Bohemian

by Kathryn Nolan

  He stopped.

  “You motherfucking bastard,” I groaned between clenched teeth.

  He stood in one fluid movement, as I wrapped my legs around his waist. Kicked the table away, knocked over the journal, the pen clattering across the floor. His shoes crunched over the dull shards of the whiskey glass.

  Outside a low roar had started up—rain and wind again.

  I tried to rub myself against his waist but he stopped me again, slamming me against a shelf of books so hard every bit of breath left my body.

  He pushed and books fell to the floor, pages open like wings on the ground. I grabbed something, smashing a sign that said Fiction, Women’s and a large volume of Margaret Atwood. He slid me down his hard body, spun me around, and yanked my hips back before I could begin to regain precious air.

  “Good girls get rewards,” he said calmly, before cracking his palm against my ass. I cried out, knocking over a pile of slender paperbacks. “Bad girls—” crack crack “get punished.”

  He tangled his fingers in my hair, grabbing and yanking until I had tears in my eyes. He yanked the upper part of my body up, until it was briefly flush against his chest.

  “But I know your dirty secret, Lucia,” he whispered fiercely.

  “What?” I panted. He tweaked my nipples again and I almost passed out.

  “You like the punishment,” he growled, throwing me back against the shelf and spanking me so hard I saw double.

  Who in the fuck was Cal and how did he know? How did he know how to reach down into the deepest, most intimate parts of myself? I could feel him coming alive, could feel myself coming alive under his touch, his mouth, his fervent whispers.

  Crack went his palm, one hand still twisting my nipple.

  The vibrations from his palm echoed on my clit, deep in my cunt, and within moments I was close again, balanced precariously on the edge, one toe over, ready to fucking fall.

  “Calvin, please, I need, I need, I need you,” I begged, half-crying, out of my mind with lust. I heard a zipper, a condom wrapper, and then the thick head of his cock at my soaking wet entrance.

  He slammed every inch inside of me and I climaxed. I fucking climaxed, screaming as he dragged his cock over every nerve ending, dragging out what was probably the best orgasm of my life. He thrust again and I gripped the bookshelf, novels tumbling to the ground, only able to stand because Cal was holding my hips in a death grip.

  One hand went back into my hair as he thrust into me, each thrust rocking the bookshelf, rocking me back to the precipice even as the after-shocks of my orgasm were still sparking up my spine.

  He pulled me back against his chest, slapping a hand over my mouth. My eyes rolled back into my head as he continued to fuck me, biting down between my neck and my shoulder.

  “You come like a goddamn force of nature,” he groaned, breath growing heavy.

  He was still in control, but just barely. I moaned against his palm as he circled my clit with his thumb. “You’re going to come for me again, Lucia.” His thumb circled with the perfect amount of pressure, my back stretched against his chest.

  He moved his cock inside me slowly, thoroughly, and it was easy, almost too easy, for another orgasm to ripple through me, gentler this time but no less intense.

  I screamed against his palm, body shaking, as he coaxed me through it. “That’s it,” he rumbled, “I’ve got you, beautiful. I’ve got you.”

  He smoothed the hair back from my forehead, kissing my cheek, my jaw, the corner of my mouth. I sighed happily, languorous with two orgasms, but with Cal’s cock still hard and full inside of me. A steady rhythm, and this time the sensations built slowly, deep inside a place I didn’t know existed. He was still hard and fully clothed; I was naked and totally blissed out.

  He pulled out, turning me around, and kissed me—leisurely, his fingers drifting and slipping inside of me. I hooked my leg around his waist as he stroked my g-spot until I was whimpering again.

  Cal pulled back to stare into my eyes—two fingers stroking, working magic on that bundle of nerves.

  “Cal,” I gasped, feeling my hips start to jerk. “What are you doing to me?”

  I ripped his shirt open, buttons scattering to the ground, and thread my fingers through his chest hair. I yanked with all my might.

  He hissed, a low growl tumbling from his lips. I leaned forward and closed my lips around his jaw, nipping at the skin there. He tasted salty. He tasted like sex. I yanked his hair again, bit his neck. The growl got louder.

