Have you ever done one? Ever?
Amelia?
Hel-lo?
No.
Then, girl, I love you, but what do you know?
At this point, I have no idea.
Look, do whatever you want. But he'll thank you for it. You may surprise yourself and get something out of it too.
Don't you think it is, I don't know, demeaning? Being on your knees? Sucking some guy's Iditarod?
Fuck, you're messed up. No. Not with the right guy. It's a gift for him and for you. Find out what it means to really turn someone else on.
And not sure an Alaskan husky race reference is appropriate in this circumstance. Can't you just say "rod"?
[Muttering] I'll think about it.
Are you agreeing to think about giving poor, suffering, surfer hottie Ryan a blow job? Or thinking about properly referring to a guy's junk through socially-established euphemisms?
Both.
Hmm. A gift for Ryan.
Friday evening, I opened the door of my little home to let Ryan in after a long week of work. Before I could help myself, I tackled him. Mouth on his. Tongue in his mouth. Hands in his hair. Body pressed up to him.
He tackled me back, hands on my ass, leaning down and kissing me like we hadn't seen each other in a week.
Well, we hadn't. Or at least not since Tuesday.
I broke apart and he growled, low in his throat, and I grabbed his hand and pulled him into my hallway. He followed me down the hallway toward my bedroom. I didn't touch him, didn't look at him. Instead I just pulled my shirt off over my head. I could tell by the soft "swoosh" noise that he had followed suit. Then my pants were off and, again, I could tell, so were his. We left a trail of clothes in the hallway, leading up to the bedroom. Talk about zero to undressed in ten seconds. I still was wearing my underwear, and he was in his boxers, but I knew that wouldn't last long.
Looking back and leaning up to kiss him, I saw his erect cock tenting his boxers, and it was just the sexiest thing.
I kissed him lightly, and then exhaled, "Hi."
"Hi," he exhaled back, letting his finger trail down my nose and bop it on the end.
"Let me do something," I suggested, and pressed him into the bed.
I had thought long and hard about this.
Ha, hard. No pun intended.
Focus, Amelia.
But one of the things on my list was no oral sex. On me or on him.
Ryan had shattered the "on me" part of my Rule a while ago. And he may, or may not have continued to shatter it on a regular basis, whenever we were together. But thinking about it, on him, I finally realized that giving a guy a blow job meant more than what I had thought—at least to me. As I've said, I had thought that it was one, gross, and two, subjugating myself to a guy. Since being with him, however, I'd had a change in heart and learned a few things. If any guy deserved me going down on him, it was the Sun God. I'm no drunken whore in a club, blowing some guy for drugs. I adore the guy. But I wanted to try this my way. And I really wanted to see if I could make him crazy, in a good way.
I would admit that I was really nervous because I had never done it before—and the nerves were from wanting to make it good for him. I wanted, simply, to give him pleasure.
I looked at him on the bed, looking up at me with undisguised carnal intent. It was a good look on him. Almost as good as wet. I walked to the side of the bed and grabbed some pillows and put them under his head.
"Get comfy," I ordered.
"Okay," he breathed out.
Wearing just my panties and bra, I straddled him and kissed him, again, this time slowly and sweetly. He reached for me and I said, "Nuh-uh-uh. My turn."
He grinned and raised an eyebrow.
"I know you're all in-charge, competitive, surfer guy, but let me do something on your mellow, surfer guy side, okay. For you? For me?"
"Sure thing."
I kissed my way down from his lips to his jaw, and then to his earlobe, sucking on it gently. I could feel his cock twitch between my legs, against my panties, the muscles responsive. I sucked on his neck a little bit harder, kissed my way to his collarbone, then looked up into his eyes. His gorgeous green eyes were watching me, totally turned on, intense, and a little amused.
"What are you going to do?" he asked, teasing.
"A little of this and that," I said coyly, against his skin, making my way down his glorious muscular torso, holding onto his narrow hips. I licked each of his nipples and ran my tongue down the middle of his washboard abs to his belly button.
