by Ellie Danes
She sat up straight and turned slightly so she was sitting cross-legged, facing me. Her expression was serious all of a sudden. She looked at the glass in her hand and brought it to her lips, then swallowed the contents in a big gulp.
“I think I’m going to need another one of these,” she said.
I got up and fixed her one, then I returned and sat down again, facing her.
“The records I want aren’t illegal or anything, except for the fact that I’m not technically supposed to have them. They’re not about anyone else, though. They’re about, well, me.”
“You’re adopted,” she said. “This isn’t some crime gang thing about getting donation numbers off of the competition?”
“No. Not at all.” I took a sip of my drink, wishing, all of a sudden, that it was stronger. “I know that my birth mother was under intense pressure to give me up and keep the records hidden. But so much time has passed, I think she’d be free of whatever external pressures she was facing at the time. The thing is, because she hasn’t contacted me, I can’t help but believe…I can’t help but believe she’s dead now. I just want to know for sure.”
Ashley gaped at me. “Nobody would help you with this? No lawyers, nothing?”
“Trust me, I’ve tried. I’ve thrown all the money I can at this issue, and I’d throw more at it if I thought it would help. In fact, that was my plan, to keep paying whoever I had to pay in order to get the information and closure I need. And then you came along.”
“This is kind of incredible, you know?” she said. “Like, incredible in the hard-to-believe way.”
“I know,” I said. “And I just didn’t want anything hidden between us—I can tell you don’t trust me because of how I want to get into those files at your agency, and it kills me that you don’t trust me.”
She leaned forward. “As insane as it sounds, I’ve trusted you more than anyone else, Weston.”
I bent toward her and placed my lips on hers. She tasted like alcohol, woman, and lust. She tasted like heat and fire and joy.
I couldn’t deny that I really wanted to see her naked again. The little taste I’d had the night before hadn’t been enough.
It was ridiculous, since she was just another woman, and one I was probably never going to see again--I didn’t think she was all that interested in seeing me again, at least not consistently, no matter how things had gone down the night before.
With certain hands, I took her glass and mine and set them on the nightstand. Then I lifted up her shirt. She blushed and bit her lip. She had the look on her face of someone who was starting to get turned on, but was desperate not to show it.
“There’s nothing to hide here anymore,” I said.
There was more I wanted to tell her, but now wasn’t the time.
Ashley nodded and stood up on her knees to kiss me. I wrapped my arm around her and unsnapped her bra, freeing those gorgeous breasts. I’d told her more than I’d told anyone before, and she had no idea yet how very special she was.
Chapter Nineteen
Ashley
At first, I couldn’t bring myself to really push things with Weston. In spite of the fact that I’d felt like a pot on the simmer all day, I was also sure that I would just be disappointed. Could he still want me, after he’d had a taste last night?
My curiosity--and my desire--started to overcome my certainty that I was going to be disappointed, and I climbed onto Weston’s lap and felt his cock start to harden, just a bit, through the fabric of his pants. The sensation of it coming to life right up against me sent a little jolt of heat through me, and as I leaned in to kiss Weston, I felt that little shiver in my nerves, that feeling I hadn’t gotten with anyone else. My lips connected with his, and I waited a few seconds before I slid my tongue against his lips.
Almost immediately, Weston wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close and deepening the kiss. I thought I wasn’t ready for it, but I found myself responding a heartbeat later, draping my arms around his shoulders, even moaning a little bit as I felt his hands come up to my breasts. I rubbed against Weston’s hardening bulge, and his fingers rolled my nipples, sending little crackling tingles of sensation seemingly straight between my legs.
I hadn’t made out with someone in so long, and when I had, it had been okay, and I’d thought I was getting turned on. But as Weston and I started pawing at each other, touching each other everywhere, even while we kept most of our clothes on, I realized that what I’d done before with other guys was like a candle a few feet away from me, compared to how hot I felt after just a few minutes sitting in Weston’s lap and feeling him get turned on right along with me.