  He’d broken me in half, exposed my darkest secrets and I needed to see him broken too. I scratched my nails down his back, drawing blood.

  “Christ,” he groaned, fingers stroking more quickly. I was full-on fucking his fingers now.

  “You like pain too?” I moaned against his ear, digging my nails in again.

  I reached down to grip his cock and Jesus Christ his cock was amazing. It pulsed against my hand as he tilted his head back, eyes closed in pleasure. I was going to come like this, stroking Cal to orgasm.

  I stroked, then pinched his nipple. Stroked and bit his throat. Stroked and pulled his hair. He lost his damn mind, shoving his tongue between my lips, forcing my head back painfully against a row of books until they collapsed to the floor.

  Pre-cum beaded at the tip of his cock and onto my fingers. I lifted them to my mouth, sucking the flavor of him between my lips.

  He practically snarled, hoisting me back up against his waist and crashing me against the shelf again. This time I felt my back bruise and loved it, the pain mixing with the shock of pleasure as he thrust back inside of me.

  “Rough, Lucia,” he moaned, turning and throwing me against the nearest wall. Picture frames knocked to the ground, his one hand gripping the door frame, the other pinning me in place. “I need you rough. I need my handprints on your perfect ass. I need to bruise these pretty hips,” he grunted, thrusting faster, his motions suddenly out of control. Desperate.

  The sound of our bodies together, the endless thump thump thump as he fucked me against a wall. I was on the edge again—his words and his cock, hitting my g-spot over and over.

  “You’re the most beautiful goddamn thing I’ve ever seen and I need to fuck you until you can’t see straight. Walk straight. Until you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve come,” he said against my lips, moving his thumb down to circle against my clit.

  I screamed then, my third orgasm in an hour threatening to obliterate my senses.

  “Oh god,” I cried out, everything in me snapping. “Calvin, Calvin, yes—” and then I watched as his climax took him by surprise, the look of total ecstasy washing over his face.

  I followed a second later, kissing him until our breathing slowed, until I felt his arms tremble with exertion. Slowly, he pulled out, lowering me down, holding me tightly—like I was the only thing in the world.

  Like I was the only thing that mattered.

  He pressed his forehead against mine, cupped my face, thumbs stroking against my cheekbones.

  Books, photos, signs, picture frames lay around us, fallen in a bizarre pattern. One of the bookshelves was half-tipped over. Cal’s shirt was ripped and I’d left huge bite marks on his neck. I knew I’d have bruises everywhere, could already feel a twinge of soreness in my cunt.

  There was a poem in this, maybe dozens of poems—because what could be more beautiful than bodies coming together like ours just had? What was more raw, more real than this?

  Cal looked at me—really looked at me, and before his self-doubt could march in, before he could hesitate, I pressed a kiss against his lips.

  And said, “Well, fuck.”

  ◊

  CALVIN

  I made us a makeshift bed by the fireplace. It was past two in the morning and I had never been more sexually sated. More in touch with my body and its needs and desires.

  I had never been happier.

  But even though I’d just fucked Lucia Bell like the world was about to end, I wa
sn’t tired. And I wanted to keep making her feel good.

  The entire time I made our bed she sat, curled up in one of the armchairs, wearing my shirt. Her hair was everywhere as she watched me quietly, her blue eyes clear and bright. We didn’t say a word to each other, and for the first time in my life I didn’t feel guilty that I’d let my most secret sexual fantasies become a reality.

  I re-lit the fire, held my hand out to Lucia. She took it, stepping over the books still littering the floor (the store was a fucking disaster) and settling onto the blankets I’d laid out.

  She laid down on her stomach, head on a pillow, and smiled at me. I massaged her scalp, watched her eyes flutter closed. Massaged her neck, lightly stroked her back—sore and red. I’d bruised her hips, just like I said I would, and now I kissed them, over and over. Rubbed the palm-prints out of her ass, nuzzled her thighs.

  “If you keep doing that, I’m going to want to fuck again,” she said sleepily and I laughed.

