It's Complicated

by Julia Kent

  “Behave” wasn’t in her vocabulary right now.

  “Obey”, however…might be, depending on what Alex had in mind…

  He was exquisite, and her hands took the liberty of running over his chest, down to his waist, where a sharp inhale told her what he wanted. No rush, right? As he dipped his head to watch her hand memorize each pore, every skin cell, that led her to what she really wanted to touch, he gripped her wrist and forced her to pause, his knuckles pressing into the soft flesh of her belly, inches above where she really wanted him to touch.

  “No rush,” he said, letting go, then sliding his palm along her hip. The slow journey up the curve of her waist to the edge of her breast, then to her shoulder, was like a long lick up an ice cream cone in August. She was, like the ice cream cone, dripping.

  And then he rolled her onto her back, eyes taking her in. “Beautiful,” he whispered as his mouth took one budded nipple and rolled it between his tongue and lower lip, the ache for completion driving her to arch up into him, begging him wordlessly for more. His calves brushed against her thigh as he changed position and angled his mouth at a better degree, spare hand sliding not down, but up to her jawline. This would be slow, wouldn’t it? Could she make love at the speed of Alex? It was a physics formula that jumbled into a potpourri of letters and words as his lips brushed a line across the valley of her breasts to give equal attention to both, as if the symmetry mattered.

  What was he thinking, taking all the time in the world to explore her, the newness of him as foreign and exotic to her as she must be to him? Was this really about “sex parts”? If so, this would be enough. The chase was over. She was firmly caught. An all-body hum began the slow build inside her as his mouth now turned south, blood rushing to her ears and clit.

  Peeling her panties from her hips, he took the time to caress her legs as his nimble fingers dispensed with the thin wisp of cloth, throwing it somewhere in the general direction of her vanity. Now the symmetry was broken, for she was bare. Time to make things even again.

  “Fair is fair,” she murmured as her hands slipped under the waistband of his boxer briefs, sliding them down to his feet with a deftness that belied her normally clumsy nature. Both fully nude, they paused, taking each other in. Neither was self-conscious. The mutual appreciation made her laugh, a low, throaty sound that sounded far too bold and sophisticated even for her.

  “You see something that makes you laugh?” he asked, one eyebrow cocked as he looked down at their naked, interwoven bodies.

  Really? He made it so easy to wisecrack, to hide. Fifteen different sarcastic retorts fought against her lips. Taking the harder path, she just smiled and said, “I don’t know why I’m laughing. It’s just…”

  “Joy,” he said simply, brushing a lock of her hair off her cheek.

  “Joy? What is this ‘joy’ of which you speak?” she joked. Except she wasn’t joking. Joy? What was that? Who talked like this? Happiness—sure. Contentment—okay. Pleasure—no problem.

  Joy?

  “It’s a feeling,” he whispered, moving down to her navel, his tongue slowly tracing circles around her belly button, making joy pour out of her body in the form of muscle spasms that needed him inside her to grip against.

  “Oh, I’m feeling,” she gasped, fingers reaching for his hair, working hard to fight against the tidal wave that splashed against her V. The last of the daylight flirted with the horizon, little touches teasing the clouds. Cooler night air wafted in the windows, making the room perfect.

  “I want you to feel joy, Josie. And this, too.” Closing her eyes, she knew what came next, the unhurried movement of her legs sliding apart on the coverlet, how her ass filled his hands, his forearms under her, the rush of his warm mouth on her clit, the slowness speeding up so suddenly, the world cracking at the edges and turning from a sphere to a relief map, all laid out on her skin for Alex to explore.

  Joy? Oh, yes. Heart swelling in tandem with her sex, she took in his shoulders, lifting up to meet the gift of his tongue. The way his hands had touched her earlier, every time, had told her he enjoyed women.

  His tongue confirmed it. As he explored her body’s joy and desire through his mouth on her hot clit, stroking and tuning her to a new frequency, she faced a layer of intensity that she’d never experienced before with a man. The accumulated moments before this one all a nuanced tapestry in her mind and flesh, the knowledge that Alex liked her, that he wanted her, that someone so steady and hot and focused and real could be in her bed right now, naked under her palms, laving and giving without pretense—knowing it was more erotic than his actual touch.

