”
“And look at this.”
I lead him into the bathroom and show him the fireplace in the shower.
Kellan says, “There’s a fireplace in the shower? I love that. That’s a great idea. Why don’t we have this at our place back home?”
It’s not lost on me that Kellan refers to his house in Los Gatos as our place.
I say, “I think this is home now. Imagine us being in here together at night, looking out at the city lights, with the fireplace on. It’ll be just like in–”
“Conan!” we say at the same time.
We both erupt into ridiculous grins.
Kellan takes me in his arms. “We are going to do so much humping here. I am going to take you and make love to you in every room of the house.”
“I look forward to it.”
“No time like the present.”
My eyes are as big as saucers in the bathroom mirror, thinking about Kellan making love to me here in this beautiful house for the first time, especially after he climaxed only an hour ago.
Kellan leads me to the love seat near the fireplace and quickly but deftly unbuttons my new shiny black sexy pants and pulls them down my thighs to my knees, along with my black thong. He sits me down on the sofa, gets on his knees, lifts my legs, and dives face-first into me. His tongue laps at my lips, his teeth nibble my clitoris, and his tongue swirls around inside me. He has a long tongue. It takes my breath away.
I close my eyes tight and try to catch my breath for the rush of it. I feel his finger slide into me as his tongue licks my clit up and down up and down up and down quickly. He isn’t messing around. He wants to make me come. Quickly.
Another finger goes in.
My entire body reacts, tensing, squirming, writhing. I press my lips together in a hard line and moan indecipherable nonsense sounds of ecstasy.
“You like that?” Kellan murmurs. The stubble of his chin grazes my skin. His face is wet.
All I can manage is to mumble, “Mm-hmm…”
Kellan slides two fingers in and out of me and resumes sucking on my clit. He says, “I want you to squirt.”
All I can think about is ruining the brown suede sofa and pristine cream carpeting. I haven’t squirted since that one day in my apartment when I did my best to break up with Kellan because I wasn’t ready to let him love me and he did his best to bond with me through stimulating me much the way he is now, and for the first time in my life I squirted. Oh, and there was the time Kellan did me standing up in our hotel room in San Diego. I squirted all over the place. It was even on the mirror. It was that good.
Kellan’s fingers press on the roof of my vagina, my G-spot, and I gasp and squirm. With both hands I grab fistfuls of his hair and press his face into me.
Kellan grunts and growls, eating me, devouring me with animal intensity. God, no one has ever gone down on me the way he does. Not even close.
A few seconds later, I feel it. The building. Things contracting. A sensation almost like I need to pee. But mixed with the divine sensation of Kellan’s tongue on my clitoris, it’s different. Especially with his fingers applying pressure to my G-spot, which I didn’t even know I had until I met him.
I’m building, building, building.
It’s coming.
I’m getting close.
Defiling the sofa and carpet seem very far away now.
I’m so close.
I hold my breath, try not to tense up too much, trying to let it simply happen.
And then it does.
Just like that night in my apartment.
Only better.
Stronger.
Something gushes inside me and everything contracts. My abs. My inner thighs. My glutes. I press hard against Kellan’s shoulders, trying to get away, to push him off because it’s so intense that I’m not sure I can take it. But Kellan is strong. Far stronger than I am. I can’t go anywhere. He holds me in place with one arm around me and the other pushing his fingers up inside me with a perfect rhythm as I come. And come. And come and come and come.
His tongue is working my clit and my orgasm doesn’t seem to be lessening. I feel wetness between my thighs and on my butt. But it barely registers. I’m far away, lost in a sea of physical bliss stronger and better than anything I’ve ever known.
AT LAST I cry out and gasp for air. My body twitches as the aftershocks ripple through me, each one lesser than the previous one.
Kellan slows his pace. His tongue is warm and soft on my clit. His fingers are a pleasant fullness inside me.
I swallow several times. My throat is dry and burns from the heavy breathing and moaning and gasping for air.
I open my eyes.
The ceiling is above me. I’m lying flat on my back on the love seat. My hips are half off the cushion, supported by Kellan, who is on his knees and smiling up at me with a big, big grin.
I mumble, “You look like the cat who just ate the canary.”
Kellan grins even more broadly.
I love his smile.
His beautiful smile. His face and eyes light up when he smiles.
He asks, “Was it good?”
“Are you kidding? I think I may have blacked out for a second. How did I wind up lying down?”
“You squirmed over there, so I let you.”
“Did I make a mess? Is the sofa all wet?”
“No, not really. A little.”
“Where did it all go? I felt a gush.”
“Most of it went into my mouth. I swallowed it.”
“It wasn’t gross, was it? It didn’t taste like pee?”
“No, it was… musky. I liked it.” Kellan winks. It seems we have an affinity for each other’s musk.
Kellan sits beside me and scoops me into his lap as though I weigh nothing.
I rest my head on his chest. I’m limp like a rag doll.
Kellan wraps his arms around me and strokes my back and my hair.
I say, softly, “I could stay here forever.”
Kellan chuckles and my whole body bounces up and down as he laughs. “Me, too.”
Seconds later, I’m asleep.