That was where the happy trail began. Right under the waistband of his black boxers. I stuck my nose in his navel, raised up from where I was straddling him, and yanked his boxers down, freeing his cock, which was right below me.
I paused for a moment.
"You know I've never done this before."
I looked up at him and he looked very serious. "Yeah," he said in a throaty voice, "but I think you'll do fine."
I moved so that I could pull his boxers all the way off, and then started up his body, letting my fingers walk up his thighs. I stared, fascinated at his curly, but manscaped, pubic hair, and his impressive cock. He smelled like he had just taken a shower, all clean and Ryan-y. I ran my fingers through his hair and gently let the tips of my fingers pass over his balls. His cock twitched again, big time.
Heh heh, yeah, it was big.
Focus.
I lowered myself down so that his cock was between my breasts, and looked up at him.
"Christ," he croaked out.
I smiled and looked down, opened my mouth, and took his cock in, once, all the way down, as far as I could go, and then back out with a pop. The skin on his cock felt so soft and so satiny smooth on my lips and my tongue, even though underneath he was so hard. The tip of his cock was pointed. I decided to try swirling my tongue around it, and he groaned an "Uhmmmmmmmmm." He liked that.
I read in a magazine that guys like the part just under the head stimulated. So I used my tongue and teased it, flicking it, looking up at him, my eyes locked on his as he rested on my pillows. Next I ran my tongue around the tip some more and then decided to take him again, all the way down, into my mouth. I had to look down to do this, so I tore my gaze from his and went down with my mouth, taking as much as I could. Then I pulled my lips together, sucked, and went off the top with a pop. Then I took him again. And again. Sucking slowly, I used my hand to help. And then I looked up into his eyes again.
I realized, as I looked at him and listened to the noises that he was making, that I loved this. I loved turning him on. It was massively turning me on to make him feel good. And it was turning me on to give him something. Thinking this was demeaning or not feminist? I was so off-base. It had nothing to do with either of those two things.
I focused my attention on him, trying to think of ways that he would feel good. Sucking, licking, stroking, lavishing attention on him, lost in the moment, caressing him gently, teasing, giving pleasure.
And I realized, in the middle of this, that I was not just breaking a Rule. I was, yet again, opening up and he was opening up to me. In this position he was totally vulnerable. I could hurt him in this position, not the least by biting.
Of course I never would. But it was powerful to think that I could caress him and give him affection, and that this was paradoxically freeing me.
I had thought that it would be demeaning.
I was so wrong. This was the essence of love, distilled into an act: devoting yourself to another person's care. I wanted to take care of him. Poor motherless boy. Sexy, lovely man. I wanted to make him feel good. Feel amazing. Feel loved.
As I continued, I could tell that something changed. His cock swelled even bigger. I could feel a vein start to throb. I thought that he was getting close.
"Stop now, if you don't want me to come in your mouth," he panted.
I looked up at him, and smiled around his cock. I’d decided before I’d even started, that I was staying
with him the whole way through, and I was swallowing. I sucked harder, moved my hand faster, and gave him all of the attention I could.
I could feel his cum building up before it was released with a shudder, a pumping. Warm, sweet, but slightly bitter liquid, in my mouth. It tasted like sex, and I swallowed it down. It was no big deal to swallow.
But it was a huge deal to give him head. I felt quite accomplished and proud of myself.
He hauled me up him by my armpits and buried himself in my neck, me on top, him, breathing hard still, on the bottom.
"You're a liar."
I looked at him, confused.
"That was not your first time."
"Yeah, it was."
"It was the best I ever had.”
I smiled. "I'm an overachiever," I said saucily. And then I muttered the truth: "Maybe that was because I really wanted to do it."
He shook his head, not believing me. Then he grabbed me, rolled me over on to my back, and said, "Now it's my turn."
And he proceeded to rock my world.
Rule #4 was broken, people.