  And then there was his body. Opening her eyes, she allowed herself to see what he was doing to her, to watch rippling muscles in his arms as he took care of her first. Panting, her breath coming in little gasps, she felt the wave push into and out of her at once, hips bucking, as if the thought of what this meant for her and Alex was enough to take her into orgasm.

  More than this, though, she wanted him above her, in her, driving home the connection and surrounding her with his scent, his heat, his light, and the sound of his own pleasure when it mingled with hers.

  Her hands clawed at the bedsheets, pulling them from the corners and twisting as her body twisted, too, Alex coming up to kiss her with such certainty, her taste on him and now in her own mouth, his mouth so soft, hands on her breasts. Suddenly aware of how little she had focused on him, she moved past her own pulsing pleasure and reached down to stroke him, finding him hard and ready.

  Joy. Joy coursed through the veins that made him so casually authentic, and when the song on the radio changed, his low chuckle made her halt her hand, fingertips enjoying the sensation.

  “Dirty Dozen Brass Band,” he said, kissing the hollow of her neck.

  Knowing the song—and delighted that he knew the band, because no one she knew ever did—she stroked him twice, then slid her hand along the tight ridges of muscle in his inner thigh.

  “‘Don’t You Feel My Leg,’” he said.

  “Song title, or command?”

  “Song title, of course,” he whispered, eyes closing as she wrapped her hand around him, fingers struggling to touch. The tuba’s deep bass line felt jaunty and joking, a bit out of pace for this moment, and yet it was fitting. Whatever came to them just did, as if life orchestrated what fate poured into the air. He stopped her, opening his eyes and pulling himself up over her, giving her access to all of him. My God. How beautiful he was.

  “I want to be in you, Ms. Josephine,” he said, as if he had to ask permission. Yet it wasn’t a question, was it?

  “And I want you in me, Dr. Perfect,” she replied, rolling over to open the drawer where she stored the necessary precautions. As she turned, his hand caressed her ass, lips dipping down to kiss her on each buttock, making her laugh. This was intense and frolicking, all at once. The two, it seemed, were not mutually exclusive in Alex’s bedroom world.

  “Dr. Perfect?”

  “McDreamy was taken.”

  The baritone laugh that came out of him, his face morphing from sexual intensity to pure delight, made her fall a little more into something she feared was as close to love as she was capable of feeling. Where was the awkwardness? The self-conscious mental ricocheting of thoughts and worries and suppositions? She and he were two people entwined on her bed, about to make love, and as he took the condom from her and dispensed with the formalities quickly, she found a glee in her that had never been present during sex before. Instead of hiding her emotions, as she normally did, focused solely on the animal nature of the act, on surges and rushes and highs and explosions, Josie allowed Alex to bring her to a new kind of lovemaking. It was almost too easy.

  Almost. Tears threatened to fill her eyes, drawn out by a groundswell of emotion that made her look at him—really look at him—and see a man she could spend her whole life with, love—

  “You are so amazing,” Alex said, interrupting her thoughts. Thank God.

  “Yo
u are, too,” she said, her body surprised when he rolled and pulled her on top of him. Oh, he liked it this way? Enjoying the power of having him spread out before her, her hands washed over his chest, up his neck, to his face, tracing his lips with fingers that tried to memorize him. Adjusting her hips, she ached to have him in her. He made her feel tiny and delicate, but also on display as his hands roamed up her belly, over the edge of her ribcage, then cupped both breasts.

  “This,” he said, hands now on her hips, guiding her, “is amazing, too.” And then all she needed to do was a small lift with one thigh, a knee placed on the bed just so, and the tip of him filled her, the pressure so inviting that he entered her slowly, the gasp of pleasure as their eyes met, the wordless communication and communion actually bringing those tears out. A shaky smile stretched over her lips as Alex moved inside her, so inadequate to display the vortex of emotions swirling within her, all of them crying out for more, more, more. This was what making love was supposed to have been like all these years? What else had she been missing out on?