Weston’s hand had wandered down to my inner thighs, just barely avoiding my clit through the fabric of my pants, and then he pulled back, breaking away from my lips.
“Let’s get undressed,” he said, sounding a little tense but not nearly as worked up as I felt.
I clenched my teeth and awkwardly climbed off of him. That sensation I’d been having all day, like a pot full of water simmering, was getting even worse. He stood in front of me and slowly eased off the rest of my clothes, his warm hands soothing my skin, touching me everywhere as he went.
Once I was naked, I didn’t speak. I did the same thing to him—tugging off his shirt and pants, touching his skin, rubbing my hands over his muscles. I tugged off his boxers and watched his cock standing straight out and proud.
Almost before I knew what was happening, Weston pulled me to him, then laid me down on the bed and covered my body with his. I could feel that his cock had gotten harder, and I felt a little triumphant thrill. He wanted me, too.
I gave myself up to the kiss, pressing my body against Weston’s, getting more and more turned on by the moment as he nibbled my bottom lip and sucked my tongue. I nipped at him, feeling breathless and needy and playful, and our hands started to wander all over each other’s bodies.
“You’re so sexy, Ashley, you know that?” he said.
“You are, too,” I said. I giggled, and then gasped as he dipped down to the column of my throat, nipping me sharply and licking at the pulse spot there with his tongue.
He worked his way downward and then stopped at my breasts, just like he had the night before. Even though I knew what to expect, the feeling of his mouth worshipping my nipples--one and then the other, then back again--while his fingers rolled and twisted whichever nipple wasn’t in his mouth--was like dropping a match in gunpowder. I’d been with guys who liked boobs before, and they’d done what they thought was something sexy, but it was nothing compared to the way Weston went to town on me, sucking hard enough to almost hurt, swirling his tongue around each of the two hard little nubs as if they were the same as my clitoris. I moaned out, getting hotter and hotter with every beat of my heart, twisting and writhing underneath him.
Just when I thought I couldn’t stand any more delay, Weston moved on, tickling my waist with his hot breath and moist lips, working downward toward my already-wet center. That had been something else that had shocked me the night before--while it wasn’t like I didn’t get wet with other guys, by the time Weston got to licking and rubbing and fingering me, I’d been so drenched, so slick and hot, that I was surprised that there wasn’t a pool of my own fluids under me on the bed.
He breathed against my slick center and I made a noise in my throat--something between a moan and a whimper of impatience--at the teasing sensation, fidgeting in anticipation of what he would do next.
Before I could get too impatient, Weston parted my folds and buried his face against me, more aggressively than he’d done the night before--but then, he knew my body much better, already. I cried out as I felt his tongue slide against my clit, sending a jolt through me, and as he started working me, sucking and licking, devouring me, I almost lost it immediately. I gripped the sheets and then grabbed at his head and shoulders, gasping as the tip of his tongue flickered against my most sensitive spot. He would back off just when the sensation edged into too m
uch to enjoy and then hammer against me as soon as I’d recovered. My hips twisted and bucked with a mind of their own, my body trying to get the best contact possible between my clit and Weston’s mouth as he worshipped me, dipping down to lap up my desire and teasing me for what seemed like ages.
I lost myself in what Weston was doing, shivering and trembling in between bouts of almost battling him with my hips and thighs, twisting on the bed as his tongue danced against me and his lips sucked me into his mouth for more attention than I could bear. He pulled back slightly and I managed to get my eyes open to look down at him, to see his mischievous grin spread over his face. I barely saw his hand, and then I felt his finger slide into me, and my toes curled against the duvet, my fingernails dug into his shoulder, as my body wrapped around him.
He added another finger and started sliding them in and out of me slowly, rubbing the tips up against my inner walls in a steady stroke. I moaned out, closing my eyes again as Weston continued to work me with his fingers, and then added his mouth back into the situation, sucking and licking and penetrating me. I had never in my life been as aware of my vagina as I was under Weston’s patient, knowing attentions--everything he did tightened up that little cord in the depths of my hips until I thought I couldn’t stand it if I didn’t come.