Pop Rocks
BY 9:45 ON HALLOWEEN night, the following Friday, all of the trick-or-treaters had ceased ringing my doorbell and asking for candy. Ryan had come over to help pass out candy and now gazed at me, with an undecipherable, but intent, look on his face. I went to the front door to turn off the porch light, signaling that we were closed for business.
"Amelia."
I looked at him. We had spoken on the phone or texted every day that week, and he had spent the night on Wednesday night, leaving super early in the morning to get to Southwinds the next morning. It felt like we couldn't get enough of each other, and we were spending as much time with each other as we could. But both of us were busy at work—me with my new case and him with running a business—and I was really looking forward to a quiet, long weekend with him.
Neither one of us had dressed up for Halloween, although we had felt the Halloween spirit, such that it was, by checking out the dozens of Disney princesses and ninjas who had knocked on my door. We watched Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part II and ate dinner in the pauses between visitors.
Every time the doorbell rang, he answered the door with me, talking with the kids, asking them about their costumes or how many more houses they were going to go to, and generally being an active participant in the process. This had the added bonus of him kissing me every time I closed the door. Score! In my neighborhood, there were a lot of families and a lot of kids, so we were up and answering the door all night long. Just so you know, that's a lot of sucking tongue with Ryan. No complaints.
But now the stream of ankle-biters had finally petered out and the doorbell had stopped ringing for about a half hour. I raised my eyebrows at him. He raised his eyebrows back and said, "I think we need to cross the rest of your rules off your list, tonight."
I burst out laughing. And then I immediately felt a pulse run through my body at the thrill of his words. Dammit, Ryan. He still had this effect on me. But of course I couldn't let him get away with a pronouncement like that, even if I was ready to at least try it.
"Oh you do, do you?" I sassed back.
"How many rules have you broken?" he countered.
I thought about it for a moment and then answered, "1, 2, 3, 4, 7, and 10, with likely 6 and 9 gone too."
He rolled his eyes. "That doesn't help, babe. Nobody but you has this crazy sex list memorized. Name the ones we’ve broken."
"Rule 1. We have sex in the light."
He smiled. "As it should be. Well, maybe we'll have to have a go at it in total darkness, just for contrast."
I considered this. Feeling my way around Ryan instead of seeing where I was going. Running my fingers down his … Yeah, that would be fun. Time to consider putting a Rule back on the list for the sake of completeness. I started to tell him the next Rule, and said aloud, "Rule 2," and then remembered, oh shit, that's "no masturbation." Of course, being Ryan, he totally figured it out from the panicked look on my face, and shook his head.
"Doesn't count," he pronounced.
"What do you mean?"
"Look, I mean, it's good that you broke this ridiculous ‘no masturbation’ rule, but I haven't seen it. I've seen a picture of your magic wand, and I expect to see you show me how it works. I want to see you make yourself come. Put it on the list for tonight."
"Does that count as a toy?"
"Sure."
"Then that's breaking Rule 6."
He nodded his head as if to say, "Fair enough."
"Okay, shit, you're better at dirty talk than I am, Ryan, okay, Rule 3, um, doggy style, done, Rule—"
"—we're not even close to 'done' with doggy style, but point taken."
"Rule 4, no oral sex," I continued—
"—same." Fuck. Now I was thinking about doggy style and oral sex with him. Not necessarily a bad thing.
"Rule 7, no spending the night and Rule 10, uh, terminology, have been long gone."
He nodded gravely, pretending to be serious. Bastard.
"And you talk dirty sometimes, so that's Rule 9."
"I haven't even started to talk dirty to you," he replied in that low rumble.
Oh shit, what was I getting myself into?
"Ooh-kay," I said. "Well, feel free to break it whenever you like. I figured you already had. So the, uh, not broken ones," I stuttered out. He nodded.
"No submission, no loss of control, nothing demeaning."
"I can see why those are on your list," said Ryan, surprising me. "Some people don't like to be submissive. Or dominant. And I can see why you would not want to do anything demeaning. Frankly, I wouldn't really get off on making you do anything truly demeaning."
