Seriously? I melted.
Yes.
Mischief managed.
Oh, fuck, what was I getting myself into?
The second day of trial, Jake and I drove separately so that he could do something after the trial. Unfortunately, I’d also left very late, so I had no time to see Ryan that morning, despite being in the neighborhood.
I raced to court, parked, ran through security, and hoofed it up to our courtroom. When I arrived at our department, Jake stood there in the hallway with a strange look on his face.
"We settled."
I was completely taken aback and it took me a moment to process his words.
"What? What do you mean, we settled?"
"The other side caved. We're going to put it on the record, and then we're done," he said, with a combination of relief and disappointment.
This was another part of being a lawyer. The stuff you go to law school to do—to be in court and to go to trial—rarely happened because it was just too expensive and risky. In settling a case and not going to trial, a lawyer felt a disappointment somewhat like a surgeon consulting with a healthy patient who did not need surgery. In other words, the client was not displeased to avoid court. Just the lawyer.
A half hour later, we were done with finalizing the settlement in court before the judge, and Jake gave me the rest of the day off. I knew just where to go. I texted Marie that I had the evening free, and we arranged to go drinking that night. Then, I headed to Southwinds for some excellent coffee and hopefully, some Ryan-viewing.
The Supply Closet
I ARRIVED AT SOUTHWINDS, saw his gorgeousness behind the counter, and ordered my latte, successfully, "for here." He grinned and gave me a sexy chin lift. Once I got my oversized, porcelain, white cup and saucer, I sat at a cafe table, and went through my phone alerts, out of reach of his overwhelming physical charms.
After a while, I realized that I’d been sitting in Southwinds for a long time, and I should be getting home. I’d lost track of time and of Ryan. He wasn't at the cash register. I gathered my purse and wandered down to the bathroom, which was in the very back of the shop, carrying the coffee shop key, attached, with zero dignity, to a large serving spoon. When I emerged, Ryan appeared in the hallway, walking towards me.
Before I could do anything, he suddenly walked into my space, grabbed the back of my head with one hand, my tail bone with the other, and pressed me up against the wall, his mouth one inch from mine. My breasts crashed against his hard, broad chest, and I got an up close and personal view of his "Ryan" nametag on his apron. Oh, and that sexy surfer face.
So of course this happened too fast for me to process.
In my daze, I noticed a combination of protectiveness and power from him. He shielded my head and ass from getting hurt, but he was still in control—and still slamming me up against the wall. I dropped the serving spoon with a clatter.
"You with him?" he asked, huskily. God he smelled clean and good.
I was amused that he was jealous of Jake. Jake was good looking, sure, but his boring, workaholic personality kept me from being attracted to him in any way other than as a distant observer. It was nothing like the seductive pull I felt towards Ryan. It was easy to answer him honestly.
"No. He's just a coworker," I responded in a quiet voice, an inch away from his mouth, looking into his eyes.
"Anyone else?" he asked, roughly.
"No," I whispered.
"Then you're with me." And he closed the gap between us instantly, his warm mouth kissing mine, all of his body pressed against mine.
I lost myself in his kiss, in his body, and dropped my purse to the ground, grabbing his tight ass, and pressing him into me with both hands. He hardened some and wow, it felt huge. He was a tall drink of water after all—it must be big. Our tongues fought for position, our hands wild all over each other’s bodies, and he broke apart with a growl, staring at me.
"No control. I have no control with you."
"Me neither," I breathed.
This was apparently the right thing to say, because he grabbed my hand, bent down to pick up my purse and the key, hauled me into an adjacent storage room, and shut the door, locking it. The room had a small window with frosted glass, allowing in ambient light. He didn't turn on the fluorescent light overhead. Stocked with boxes of paper cups, lids, and paper towels, huge burlap bags of coffee, and industrial cleaning supplies, the air was infused with the heavenly scent of coffee.
In an instant, his mouth was back on mine, and it was the best place for it to be. I nipped at his lips, chased his tongue, and grabbed every part of him I could. I got to touch his hair.
