by Sara Ney
“—In here using profanity and talking shit about Daphne.” Amelia’s own use of profanity is not lost on me.
“Maligning her.”
The girls nod. “If you scare her off after we worked so hard to get her here…”
Lucy makes a slicing gesture across her neck with her hand: dead.
“Wait. How do you know the word malign?” Sorry, I can’t help asking.
“Maligning?” The twins cross their arms and roll their narrowed eyes, speaking at the same time. “AP English.”
“What’s AP English?” Elliot probes.
More eye rolling. “Advanced Placement.”
This gives me pause. Because, “If you’re in AP English, why’d you write such a shitty letter to Daphne when you hijacked my email—you know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know. Jesus you two, please just go back to your party.”
Both my sisters stand tall, unflinching. “We’ll wait here while you finish him off.” Lucy gives her chin an encouraging nod in Elliot’s direction.
Finish him off? “Okay tiny Godfathers, bring it down a notch. This isn’t the mob.”
Elliot glances at me with disbelief still etched across his brow. And pity. “Shit man, are they always like this?”
I chuckle, smacking my cousin on the back and moving him towards the party. “Unfortunately, yeah.”
God, I really do love those two.
Crazy little weirdos.
“So, this is me.”
“Yup, this is you.” Dexter taps on the steering wheel with his palm, glancing out the window up at my condo. My little front porch light glows in the dark, illuminating my dark gray front door and the adorable painted snowman leaning up against the brick wall. The light also bounces off the lenses of his glasses, making it hard to read his expression.
Pulling his car neatly into a parking spot in front of my awning, I unbuckle my seatbelt but make no move to exit the vehicle when he shifts into park.
The engine idles.
The radio is silent.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go do something? It’s still pretty early.”
Nine o’clock on the dot on a Sunday night.
“Don’t feel obligated to continue this farce of an evening.” His chuckle is sardonic and patronizing. “Although I do appreciate the sentiment.”
Farce? Obligated?
“Obligated? I thought this was a date.”
Dexter laughs again, pushing his sexy tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose. The buttoned up collared shirt beneath his winter jacket peeks through, and my eyes travel of the column of his neck to his strong jaw line.
The place where I want to put my lips.
“Dexter, if Elliot said something to upset you, I—”
“—Let me stop you right there.” He twists his body to face me from the driver’s seat. “Nothing—and I mean nothing—Elliot says upsets me; it’s the fact that he says anything at all and there’s nothing I can do about it. He’s not some guy off the street. He’s family. So as much as I want to smash his face in, I can’t. Because my freaking grandmother is usually in the other room.”
He’s pissed off and agitated and passionate.
“Elliot’s always been like this, and thank god it’s not just with me. He’s a dick to our cousin John, too, and Little Erik who’s what—ten years younger than him? What an ass. You don’t do that shit to a kid.” He lets out a puff of frustration. “Anyway. I’d love to deck him, but I never will, and that’s the pisser of it.”
Ass. Punch. Dick. Deck. Pisser.
Oh my god, why is this turning me on?
There’s something wrong with me, I know it. Maybe it’s been too long since I’ve had sex and I’m going through some kind of withdrawal, where mundane words trigger dirty, dirty thoughts.
I watch words and sentences come out of Dexter’s beautifully sculpted lips, but I stop hearing them all, so lost in thought. So lost in the thought of him taking me inside and—
My head tips to the side and I study him.
I look up.
“What’s… that look?”
Crap, he’s studying me now, too, but his look isn’t one of desire. It’s one of confusion.
I know, I know, it’s shameful! But he’s so kind and patient and sweet and handsome and I like him and I want... everything. I want everything with him.
I need to know if he wants it too, but…
Guh!
“Why don’t I walk you to the door.”
Of its own volition, my head gives a nod.
Grabbing my purse from the backseat of his Audi while he jogs around to open the passenger side door, I step out, one leg after the next. Put one foot in front of the other as we walk unhurriedly to the front door.