“CLAIRE… CALIREEEE…”
I open my eyes.
Kellan is kneeling beside me. “Wake up, sleepy girl.”
At the same time, we both quietly sing, “Sleepy girl, sleepy girl, why won’t you go to sleep? Sleepy girl, sleepy girl, you’re keeping me up.” It’s the song Frank Buffay sang to Phoebe when she was little, and is the basis for “Smelly Cat”.
We smile at one another.
Kellan kisses me, a long, steady kiss, his lips pressed firmly to mine. It’s a kiss of love and endearment for one who is cherished. Greatly. I return the kiss, for I feel exactly the same for him.
I look around then, and I’m on the bed, my head on a pillow, with the comforter folded over me. “How did I get on the bed?”
“I put you there. My ass fell asleep on the love seat so I carried you and put you to bed.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
“About ninety minutes.”
“That long?”
Outside the window, the sunlight has become golden, almost orange. I look at Kellan and realize he’s shirtless. He’s wearing only his cargo pants and knee-high space cowboy boots. His bronzed skin is slick and shining with sweat. The veins in his biceps and forearms are sticking out.
“What have you been doing all this time?” I ask.
“Working out. That gym is kick ass. I tried out the leg press. Then I did some squats, then some back, then some chest, then some shoulders and arms. I wound up trying out every piece of equipment in there.”
“How is it?”
“Really good. High-quality stuff. A few of the plates were sticking together on the Universal machine but I cleaned them and it’s fine now. Want to come work out with me?” Kellan’s face is l
it by another huge grin. He’s so alive. So happy. So in his element.
“Okay.” How could I refuse?”
KELLAN LEADS ME to the gym.
I pull up my thong and my sexy pants along the way. “I’m kinda hungry, though.”
“Me, too. We have meals back at the hotel. Or we can go out. Can you wait?”
“Sure.”
“What do you feel like working?”
“Leg press. I have a bone to pick with you and your sin of two-seventy.”
“It’s actually the sin of 45 degrees, .707, multiplied by the poundage.”
Kellan has six plates on each side.
I ask, “How much is that?”
“Twelve plates is 540 pounds. But multiplied by .707, it’s only about 380 pounds.”
“Only. Pull three off, so I can warm up.”
We change the weight and I get down into the machine, press it up, and release the lock. I do twenty reps and my quads and butt start to burn. I pause, do another ten, and then rack it.
Kellan says, “That looked easy.”
“It was, smartass. Add a wheel to each side.”
Kellan does as I ask.
I do a set of ten and lock the handle again. “Throw another 45 on each side.”
“Are you sure?”
I quickly re-do the math in my head again, adding up the weight to be certain I have the correct number. “It’s 450 but how much is it really?”
“About 315.”
“Easy.”
Kellan again does as I ask, sliding a 45-pound plate on each side of the machine.
I say, “You’re such a good little gym bitch.”
Kellan grimaces. “Please don’t call me ‘bitch’. I hate that. Really. I have a problem with being demeaned. I can take it from strangers online but from you I’d really rather not.”
“Oh. Okay. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I probably should’ve mentioned it a long time ago. But now you know.” Kellan smiles down at me but his face doesn’t light up. “Your set.”
I press the foot plate away. Craptarts; this is heavier than I expected. (Craptarts?) I can’t remember the last time I’ve pressed this much weight. It’s been a while. A long while. I don’t want to look stupid and not do it, especially after insulting him. I take a breath and release the safety handle. I pretend I’m not scared.
Kellan says, “Heavier than you expected, huh?”
I nod.
Kellan says, “Getting great legs and a nice ass is more than just a two-page article in Cosmo. Look between your legs. See that? That’s Hollywood. Daring you. It says you can’t do it. It says you’re not strong enough. What do you say?”
“I say I have a lot of people to prove wrong.”
“That’s right. Now fucking get this.” Kellan slaps the leg press.
I lower the weight until the tops of my thighs are pressing against my ribs. I press the weight back up fluidly, then repeat it a bunch of times. I’m troubled by having called Kellan a bitch and by getting revenge on all those mean assholes who wrote horrible, degrading stuff about me online. As a result, I’m not counting my reps. “How many is that?”
“It’s your set. Aren’t you counting?”
“No.”
“Claire…” Kellan gives me his Admonishing Personal Trainer expression where he tilts his head to one side and opens his eyes wide. “Welp, you know what you have to do. Start over from zero. Come on, let’s go. Fifteen good ones.”
More craptarts.
What the heck are craptarts?
I take a few deep breaths, bend my knees, and press.
After three, it’s getting heavy. No way am I getting another twelve. Especially after I’ve already done eight or ten so this is actually thirteen already.
“Come on!” Kellan calls out. “Stop thinking. Go, go, go!”
Kellan pushes on the foot plate with his hand, spotting my reps, though actually not doing anything, of course. “Want me to take some weight off? Want me to call Calista and see if she can do it?”
THAT gets me.
Kellan continues, “I bet Calista can get fifteen. Let’s go, Claire. You want legs and an ass like hers? Let’s go. You want an ass that won’t quit? You want guys to eat a mile of your shit just to see where it came from? Let’s go!”
