Revue

by K. M. Golland

  “Am I?” My question and serious tone hinted at more than the sex we were having.

  He nodded. “Yeah, you are.”

  Relief washed over me, as everything about him spelled sincere, from the SIN on his lips, to the CERE in his eyes. And for the first time since dropping my guard with Josh, I felt the decision to do so was the correct one.

  “Okay then.” My head fell to rest upon his, and I pressed light kisses to his lips as I slowly eased myself up and down his cock, feeling every tight, wet, and warm slide within.

  “Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned, slipping his tongue into my mouth.

  They played, our tongues, lapping, stroking and licking. In that moment, they said what words couldn’t. They said ‘this feels perfect’ and ‘I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else’. They also said that what we were embarking on was exciting and tasted rather good—a bit like crème brûlée.

  Sitting straighter, I placed my hands on his shoulders and rode him quicker, water sloshing out of the bath and onto the floor. We didn’t care, though. All we cared about was what our bodies were doing, what they were feeling and how they pushed, pulled, tightened and buzzed. All we cared about was finally giving in to what we both wanted.

  “Jesus, Corinne,” Josh gritted out, the building pleasure seeping from his mouth and eyes. He leaned forward and took my nipple between his lips, stretching it greedily.

  I moaned. His mouth and what it could do made me delirious—my breasts loved him. “Oh God!”

  His thrusting quickened, our objective, the same: pounding, lots of deep, continuous pounding. And an orgasm … a real good one.

  “Harder. Yes!” I cried out, his lips muting my vocal climax.

  He too, cried out, his warm cum spilling into me as hands gripped—frenzied and undecided—holding and clawing wherever we could grab. His body. My body. The water, warmth and desperation for air, it was all too much.

  “Holy shit!” I gasped, panting profusely.

  Josh mumbled against my mouth, his hot, heavy breaths delightful. “Sweetheart, you want control all the time? You can have it!”

  I laughed and pulled away, my eyes playfully narrowing. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  He shrugged unapologetically, so I gave him an impish glare, before my sight caught the dessert plate just off to our side, a mini cheesecake calling my name. I reached out and picked it up, but as I did, Josh darted forward and ate the whole thing from my hand.

  “Hey! I was looking forward to that.”

  He winked. “Thanks.”

  Grouching, I chose a fruit tart instead and took a bite. “Well, at least your parents taught you manners,” I mumbled, as I assessed what I’d just bitten into.

  Josh scoffed. “My parents taught me fuck all. Actually no, they did teach me one thing.”

  My eyes darted to his. I was shocked at the disdain he showed toward his Mum and Dad. “What did they teach you?” I asked, my tone soft and curious. I didn’t want to come across as nosey.

  “That love is bullshit. They’re fucking proof of that.” His hurt-filled words stung like a bee.

  I placed the other half of my fruit tart in his mouth, letting him also taste my finger. “So you don’t get along?”

  “No,” he mumbled.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault, sweetheart.” Josh reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “Not even mine.”

  His gesture was romantic and caring, and I couldn’t help but catch his hand before he withdrew it, bringing it to my lips and placing a sweet kiss on it. “When did you speak to them last?”

  “The day I told them what I did for a living.”

  Josh avoided my gaze, his voice devoid of all emotion. Or at least that’s what I think he was aiming for. The fact he couldn’t look me in the eye, together with his slumped shoulders, suggested he was trying to mask his true feelings of hurt, abandonment and betrayal. My heart broke for him.

  “I don’t really care. They can both get fucked.”

  “Josh—”

  “Don’t, Corinne,” he said, his tone firm, eyes firmer.

  I nodded, and dropped my gaze to my belly, watching how the bubbles on the surface of the water magnetised to my skin when I exhaled my surrender.

  “Look,” he said, tilting my chin back up. “It’s done. They’re dead to me as I am to them. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want any pity, so lose that Bambi’s-mum-just-got-shot look.” He pinched my nipple—an unsportsmanlike distraction.

  “Ow!”

  I pinched his—an eye for an eye.

  He chuckled and kissed me. “It’s all good, sweetheart. Honest.”

  Honest, my arse.

  “Do you have siblings?” I asked, not wanting the Josh Discovery Channel to end. Hearing him so candid made me feel … special, special that he would share this personal side of himself.

  “Nope. Only child, thank fuck.”

  Again, his faux bravado saddened me. The rift with his parents had obviously cut him deep. It was rejection in its purest form. Rejection … shit! No wonder he was the way he was, why he didn’t do commitment or relationships—he was afraid of being rejected. Wow! His parents must’ve really done a number on him. Fuckwits. I hated people like that: self-absorbed, intolerant, narrow-minded arse-wipes. They were the reason the world harboured so much hate and indifference. Dissimilarity is precious. It should be nurtured, respected and embraced, not shamed upon and denoted. How dare they?

  It angered me that his parents felt otherwise, that their perception of what he should and shouldn’t be outweighed their bond and love for him. Take away Josh’s sordid reputation and womanising ways—both things I now understood yet certainly didn’t excuse—and he was a wonderful person. A giving, strong, funny guy whom, underneath his conceited exterior, was kind-hearted and vulnerable. Josh Adams had a heart, one he was protecting just as much as the rest of us.

  My parents and brother meant the world to me, and I couldn’t fathom a life without them, let alone imagine any of the three being anything but accepting and supportive. It pained me that Josh didn’t have the same love and support when clearly it was something he wanted. Yes, my heart now officially bled for him, and when my heart bled, my determination increased.