I let out a breath of air that I didn't know I was holding. But then he continued.
"Still, for completeness sake, just to get out all of this shit you've been carrying around, I think we should just go for it."
Eyes wide open, breath stopped, body frozen, hands trembling. Mine, that is. He seemed fine. Damn voodoo. It still affected me. At least I could talk.
Maybe.
"What?" I asked him.
"Look, I'm not saying I want to tie you up and fuck you …. Well. Hmm." He paused. Then he went on. "You know how I am. I say what I want us to do in the bedroom. I don't hold back. But it's hot for you to take control too. Or at least to try to," he teased.
I rolled my eyes at him.
"It might be a different kind of pleasure than I'm normally into, but I think we should try it. And take turns. Think of it as a bedroom game. And if either of us wants to stop, we stop."
Confused, I asked, "What do you mean?"
"I mean, we try it where you submit to me, and then we switch and I submit to you. You have total control over me and I have total control over you. Both of us trust each other not to hurt the other person. Right?" I nodded. "And, while like I say, I'm not really into it as a lifestyle, a little bit of play never hurt."
He continued, "This isn't real BDSM, Amelia. This is just seeing what it feels like to be bossed around in a sexual way. If you're not into it, I won't make you do it, but I'm wondering what it feels like on both sides."
"You haven't done this?"
"Not really," he answered.
So, I had thought about this before, when I had texted Ryan earlier this month about not doing anything demeaning. I still didn't want to do it. But I had also experienced the fact that what I thought something would feel like with Ryan in my imagination, often felt different in real life, and what it really felt like with him, was normally fucking awesome.
"Okay," I squeaked. "You first." Then I held my breath, again, and waited for what he would do.
A subtle change came over Ryan, as he stood up a little straighter and looked me in the eyes.
"Bedroom. Now," he said with authority.
I started to turn and walk away from him and he stopped me. "I think you forgot something."
My
eyes widened and I looked at him, totally confused. What the fuck was he talking about?
"If I'm in control, you call me 'Sir.'"
This. This was the problem.
No fucking way was I ever calling him Sir. No fucking way was I ever calling anyone Sir, if I could get away with it.
No. Fucking. Way.
I shook my head. "I can't do this, Ryan."
It seemed like he was trying to hold back laughter. "So this is as far as we get, huh? We're stopping?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want to keep going? Do you want to trade places?"
I had a vision of making Ryan crawl across the room to me, naked, gorgeous ass in the air, shoulders tilting to the ground, while I wore a Dominatrix outfit and held a whip. The thing was, I didn't really want to do that to him. I didn't like feeling like he was dominant over me and I didn't really want to be dominant over him. I liked feeling like we were partners, and he was just the leader, or guide, in the bedroom, at least most of the time.
So I started talking: "In just that short period of time, I felt humiliation, relief, turned on, disgusted, and worried where my sweet Ryan was. I don't want to be humiliated. I don't want to humiliate you. I just want to feel good. I know we're just playing and I know I'm stupid and I know that I'm taking it too seriously, but I felt like I didn't like it. At all."
He pulled me into his arms. "I meant it when I said that you didn't have to do it. And I meant it when I said that I would let you do it to me."
"I don't want to do this, Ryan."
"So we're going to keep 'nothing demeaning' on your list."
"Yeah."
He smiled. I had my Ryan back. Phew.
"It's your list, babe. Keep whatever you want on it. My job is just to push you on it, but push back if you want. So, you done for the night or can we keep going?"
"So, I had an idea."
Ryan looked at me in interest.
"What kind of idea?"
"A sexual idea."
"All ears, Movie Star."
"So I've been reading a few well-written, excellent, high quality, literary books."
"Smut?" he teased.
"Yeah. Well, a couple of them had food fantasies involving whipped cream, or chocolate sauce, or peanut butter, and licking it off of each other."
The Sun and the Moon (Giving You ... #1) Page 15