I repeat, I got to touch his hair.
It felt unbelievably soft, with thick blond curls and golden glints. Without any control, I started untying his black Southwinds apron at his waist, and he ducked to take it off at the neck. I yanked his shirt out from his pants, wanting, needing to feel those abs that I had dreamt about.
Righteous.
His bare skin felt smooth, warm, and soft, and the muscles under his soft skin felt like nothing I had ever felt before—alive and vibrant with movement, but also tense and strong. I reached around and hugged his lower back, feeling the dimples from the muscles there, as he kissed my throat, sucking and licking his way down my neck. I moaned like I was faking it, but I wasn’t.
His hands made the journey from my jaw to my back to my ass. Then, in an instant, he looked at me questioningly, and I understood immediately. After a week of new experiences with vibrators, Brazilians, naughty books, a burrito kiss, and his boner behind the counter, no, I couldn't wait either. I gave him the go-ahead.
"Yes," I whispered, and he yanked up my skirt, pulled down my panties, and I stepped out of them. Then he slid one hand on my ass, the other hand between my legs, and then growled at what I was sure was nothing but wetness.
By the way, I have never had a man growl at me before, and I heartily recommend it. I nearly convulsed on the spot.
"You're bare. Holy fuck, that is sexy," he panted in my ear. "It's so soft. So wet. So sexy."
After days of thinking about him, I wanted him to take me wherever he wanted, even against the wall. I sucked on his ear and held on to him. His finger caressed my wet slit, circling my clit, entering me, and sliding out again. I knew that I was soaked and getting wetter by the touch.
"Christ," he said. "Your body is ready. Are you?"
"Yes," I said more strongly this time, looking at him directly in the eyes, and he didn't need any other encouragement. He continued to caress and stroke my clit, kissing my neck. He paused, then growled again, and took out his wallet from his back pocket, pulling out a condom.
I was busy wrestling with his belt, his buttons, and his zipper. After he ripped open the condom with his teeth, he threw the wallet on the floor by my purse, and helped me undo his pants. Between the two of us, we freed him, and in my daze and my panting, I caught a glimpse of the most impressive manhood that I had ever seen—long, thick, veiny, and hard.
Manhood. Another good word.
Focus, Amelia.
I didn't have to tell myself twice. He put on the condom in an instant, and backed me up to the wall.
"Wrap your legs around me," he ordered.
He was so strong, he lifted me up, then I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his hips, and he pressed me against the wall. Then, holding my ass, he slipped his thick cock inside me, in one swift move. I’d never done this position before. I’d never had sex outside of a bed before. This was so hot. My body was so slick, it felt amazing.
I had never felt so full in my life.
I had never felt so good in my life.
I had never felt so whole in my life.
He looked me in the eyes, as he pressed himself to be fully seated within me, the tip of his cock all the way up and filling me entirely, and said, "You are the most beautiful woman there is, Amelia. You deserve to be worshiped, but right now I can't control myself. So
hang on, okay?"
"Yes," I gasped.
He began to thrust, his cock coming out and in me, and it felt so good. No one had been this full into me. And I meant that in a lot of ways. Because I was holding on to him and braced against the wall, he brought a hand between us and started rubbing the exact right spot on my sex, all the while moving back and forth within me. I entered a state of bliss with this gorgeous guy, who was making me feel whole, making me feel pleasure, making me feel, period.
And then, after building up my sensitive tissues, he put me down and slid his cock out of me. I whimpered in protest, but he just kissed me again, spun me around, and said, "Brace against the wall."
Okay, now the rational part of me said, “I don't do this position.” This was against my Rules.
But frankly, at this point, I didn't care. It was hot. I did as he said and he took a second to caress my butt cheeks, and then entered me from behind, his thick, long cock filling me even more than before.
Wow.
He sucked on my neck, and put one hand up my shirt, caressing my breasts through my bra. The other hand sought my clit and found it again.