Keys in hand, they jingle in the silent night, but I make no move to fit them into the lock, just like Dexter makes no move to kiss me. In fact, rather than move closer, his hands disappear into the pockets of his navy pea coat, stuffed inside protectively. Whether it’s against me, or the cold, frigid air, is beyond me.
“Thanks for inviting me along today, despite all the crazy.” A smile tips my lips. “Your sisters are really something. Do you even realize how much they love you?”
“Of course I know how much they love me. They have to; I’m their brother.”
“No, I mean—they really love you. They set this whole thing up; getting me to your mom’s house to bake cookies so I’d be thrust in your path. Emailing me from your phone. Breaking up the tension with Elliot and threatening to cut a bitch.” This earns me a low chuckle. “You are their everything. It’s…”
“I haven’t thought of it that way. They’re such pains in my ass most of the time it’s easy to lose sight behind their intentions.”
“I bet. But truly—they adore you.” My hand finds the sleeve of his thick, wool coat, and I squeeze, relishing the feel of him under my gloved hand. “I adore you, Dexter.”
With a nervous blush that has nothing to do with the cold, I glance from under my long lashes into his brown eyes and wait for his reaction.
Pleasure curves his mouth. “You do?”
“I do.”
He hums. “That’s good because I adore you.”
“You do?”
His head dips. “Yeah.”
Beneath the awning of my tiny condo, under the winter stars, our lips touch for the second time tonight. And when he finally digs his hands out of his pockets, our fingers lace together.
I shiver.
“You need to get inside,” he murmurs at the corner of my mouth. “It’s freezing.”
“Dexter,” I breath, a tad wistful. “Come inside with me.”
My key goes in the lock. Feet hit the tiled foyer; shoes get kicked off. Large hands find the base of my neck, pulling me in hungrily and pushing my back against the wall in the entryway.
“I really do want to talk and get to know you, I swear I do.” He breaths into my hair. “But all I can think about right now is—”
“—Ripping all my clothes off and—”
“—hauling you to the bedroom.”
Oh jeez, we’re doing our own version of the Twin Speak thing, finishing each other’s sentences, the words flowing out our mouths as our lips and bodies collide. My hands fist the collar of his coat, seeking out the row of toggles barring me from unbuttoning his dress shirt.
Dexter sheds his coat, thank god; it drops to the floor in a heap, followed by his knit hat, gloves and—only Dexter would remove his socks.
Grinning like a fool I shuck my own coat, hat and gloves, adding them to the pile on the floor.
Leading Dexter up the stairs and down the narrow hallway to my bedroom, I turn to face him once we’re through the threshold of my door. Instead of a hurried frenzy to tear at each other’s clothes, we face each other, drinking each other in from head to toe. Admiring each other.
Reveling in each other.
My chest swells with complete happiness when Dexter’s hand gen
tly cups my cheek, his fingers stroking my jaw line as he watches me, one part captivated—the other part aroused.
My eyes flutter shut when he leans in to land a kiss to the corner of my lips. The curve of my cheekbones. My eyelids.
Pleasure sends a ripple of tingles surging throughout my body, tipping my head back, giving him the access he needs to—
Gently suck on my neck.
His tongue slides leisurely along the column of my throat until his nose is buried in the hair behind my ear. A moan escapes my lips as our breathing becomes labored—I swear we’re both panting; but is that his breath or mine?
Our tongues are sliding together when our bodies finally meet; my body sighs in relief. Exhales. Vibrates on high with anticipation.
“I love these glasses,” I slur, finger tracing the frame at his temple, back-and-forth…then back again.
“What?” Dexter sounds as drunk as I feel.
“Your glasses, your glasses, God I love your glasses.”
“You don’t say?” More kisses against my neck. “That’s got to be a first.”
His ministrations on my body feel so good I can barely roll my eyes. “S-somehow, I doubt that. Mmm… you would be surprised at how… your tongue feels so good... many women find glasses and bowties and suspenders sexy.”