  “You’re insatiable,” I said, kissing her cheek. I continued to rub her back in large, lazy circles.

  “Will you read to me?” she asked, turning onto her side. She was so fucking beautiful it hurt, illuminated against the fire. No makeup on, hair undone: just natural. Authentic. This wasn’t the Lucia Bell of Maxim magazine.

  She was so much more than that.

  “Of course,” I said, voice raspy with emotion.

  I stood, stepped over more books, index cards, photos of famous authors with my grandfather, signs. I thought about what she needed in this moment, whose words she wanted to hear. My fingers danced along the spines, the names as familiar to me now as any relative. I picked up 21 Love Poems, which she said she loved so much.

  I didn’t think about how she’d be leaving. I didn’t think about the severely small odds that I would ever see her again. I was just fully in the moment, about to share words with a beautiful girl after having the best damn sex of my life.

  A few minutes later I settled next to her in the blankets, leaning back against a chair so she could rest her head in my lap. I stroked the golden strands of her hair, flipped through the pages. She hummed gently against my skin every time I scratched along her scalp.

  “You make me feel so good,” she whispered, nuzzling closer.

  I picked up her hand, kissed her palm. “It’s an honor,” I whispered back.

  “Sleeping,” I started, reading from the book. “Turning in turn like planets, rotating in their midnight meadow.”

  “Midnight meadow,” she said sleepily. “I’m in love with that.”

  I stroked her hair and kept reading, her eyes growing heavier, the embers of the fire dying.

  A substantial silence settled over the bookstore, a completeness. Eventually I shifted her from my lap, pulling the blankets up to her chin. Watched her for a moment, trying to remember every detail: the sweep of her lashes. The freckles on her nose, the way she clutched her hands towards her mouth in slumber.

  I wasn’t sure what I’d done in this life—or another—to deserve this night, this week, this woman. But I was grateful.

  ◊

  There’s a special kind of feeling in this world when you wake up on the floor and realize you hadn’t dreamed you’d fucked a gorgeous, funny, poetry-reading supermodel against a bookshelf.

  Especially when that same woman wakes you by wrapping her lovely legs around your waist and peppering your face with kisses.

  “We’ve only been asleep for three hours,” I said against her lips, amused.

  We were lying side-by-side. She was naked—gloriously naked—and as I trailed my palm up her thigh to grab her ass I wondered, yet again, how this was happening.

  “You look hot when you sleep,” she said, lips tracing the shell of my ear.

  “Really?” I asked, shuddering beneath her touch.

  “Mm-hmm,” she sighed. “Like a sexy male librarian or something.” I laughed and she giggled.

  “If only I’d known this was the secret to getting all the girls.” I squeezed her ass, rocking against her pussy and she gasped. “Apparently being awake is the real turn-off.”

  She laughed again, head thrown back, and I took the opportunity to run my tongue up the column of her throat. I rocked harder, loving the feeling of our bodies moving together in early-morning light, sloppy and messy, just delicious friction.

  “How do you do it?” she asked, stopping to meet my gaze.

  I stopped too, unsure of what she meant. “Do what?”

  Lucia turned away, suddenly shy. “Be…” she bit her lip. “Be one thing last night. Another thing this morning.”

  I rolled her onto her back, thrust against her again. “You are many things, beautiful. Coy isn’t one of them.” Thrust again. “Explain.”

  Her fingernails lanced down my back, re-opening scratches from last night. I hovered my lips over hers as she searched for the right words. “Last night, you were…so primal,” she finally said with a sly grin.

  Primal didn’t begin to describe last night for me. Last night, I was basically a goddamn animal finally let out of its cage.

  “This morning you’re so…sweet.” She kissed me. “Gentle.”

  I held her hands down, lacing my fingers with her, keeping up a steady rhythm of rubbing my cock right against her clit.

  “Maybe I’m both,” I finally said, since I didn’t really have an answer. She was exhaling these breathy moans, smile still on her face.

  “Mmmm,” she said, turning towards me. “I like that about you.” I rocked harder and she grabbed my ass, pulling me in closer. “And I like this.”