I was in his complete control. He overwhelmed my senses, kissing me, stroking me, fondling me, and thrusting into me. Now that I was doing it, I wasn't sure why this position was on my no-no list. And the lawyer in me argued that strictly speaking, it wasn't doggy style. Perhaps it was on my list of prohibited sex rules because I couldn't see him, which made me vulnerable, and at the mercy of his whims. But boy could I feel him. And boy did I not want him to stop.
I decided to consider crossing "doggy style" off of my Rules.
In all of these activities, I didn't even think about my orgasm. I didn't worry about it, I didn't wonder where it was or whether it was going to come. I just felt good. I just felt.
But now that I thought about my orgasm, I could tell you something.
I was going to get one.
I could tell, he was going to make me come. The pleasure between my legs built and built, overwhelming me, drawing me to feeling more and more. "Oh my God, Ryan, this feels so good," I gasped, as the pleasure increased.
"You're going to come," he told me. And he was right. I could feel my body tightening. The combination of him filling me inside—all the way, all the empty parts were full—and pressing my outside was just too much, and I lost it.
There's a reason why they call the thing a climax. It’s the highest or most intense point in the development of something. Well, that's what Google said. Ryan brought me to the highest and most intense point I had been in years. And he did it in a storage room in a coffee shop.
Amazing.
With a release I moaned, and again my brain was flooded with all of the good stuff. I couldn't think of anything but the intense pleasure wracking my body, exploding, making me feel wonder. My body buckled, and he moved his hands to hold my hips firmly, pulling them back towards him and supporting me fully. It was all I could do to keep my arms straight against the wall.
He increased the pace to an incredible speed, and I could tell that he was getting close, because his cock felt even thicker and fuller. He gasped a final sigh and said "Fuck, Amelia," and then collapsed into me, arms wrapped around me, holding me up and pressing me into the wall.
After a few moments, he pulled out, kissed my neck, pocketed the condom, and tucked himself back in, pulling his pants up, but not buttoning them yet. He grabbed my panties for me and straightened them, helping me to put one leg in and then another. Then he helped me straighten my skirt, and tucked in my blouse. He buckled his pants up and tucked in his shirt, looking at me intently.
I was overwhelmed. After more than a year of no orgasm and a sexual history of crap, this man could get me to orgasm in just a few minutes flat in this storage room. Um yeah, I’d like some more, please.
Even though he was bossy, he cared for me throughout. He cradled my head and my ass. He didn’t forget about my purse. He helped me get dressed. I didn't know what the rules were for sex in a coffee shop storage room with the manager, but I knew that I liked it.
I managed a heartfelt, "Can we do that again?"
He laughed. "Abso-fucking-lutely. Text me your address, and I'll be there Friday night."
"I can do that," I responded, smiling shyly.
After he smoothed my hair and I messed with his, he gave me another kiss, this one sweeter, less desperate, but not less intense. "You look gorgeous. I'll come at seven and bring dinner. We'll go slowly. We'll explore. I guarantee that it’ll be pleasurable."
"Okay," I agreed, and I reached up and kissed him again, his warm pouty lips on mine. After we stopped, he pulled back, smiled down at me, and then reached around and unlocked the supply room door.
Luckily no one was in the hall, so I didn't have to worry about how disheveled I looked. I hoped that no one had heard us.
He picked up the bathroom key attached to the serving spoon, deposited it on the counter, walked me all the way out of the store to my car, and then kissed me goodbye. I took off, noticing the sun along the water and singing along with the radio the whole way home.
Four Cosmos
IT ALL CAME CRASHING down on me that night, as I ordered my fourth cosmo with Marie.
I had felt a buzz, an energy, my entire drive back to Santa Barbara. I was happy, basking in the relaxation from my orgasm from Ryan, reveling in feeling something, anything, and excited about my date with him on Friday. The experience of getting up close and personal with the Sun God seriously rocked my world. Yummy yummy. Taking the rest of the day off of work cemented my good mood. It was like I had forgotten that I was ever depressed.