  Leaning together for a kiss, their bodies moved in rhythm, her deep core of heat growing, emanating out into her limbs while tightening at the center, her pussy walls clamping down as Alex groaned, lips pressed against hers. At some point, the kiss became lost as each felt the climax form, something shared that could only be fueled by mutuality.

  “Josie,” he whispered through gritted teeth, just as she was about to say his name, too. Both felt it, and then he added, “Are you…?”

  “Close?” she filled in for him. “God, yes.”

  That was all it took as Alex enveloped her hips with his strong, big hands, a conductor of the symphony’s end, setting the rhythm and choosing strokes far more sensual than any she would have found on her own. One, two, three thrusts up and the orgasm slammed into her, grown large by an impossible sense of love and longing that played itself out in an embrace as she wrapped every spare section of skin against his body, holding on for dear life as stray strands of his hair caught in her mouth, ragged gasps her only words now, proving him right. She could think of nothing more than Alex, Alex, Alex, his name an infinite loop of pure joy, her body racked with wave after wave of him.

  Whole body on fire, the heat receded slowly, her awareness of aching hips, and a slightly raw feeling where he entered her, reminders of the juxtaposition of their sizes. Alex was big, she was not, and whatever similarities they shared, in bed he was decidedly all man. He made her all woman.

  A loud crack pierced the air, and then the crowd at the baseball field cheered, the sound bursting through the open window.

  “Well, I knew I was good, but I’ve never had that kind of reaction before,” Josie said, sitting up, her hand cradling Alex’s face. Rich, brown eyes met hers with a kindness and depth that would have terrified her, even a day ago.

  “I would give you a standing ovation,” he said.

  “You just did,” she said, squeezing a Kegel around him. Laughing, he slid out of her, then rolled her off him, spooning. So much warmth. The man’s entire body was one big heating pad, and she wondered what this would feel like in the dead of winter, cozy in bed with Alex, no longer needing the cats to warm her feet.

  That thought made her roll her eyes, the intrusion of cat-lady fears seeping into the afterglow. She and Laura had often mournfully joked about being alone in old age, surrounded by cats. Alex’s steady breath filled her ear, the rasp of stubble against her neck, the slow, layered relaxation of her body against his banishing those fears. They were one right now, and then her stomach gurgled, a horridly intrusive sound that seemed louder than the crowd outside.

  “We forgot to eat,” he said, the rush of his breath against her ear a luxury she could become accustomed to making commonplace. As if on cue, his stomach growled as well, sending them both into giggles, their bodies shaking in bed, joy pouring forth in new ways.

  The room had darkened enough that she reached forward to snap on the bedside table light. Still nude, their bodies were a series of legs and hips and arms, all mixed together like a bouquet of flowers. Peeling away, she searched the floor for her clothes, spotting each piece and cataloging. Whatever happened next was random, so she was uncertain. Get dressed? Slide under the covers? Hop in the shower? Boil the pasta?

  Alex made a quiet exit from the room, his ass an inviting sight as he padded out into the hallway. Ah. The condom. How base and embarrassing it often was to have a guy deal with the aftermath of what had been hot and frenzied. Here it was just something to be done, like putting on shoes, or combing one’s hair. By the time he returned she had located her panties and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a bit unmoored.

  Joy resumed as he stood before her, completely nude and utterly self-composed.

  “I’ve never—” they said in unison, making Josie burst into laughter. Alex smiled and reached down for his underwear, slipping into them. Symmetry.

  His face was solemn as he said, “You, too? You mean you were a virgin until just now?”

  She snorted, a decidedly unfeminine sound. Again, fifty different wisecracks flooded her. As he leaned in for a kiss, she decided that saying nothing was the best course.