  “I feel like we’re in high school again,” I murmured against her neck. “Dry humping in your parents’ basement or something.”

  She laughed deep in her throat, her moans growing louder. We couldn’t seem to stop kissing each other, touching each other, fitting perfectly together. Lucia’s wet heat sliding up and down my cock like some kind of paradise.

  And she was still such a mystery to me, the tiny nuggets of information she’d let me see so far painted her as complex. Intriguing. I wanted to know more, wanted to spend more nights reading to her before we fell asleep.

  I wanted more nights like last night—to explore this woman who demanded my authentic self when we fucked. Who didn’t want me to shy away, to hide it, but to unleash it.

  And yet she’d be gone in a few days.

  I pushed back those thoughts, focusing on the way her nipples hardened under my fingers. Memories of last night flooded back, of almost bringing her to orgasm this way. The way she thrashed about, trembling, gasping.

  “God, Cal, this feels good,” she sighed, head tilting back, fingers tightening in mine. “Everything you do…everywhere you touch me…”

  I shifted her leg up higher, hooking it over my shoulder. Her back arched off the ground, hair fanned around her face. I ground harder, already feeling the beginnings of orgasm tightening at the base of my spine.

  “Maybe later I’ll fuck you like this,” I groaned into her ear, trying to keep our sweet morning-sex sweet, but unable to stop the filthy things she inspired in me.

  “I’d like that,” she moaned, fingernails digging into my skin.

  “Dirty girl,” I rasped. “You want me to bend you in half,” and I didn’t wait for her answer, hooking her other leg over my shoulder, circling my hips. The new position brought us even closer together. Part of me wanted to fuck her; part of me liked the intense teasing, the fact that we were both close to climax without penetration. That we’d woken after only three hours, too desperate for each other.

  “I have so many ideas for you,” I said, running my tongue up and down the curve of her ear. Gentle, curious. She panted faster, a flush working its way up her chest. “So many things I want to do to this perfect body.”

  My index finger slid down the curve of her ass, down to the tight ring of muscle between her cheeks. I circled my finger there, testing. Teasing. Stroking lightly. “You make me want to do illeg
al things,” I said, and she gave me a seductive grin.

  “You are full of surprises this morning,” she sighed and she kissed, sucking my tongue into her mouth. We were balanced on the edge between filthy and sweet, our soft sighs the only sound in the room. Except my finger was pushing gently on her anus and she didn’t seem to want me to stop. I hesitated for a moment, since this was brand new territory to me, but then my finger slipped inside with a slight pop and she started to go crazy.

  “Jesus Christ,” she panted, “That’s…fuck that’s…how did you know?” and just as quickly our movements spiraled out of control, our hands clawing at each other, lips bruising, a string of nonsense words spilling from my mouth. I didn’t think I could come this way, except as Lucia’s climax wracked through her body, mine roared up my spine and stole every bit of breath I had.

  I thought she might roll away but she clung to me instead, shaking, hands in my hair and legs around my back. And when our eyes met something happened.

  A bolt of lightning, an electric current; everything in the bookstore turned a pale blue.

  But Lucia glowed, brightly turquoise.

  ◊

  LUCIA

  The first time I ever saw myself on the cover of a magazine, I was hooked. The first few years of modeling, I did catalog shoots, some smaller stuff. But when I was seventeen, I walked my first runway in Milan—wearing seven-inch heels and a giant headpiece made of heavy metal, no less—and my fame grew from a slow burn to a full-on bonfire.

  Sports Illustrated had called my agent, who’d booked it right away. I remember screaming over the phone, my parents giving each other meaningful glances over dinner that night. They knew what it meant.

  Now, more than ten years later, I wondered what kind of parents would allow their minor-aged daughter to appear semi-nude on the cover of a national magazine. But that wasn’t the kind of thing my parents cared about. They were familiar with the murky gray areas of Hollywood. They lived in them, celebrated them, made money off them. If unions hadn’t stepped in, my mother would have gleefully worked a child actor for twelve straight hours and not given it a moment’s thought.