If you don't realize that's incredible, I'll tell you: that's incredible.
After going home, relaxing, and showering, I changed into dark jeans and a silky, dark purple camisole with a soft dark grey cashmere belted cardigan and stilettos. Then I took a taxi to meet Marie at the trendy watering hole on State Street that we frequented.
Already one sheet to the wind by the time I walked in, Marie greeted me with a squeal. She could be a bit loud. Worse when she was drunk. I loved her, anyway. She had saved my life, literally. I'd do anything for her. She was a tattooed, pierced, opinionated, vegan dynamo. Skinny, busty, foul-mouthed, with a limitless heart and hair that changed colors on a weekly basis. Today it was pink-ish, to match the cosmos. Beautiful and loud, she attracted plenty of attention from the group of frat boys sitting at the next table.
I proceeded to catch up to her, alcohol-wise, and grilled her about her recent activities. By the time I had downed cosmo number three and had ordered cosmo number four, I had told her everything about Ryan. Everything.
I thought that her shriek could be heard on the moon.
"YOU SLUT!" she screamed. The closest frat boys leaned in to listen.
My heart stopped. Ohmigod. She was right. I was a slut. I didn't know anything about him, and I had slept with him.
Wait. A misnomer. There was no sleeping involved.
No bed either, for that matter.
Correction: I had sex with him, standing up, and I'd barely spoken three sentences to him. Total slut.
Fuck.
Still.
Lawyer instincts kicked in, and I defended myself.
"I am the farthest thing away from a slut."
"I KNOW!" she yelled.
"And there's nothing wrong with being a slut."
"I KNOW!" she yelled.
"So why are you yelling?" I yelled back at her.
"I DON'T KNOW!" she yelled.
I was getting nowhere but drunker and drunker. The frat boys looked at each other, and at us, like they were going to speak, but instead they just grinned identically. Shit.
But then it dawned on me: I was banging the pool guy, so to speak. He just happened to be a surf bum/coffee shop manager, instead of the pool guy/gardener/plumber/repair guy/fireman, but I still belonged in bad eighties porn. Professional woman gets all her bedroom fantasies fulfil
led by laborer. Now I know that's not a very nice thing to think. I've already admitted that I'm a snob. But this made me feel like I was using Ryan just to get over my depression. And if he was the pool guy, then I'm just using him.
Here's the good part about being a lawyer: I know how to argue.
Here's the bad part about being a lawyer: I know how to argue. Even with myself.
The "I'm a slut, I'm not a slut, it's not wrong to be a slut anyway" tug-of-war continued, for a while, in my brain, and then I resolved it, definitively. Well, definitively, for now. As definitive as I could be after four cosmos and while ordering a fifth.
"Marie, he's a gorgeous guy and I’m attracted to him. He's the sexiest thing I've ever seen. I want to see him again."
"Then do it," she said drunkenly, in a slightly lower decibel level than before.
I was so glad that we got that settled. The waitress delivered our drinks.
"I love you," I told her drunkenly and mushily.
"I love you too," she slurred back at me. The guys at the next table leaned closer to see what was going to happen next.
A few hours later, the bar called a taxi for me and I went to bed.
HOSPITAL SMELLS.
Bright lights.
A needle injecting me.
I can't feel anything.
The bright lights again.
I'm crying out.
I woke up in a sweat, frantic, looking around, but I was in my bed and there was no one else there.
The next day, I decided to call in sick, nurse my hangover, and meet with my therapist. While I waited for the time to leave for my appointment, I fired up my e-reader and started reading one of the erotic novels that Christian Gray had recommended for me. I realized something as I read the incredibly hot book: I’d never known that it was okay to get my panties wet. It happened to the heroine four times in the book. I’d never known that was normal. My mother used to tell me to bathe myself with a washcloth so I wouldn't ever touch myself. I thought that feeling turned on was a bad thing.
The Sun and the Moon (Giving You ... #1) Page 5