Weston teased me for what felt like an eternity, building me up until it was almost unbearable for me to not climax and then slowing down just enough for me to cool off a bit, until I wanted to scream at him, beg him to just finish me off. I knew--in the small part of my brain still capable of thinking--that he was doing this as a kind of playful revenge, that he was showing me it was no fluke, what he’d done to me the night before. He really just was that good.
But I couldn’t hold onto the thought, because I was so on fire, so alive in every nerve from Weston’s attacks on my clitoris that I could only think for a few seconds at most at a time--and most of my thoughts centered on how much I wanted to hit that climax, how much I wanted it to go on forever. I heard myself crying out again and again, moaning, words leaving my lips: “Yes! Fuck--god! Please…” until the words lost all meaning.
Just when I thought that I would literally die if I couldn’t finish, Weston’s fingers started rubbing against that one spot deep inside of me steadily and firmly, even as he sucked my clit between his lips and fluttered the tip of his tongue against it so fast I couldn’t even follow the movement itself. I screamed when it felt like something had broken inside of me, like the tension deep down between my hips had not just broken but nearly exploded. Weston kept up his attacks, speeding up just a bit, wrenching another cry out of my throat, and then he slowed down, steadying, and wave after wave of pleasure washed through me until I couldn’t be sure if what I was experiencing was wonderful or terrible.
Weston slowed down bit by bit, and then, as the last waves of sensation ebbed away, he pulled back, giving my clit the briefest, gentlest lick with his tongue and sliding his soaking wet, slick fingers out of me one centimeter at a time. I sagged against the bed, not sure I even had bones in my body anymore, panting and gasping for breath. Little impulses of sensation danced up and down all the nerves in my body, making me shake, making it seem impossible to do anything but lie there and hope that the unbearable wonderfulness of it would stop eventually.
To my surprise, Weston pulled me into his arms, cradling me against him, and I absently noticed he was murmuring something to me. It took me a moment longer to realize that it was a low-voice reassurance. “It’s okay...you’re okay…”
“I’m better than okay,” I said, as soon as I could find my voice.
“You look so beautiful when you come,” he said, leaning in and kissing me lightly on the forehead.
I chuckled, and my chuckle turned into a giggle, and the giggle turned into something that was close to a hysterical fit of giggling.
I just felt so good, on a physical level I hadn’t experienced before--even the night before, while I’d felt amazing from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes, it hadn’t been as good as what I felt in Weston’s arms, after he unequivocally got me to orgasm. I was still shaking like a leaf, and Weston stroked my arms and waist, keeping away from my breasts and even my hips, somewhere between a caress and a massage. It was so soothing, I almost liked it more than the sex itself, even after the totally unprecedented orgasm. My giggles finally eased and I was able to breathe again.
“Okay, that was intense,” I said, taking a long, deep breath.
“It’s the endorphin surge,” he said. “I’ve gotten maybe one or two women to that level before--but I think with you it’s just sheer, physical relief.”
I rolled my eyes and reached down along his body absently. My fingertips found the hot, hard length of him and I had the thrill of hearing Weston moan softly in reaction.
“I think I remember you saying something about how you could make me come with more than just your hands and mouth,” I said, meeting Weston’s gaze. “Besides, you should get some fun out of this too--especially after what you just did to me.”
Weston grinned and kissed me, and once more I tasted myself on his tongue, on his lips. “You’re not ready for more yet,” he told me confidently.
“How do you know?” I was almost offended. I twisted around in his arms and sat up, looking down at him.
“I know because of this,” Weston said.
Before I knew what he was about to do, he reached out and slipped his hand between my legs, and touched my clit. I gasped, shuddering; it didn’t actually feel good, or bad, exactly--it felt too intense, too sensitive.