“I only need one woman to find it sexy.”
“I do, I do,” I chant, finally groaning into his mouth when our mouths meet; finally, blessedly meet.
“Take them off me,” he demands.
So I do.
I do; and he’s gorgeous.
Holy shit.
Daphne Winthrop is taking off my shirt.
Tugging the hem from the waistband of my dark jeans… hands splayed on my smooth chest, her soft palms running over my abs and pec muscles. Fingers trace my hardening nipples.
I bite down on my lower lip, nostrils flaring. At my sides, I clench and unclench my fists. The desire to wrap my hands around her waist is unbearable when she finally pushes the dress shirt down over my shoulders, down my arms, down to the floor.
Daphne Winthrop is taking off my pants.
Belt.
Then, before I can wrap my brain around it, the snap on my fly is popped open, the zipper slowly being tugged down. So slowly the simple sound of the metal track coming undone has my dick throbbing painfully hard.
Anticipation pulses through my veins, every fantasy I’ve ever had can’t beat this reality as my pants get pushed down around my ankles.
I step out of them, and am slowly propelled towards the bed in nothing but my boxer briefs. My legs hit the mattress as she propels me back, back, back.
“Lay down against the headboard?” comes her quiet request. “I want you to watch me undress. Is that okay?”
Somehow, I manage to nod.
Swallow air.
Breathe Dexter, I remind myself. Breathe.
Holy shit. Daphne Winthrop is about to strip all the clothes off her gorgeous body and get naked.
For me.
She starts at the top button of her collared shirt, plucking one free from the hole, then another.
One.
Two.
My eyes are riveted to that gap of exposed skin; fucking riveted as a third button is plucked free, followed by a fourth. Her hands pause momentarily to part the seam of her shirt, the creamy expanse of cleavage sacredly, beatifically—oh shit—full. I’ve heard the phrase “spilling over” a few times, but I’ve never seen boobs overflowing a bra in person.
I force my face to remain impassive; willing my jaw to stay closed.
Instead of unbuttoning the rest of her pretty, preppy shirt, her hands glide to the waistband of her jeans. The snap on her fly opens; zipper forced down. I watch as her hands drift over her pale, perfect skin and push the denim down over her slim hips.
White lace boy shorts.
Flawless porcelain skin.
Daphne steps out of her skinny jeans, leaving them on the carpet in a heap, and strides slowly forward, fingers poised on the fifth button of her shirt as she comes to stand next to the bed.
With baited breath, I wait.
He can’t take his eyes off me, and quite honestly, he’s holding so still I’m afraid he’s stopped breathing. Dexter is completely… motionless. Crap. What if the sight of my near naked boobs gave the guy a stroke?
I pause, waiting to unbutton number five. “Dexter?”
His mumbled, incoherent, “Huh?” puts a coy smile on my lips, giving me leave to continue my strip tease.
Climbing up onto the bed, I crawl towards him in the center of the mattress and note with satisfaction his nostrils flaring when I straddle his hips. Dexter’s hungry eyes roam my body as I pull off my pale pink shirt, dragging it slowly down my arms. Unceremoniously, I toss it on the ground next to the bed.
“Oh shit,” he groans when I reach back and unclasp my bra; it joins my shirt and jeans in a pile on the floor.
Only underwear separates us now.
I lean forward, my breasts rubbing against his chest, the sound of his gravelly groan and my moan filling the air. My hands roam his smooth pecs; Dexter is toned perfection. Olive skin that’s sinewy and trim and hard with perfect nipples. I run my trembling hands over them now, fingering one in a leisurely… burning… tease.
Beneath me, his hips give a jerk, and I rotate my pelvis onto his straining erection; it’s just begging for attention.
Begging.
Begging and hard and rubbing so painfully good against my center that a stifling whimper gets caught in my throat as Dexter finally leans forward to capture my lips with his.
Suddenly, I’m on my back, his mouth and tongue are everywhere.
My neck.
My collarbone.
My breasts.