  He’d known that the sex would be amazing, and it had been. He knew that Josie would be playful, and fun, and adventurous in bed. Nothing they’d done had gone beyond vanilla, getting-to-know-you lovemaking. But what he hadn’t expected was how loving he would feel toward her, not just during the act, or as part of the act, but now, curled up behind her, chuckling at her joke, his entire body sunk into the soft, pliant flesh of her body. The rhythm of their joined laughter amplified by the combination of two becoming one. Being nude with her felt natural. With most women, sex was about relief; sometimes it was more than that, but mostly it was to relieve tension, to relieve awkwardness, to relieve and answer lingering questions. His longest-term relationship had been about a year and a half, back in undergrad. Lauren had given him something close to what he was feeling right now, and he’d given it back. The union had ended when he went off to UMass Medical School, and she had received a Fulbright to teach English in Indonesia. Nothing serious, and yet it hadn’t been casual. Now it seemed like play acting, like a child’s tea service compared to afternoon tea with a full set of silver at Buckingham Palace.

  The scent of her, the way that Josie’s elbow bent to reach down and tug his hip, how they rested on top of the covers, dusk turning to dark, the klieg lights at the stadium across the street casting a strange glow. When their stomachs rumbled he realized how much he had shut out the world, how she had allowed him to be nothing more than Alex, at his core, sharing and exploring with her. Their joining hadn’t just been enjoyable, and he certainly hoped that he’d given as much as he’d received. In bed he subscribed to Dan Savage’s advice to be good, giving and game with partners, and it had done him well throughout the years. The Three Gs. Josie matched it and more.

  Hungry, and well aware of the necessities of dispensing with the condom that both had effortlessly, seamlessly really, decided was part of everything, Alex stood and walked out quietly, assuming he could find her bathroom without assistance. He did, a little cubbyhole with a tiny tub, like so many bathrooms in Cambridge. One wall was painted in chalkboard texture, and decorated with a series of ridiculous sayings. It reminded him of a cheap bar’s bathroom, but in here it seemed homey, and his fingers itched to write something pithy with the stub of chalk on the windowsill.

  Cleaned up, and still quite nude, he walked back into her bedroom to find her already dressing, his heart tugging a bit at the idea that they would put back on their disguises and stop being quite as real as they’d been for past few moments. This certainly wasn’t the end, though—in fact, it was still the beginning, if dinner was still an option. The way she stared at him made him reasonably certain that she wasn’t about to kick him out, but the feeling of comfort and combination with her faltered a bit, the edges fraying as he struggled to understand whether this meant as much to
her as it did to him.

  “I’ve never…” he said, as he slid on his boxer briefs regretfully, wanting to walk around in the nude with Josie in a similar state for the rest of his life, as unrealistic as that may be. When she said the same words, he laughed, though her laughter was louder. “You too? You mean you were a virgin until just now?” he said, deadpan. As he leaned in for a kiss, she stayed silent. He took her solemn look as an invitation to continue being real with her. Their lips met and the kiss lit him on fire, made his legs tense, and yes, he was hard again. Josie seemed to trigger that condition twenty times an hour when he was around her. She shifted just enough that her breasts were soft and yielding against his chest, as he bent at the knees to press into her, to really kiss her in a way that he hoped would make her toes curl. Yet again their stomachs gurgled, like chirping birds desperate for a meal. He pulled back and she held three fingers up to his lips, mimicking his earlier gesture from a few hours ago. It seemed like a lifetime. Time had escaped him and for all he knew he was marking the minutes and the hours all wrong. She had that effect on him.

  “Let’s get dressed and let’s eat.”

  “How about we eat and then get undressed,” he said.

  She laughed, reaching for her shirt and pulling it on, leaving the bra untouched.

  A good sign, he thought, of things to come. By the time he’d pulled on his pants and his unbuttoned shirt, she was down the hall. He heard the sound of the refrigerator door opening, cupboards open and shut. As he reached her in the kitchen, she was in front of the stove, turning the stove up under the pot of water.

  “More wine?” she asked, her hands slipping on the wine bottle, condensation having formed around it.

  He’d brought it chilled, and now, based on the temperature as he took a sip of his poured wine, he could guess how long they’d been. Not long enough. Her nervousness began to rattle him. This was the awkward part, wasn’t it? Perhaps he should have waited, but he couldn’t, unhinged by her. Small talk seemed so trite, and yet it was a kind of social lubricant that made whatever needed to come next that much easier.