He grinned. “I’ll give you a couple of minutes.”
“Well, we could work toward me being ready,” I suggested. I had come for the second time in my life just a few minutes before, and I definitely wanted more. The thought flitted through my head that within a few days, Weston would just be a guy I’d met and hired to be my boyfriend, and I probably would not find anyone like him back in my adopted home city, but I pushed it out of my mind.
“Come here, then,” he said, reaching out and pulling me down on top of him.
He kissed me hungrily, letting his hands wander over my body in lazy caresses, and the heat built up between us again, the same way it had the first time around. I was shocked at how quickly I got turned on, and how intensely I felt it, my body heating up and that tension coming back into the spot deep down between my hips. All I wanted to do was touch his cock and taste it, feel it against my lips and tongue and even inside of me, large as it was.
I got my wish. Weston let me meander down along his torso, to his hips, and didn’t stop me when I took him in my mouth. The taste of him spread across my tongue and somehow turned me on even more than it had the night before as I started sucking and licking.
I could feel the tension mounting in his body, the same way that Weston had known what was going on with me, but when I was sure I had him on the edge, he pushed me away--gently--and fell back against the pillows, panting for breath. “I don’t want to be done yet,” he explained in response to my hurt, quizzical look.
“You don’t?” When he’d been going at me, I couldn’t wait to get off.
“I want to wait until I get you off with this,” Weston said with a little grin, stroking himself slowly. “And I think you’re ready.”
“I think I am, too,” I said. It was like someone had found some buried guitar string in my belly and plucked it, sending little vibrations all through my body. Just the thought of feeling him inside of me was enough to make me even wetter, even hotter.
“Get on, then,” Weston suggested, giving my hip a playful smack. “We’ll start with you on top and then…” He grinned, and I caught the mischief in his eyes.
“I’ve never gotten off from being on top,” I told him matter-of-factly.
“That’s just how we’re starting. I can hold back better, and you can take me as fast or slow as you want.”
I nodded and straddled his hips, my thighs trembling as I
felt him brush against me.
I took a deep breath and guided the tip of him, still slick with my saliva, against my lips. I sank down slowly--achingly slowly--and groaned as I felt the thickness of him press against me, and then felt my body give way to him. Weston reached out and steadied my hips, pushing with firm, gentle pressure as I took him inch by inch.
By the time he was fully inside of me, I almost felt as if I’d been skewered--but in the best possible way. I sat absolutely still on top of him, breathing, just feeling his thick heat buried deep inside of me, pressing right up against my pleasure center. It was amazing--there was no other word for it. I felt like I’d been stretched, so full and filled so deep, but it didn’t hurt at all. It felt perfect.
I started moving on top of him, rising and falling slowly, finding my rhythm, and as soon as I did, Weston started thrusting up into me, his hands moving from my hips to my breasts and back again, teasing and caressing me, pushing and pulling. I leaned forward, steadying myself with my hands over his shoulders, and the change in angle meant that every movement rubbed against my clit.
“That’s it...good girl,” Weston said, moaning.
Just as I was starting to get frustrated--perpetually on the edge of climax but not quite able to go fast enough to get over the edge, just like with the guys I’d been with before Weston--he tumbled me over, somehow managing to stay inside of me all the while as he got me onto my back and pinned me there.
I thought he was going to pound into me, but instead he started slow, sliding out almost all the way and then pushing into me in a steady movement, filling me up inch by inch again. He kissed me hungrily and we started moving together, finding the perfect rhythm, like a tidal flow between our bodies. I clung to Weston as if he was a life raft, twisting my hips and pushing them down to take him harder, faster, deeper.
He reached down between our bodies and started stroking my clit in time with his thrusts, and every muscle in my body clamped down all at once. I cried out, my nails digging into his shoulders, and Weston picked up the speed of his thrusts, steadily rubbing up against my g-spot even as his fingertips worked my clit.