Oh god, my breasts. I arch my back into his mouth as he sucks and licks and squeezes, the pressure building between my legs so agonizing that when I pull his hair, we both gasp out in pleasure.
“You are going to drive me out of my damn fucking mind,” he rasps, grinding and grinding his dick into the apex of my thighs, his head still bent at my breasts. His large hand cups one, squeezing gently. “Jesus Christ you feel so good.”
I glance down between our bodies at our pelvises pressed together, feeling my eyes glaze over with arousal. Excitement. Wanting to feel him, I find the elastic waistband of his boxers, my fingers trailing along the edge before going under. Inside.
Grasping the hard, rigid length of him.
Stroking him up and down as he whimpers and moans into my mouth; it’s a low, tortured guttural sound that has me desperately pushing his underwear down his hips, my palms smoothing over his firm backside.
Dexter flexes as I squeeze and knead, pulling him down into me by the ass cheeks, eventually, he kicks off the offensive boxers.
“Get on your back,” I whisper when he’s scrumptiously naked.
I start at his neck, languidly lavishing kisses along the pulse beating erratically in his throat—his heart. Kiss his stomach, lick his abs, his belly button and below…
I suck.
And swirl.
And suck.
“Oh fuck, oh f-fuck,” he chants, clutching the bedspread with a vice grip in his fantastically large palms. “Fuck, oh fuck.”
He’s babbling and grimacing in agony and it’s glorious. His dirty cursing only serves to make my lady parts tingle. Ache.
“Shit...stop, baby, I want to fuck you… stop, Daphne… don’t stop. Oh…f-fuck.”
He comes, his head falling back against the pillow.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur into her ear, my cock already hard again. “So beautiful.”
I can’t even believe this shit is real; that I’m in her bed and she’s spread out next to me, my hand roaming her smooth, naked skin.
And that she’s letting me.
Or that she’s encouraging me.
My dick has literally never been in a girl’s mouth.
And Daphne Wint
hrop blew me.
On purpose.
Speaking of which… her hand clasps mine, dragging it down under the covers and onto her right breast; I begin a slow caress with my thumb that has her throwing her head back on the pillow and breathlessly saying my name.
Not gonna lie: I push the bedspread down so I can watch my hand stroke her boobs. They’re full and round in my palm, her nipples pink and perfect. Obviously watching myself fondle her tits makes my dick throb; I’m starring in my own goddamn sexual fantasies for Christ sake.
“You’re beautiful.” Her hand is on my inner thigh, then my pulsating cock, as she whispers in my ear. Licks it. “Everything about you turns me on.”
“Daphne, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but…” Shit. Fuck. Damn. “I… don’t have a condom.”
Her hand grazes my cheek. “It’s okay, baby. I do, I do. I mean… it’s a hundred years old, but… I’m also on the pill so…”
Within moments the package is being ripped open, the condom is on and I’m sliding home, the only coherent thoughts after that?
If I died right now, I’d already be in heaven.
“I love Star Wars,” I slur as he rotates his hips—pressing me harder against the wall, his hands gripping my ass and squeezing. “I love it.”
“Oh yeah?” Grunt. Pant. Groan.
“Yes, oh…oh! Yes.” My toes curl.
“Fuck yeah you love Star Wars,” Dexter moans as he grinds and grinds those lean, sexy hips, his hand gripping my backside. Gripping my ass. “Uh… god… fu-ckkk…”
“Dexter, oh god, mmmnuh….”
“Daphne, baby,” his voice is strained. “I could live inside you.”
“Yes,” I beg. “Yes, please.”
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
Tabitha: So. “Baking cookies” is your new code word for sex?
Me: Yeah, pretty much. Dexter is… I don’t even have the words.
Tabitha: I believe the phrase you’re searching for is “Orgasmic.”
Me: You’re not allowed to say shit like that. Only I am.
Tabitha: Le’sigh. Fine. But I’m using your story in a book; sorry, I won’t be able to help myself…