Jesus, he’s in full Commando Psycho-Trainer mode. He gets that way sometimes when he’s lifting, especially when he’s really working hard and his entire muscled, bronze body is slick with his sweet sweat… his chest… his abs… his beautiful thick, hard–
Focus, Claire!
Kellan is right.
And thinking about Calista pisses me off. It fires me up. I begin pumping out reps. I squeeze the handles harder, holding myself firmly against the seat and back rest, lowering the weight down and pushing it up, lowering it down and pushing it up, lowering it down and pushing it up…
“That’s eight,” Kellan says. “Come on, seven more.”
I take a deep breath and lower the weight until my thighs push on my ribs again and I kinda wanna puke.
I exhale hard and drive it back up.
“That’s right,” Kellan cheers, “drive it up. Light weight, light weight. Ain’t nothin’ but a peanut. Let’s go. Drive, drive, drive.”
I inhale, lower, exhale, and drive.
Then again.
And again.
My legs are on fire.
My ass is on fire.
Even my hamstrings are burning.
“Lactic acid is your friend!” Kellan shouts. “Come on, Claire, five more.”
I look at him like he’s insane.
“Come on,” he shouts, “baptism by fire, girl. You want to be at this level, you’ve got to work at this level. Let’s go. Five more. You’ve got this. Light weight, light weight.”
I lower and drive.
That’s one.
I pause at the top, my knees locked, gasping for air.
Kellan says, “Four more. Ready, three, two, one, go!”
I inhale, lower, and push.
Near the top, the weight slows down and I have to redouble my effort to get it all the way up.
“Good!” Kellan cheers. “That was beautiful. You’re awesome, Claire. This is some real G.I. Jane Navy SEAL shit. Three more!”
I’m breathing noisily now. My feet are cramping inside my boots. What was I thinking doing this in heels?! My hands hurt from gripping the handles.
But I love when Kellan compliments me. It makes me feel stronger. I can do anything when he believes in me.
I inhale, lower the weight, and push it away.
Halfway up, it stalls.
My exhale turns into a moan, and I drive it all the way up.
“Yes!” Kellan shouts. “I’m getting ready to eat a mile of your poop, Claire! You got this, baby. Two more. Light weight, light weight.”
I pause at the top, breathing, desperate for air.
My legs are starting to shake.
I take a big gulp of air, lower the sled, and drive it up with everything I’ve got.
It barely moves.
It’s going up slowly, inch by inch.
Halfway up, I’m out of air.
“Push, push, push!” shouts Kellan. He’s practically in my face, yelling. “You can do it! You’ve got this, Claire. Drive it up, drive it up!”
Kellan claps his hands loudly a bunch of times.
I’m pushing with everything I’ve got. The sled is moving slowly. My head is back against the back rest. My face must be red because I can feel the blood in my neck and face and head.
“Yes! This is so fucking hot!” Kellan shouts. “Drive, drive, drive, Claire, drive!”
With a splutter of air and a splatter of saliva that flies out of my mouth and onto my chin, I complete the rep. I tense my knees, gasping for air.
“That’s fourteen,” Kellan calls. “You’re a rock star. You’re a movie star.
You want one more?”
I don’t know what kind of bullshit question that is because no freakin way do I want to do one more. But I want a body everyone will drool over and I will be proud of when I see myself on screen.
So, yeah, you bet your sweet ass I want one more.
I nod.
“Are you sure? It doesn’t look like you want it, Claire bear. You want to go back to carrying trays or do you want one more?”
“I want it!”
“That’s my girl. Okay, breathe, breathe, now deep breath, hold it, and down…”
I lower the sled.
My knees are under my chin.
For a moment, I panic. I’m trapped. Something is going to rip or tear, a bone is going to snap and poke out of my skin. A heel is going to break and my ankle is going to roll and snap like Annie Wilkes taking a sledgehammer to Paul Sheldon’s ankles in Misery.
Kellan claps his hands in front of my face.
It shocks me.
“Press!”
I start pushing. The sled goes up about six inches.
“Drive, drive, drive! You can do it! Prove those people wrong, Claire!”
I continue pushing.
My head falls back against the headrest again.
Halfway up the rails, I’m out of air.
I cry out. Spit flies everywhere.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Kellan cries. “Now we’re getting serious.” Kellan begins jumping up and down. “Go, Claire, go! Go, Claire, go! Go, Claire, go!”
Hearing Kellan cheer for me bolsters me. I inhale and push, inhale and push, inhale and push, grunting and growling until I’m screaming through gritted teeth with spit flying everywhere. I open my mouth and let it out, thinking about all those people I have to prove wrong… family… friends… online haters… and I think about Kellan jumping up and down cheering for me… and as I scream and roar, the weight goes up, all the way up, and I’m screaming like I’ve never screamed before, and the weight goes all the way up at last, until my legs are straight.
Kellan slams the safety handle into place. “Down.”
I relax and the sled drops against the safety posts. The iron plates rattle against one another.
I love that sound.
My feet slide off the foot plate and drop to the floor. They’re burning and feel like rubber. They ache.