  “Stop!” he said, shifting underneath me. He clasped both of my legs, which were resting on either side of his hips, and raised them directly in the air in between us.

  I was all of a sudden a fucking gymnast. “What … what are you doing … Josh?” I squealed.

  He spun me around with ease so that I was facing away from him and nestled in between his legs. “I can’t stand you looking at me with sad pathetic eyes. Nobody looks at me like that.”

  I turned my head to explain that I didn’t pity him, that I pitied his parents for what they gave up, but he caught my head and turned it to face forward again.

  “Josh! Let me—”

  “No. Pass me the body wash.”

  Huffing my annoyance, I scooted forward, collected the little bottle and gently tossed it over my shoulder at him. Hopefully he had reflexes like a cat.

  He did.

  “Is that any way to treat a man who just gave you not one, but four orgasms?”

  “I counted two,” I retorted.

  He pulled me back so that I was lying on his chest. Then, nibbling my ear lobe and dropping his hand in between my legs, his thumb rubbing small circles on my clit, he asked, “You sure ’bout that?”

  “Fine. It was four,” I grouched, sitting upright again and deliberately pulling his hand away. Four was enough … for now. “My back needs cleaning.” The cheeky smile on my face was hidden from his view. Good thing, that was, as I needed to remain strong around him. He was far too good looking—with an incredible smile and cock—to be allowed the upper hand.

  Waiting for him to do as I requested, I smiled when I heard the pop of the bottle’s lid. The next thing I knew, his soapy hands were on my back and shoulders, rubbing, kneadi
ng, and causing all kinds of wonderful feels.

  “I don’t mind cleaning you after I’ve made you filthy dirty, sweetheart.”

  I bit my lip and shrugged, still playing my game. “I wasn’t that dirty.”

  His hands slid from my shoulders to my breasts, and I could practically feel the impressed grin he wore, as his thorough cleaning continued—massaging the soapy lather over every centimetre of my skin. The slide of his hand over my hardened mounds and the silky feel of his skating fingertips were pure bliss.

  My head fell back.

  Josh then dropped his hands farther, gliding over my belly under the water’s surface. I knew where they were headed; the man was just insatiable. Could I go for orgasm number five?

  Yes, more than likely, yes.

  Relaxing my legs, I let them fall apart but nearly sat bolt upright when his finger dipped past my pussy and lightly pressed on the opening of my arse. “I can make you a whole lot dirtier if you like?”

  I tensed.

  Holy crap! He says all the things, makes me feel all the things. He IS all the things.

  Son-of-a-bitch!

  I wasn’t opposed to a bit of arse-play, because Steve had been a big fan—maybe too much. It was just that any part of Josh being inserted into that spot was definitely past the act of going slow. I’d breached my own set of boundaries already, but this one was staying put.

  Placing my hand on his, I lifted it and settled it on my tummy. “I do like, but not now. I’m in control, remember?”

  He chuckled, tightened his arms around me in a bear hug, and kissed my neck. “I like you.”

  I smiled, tension easing. “I like you too.”

  ***

  After the bath, we’d lain in bed and watched Zoolander, laughing our arses off until we both fell asleep. Strangely enough, the awkwardness that usually accompanied the first time of ‘sleeping’ together just wasn’t there. We’d cuddled naturally then parted mutually when sleep was about to take hold. I could honestly say I’d never felt more comfortable … until morning, when I woke, feeling as if I were inside an incinerator. At some point in the night or morning, Josh had morphed into a human hot-water bottle and had quite happily taken up residency on top of me. What the fuck?

  I was lying there like a deer in headlights, except I was sprawled out like a starfish, and I swear my body was about to self-combust. “Josh,” I whispered, whispering because his dead weight was restricting my vocal abilities.

  He groaned and stirred, but the bastard didn’t wake up.

  I tried shoving him. Fail. Then I looked for body hair to pluck. Fail—the bastard didn’t have any. All that was left for me to do in my current state was a good ol’ fashioned wet willy, so, preening my neck, I performed an awesome T-Rex impersonation by bending what part of my arm I could in order to reach my mouth and suck on my finger. It was awkward as hell, but I managed it.

  Next was perfecting said T-Rex arms by lining up my finger with his ear.

  I aimed.

  I waited.

  I fired.

  Score!

  Wet willy affirmative.

  Waking of Josh … fail. Prick.

  Sighing in defeat, I looked up at the ceiling—because I couldn’t really look anywhere else—and realised I’d just have to experience internal combustion for however long it took Mr Sleepy McSleepy to wake up.

  Screw that. Not wanting to give up, I tried one last time to move him and accidentally grazed my knee against his cock, which was when my Cori light-bulb went off. I shall wake thee by way of cock grazing. Yes!

  Accidentally(not), I grazed some more, and some more, until my knee was rubbing a hard mound.

  “If you want to fuck, sweetheart, you just need to ask,” he mumbled, his voice all sleepy and sexy. “But feel free to keep going. Good job.”

  I strained to speak. “Oh, hello. Nice of you to join me. Now get the fuck off.”

  He lifted his bed-hair head and gave me a confused tilt. “Good morning to you too.”

  “Body. Heavy. Crushing. Hot,” I struggled to say.

  He furrowed his forehead then raised his eyebrows. “Shit!” Rolling backwards, he took me with him, my body now lying on top of his. “Better?”

  Oh, the joy of freedom. “Yes, better,” I sighed, leisurely.

  The morning sunlight filtering into the room through the gap in the curtains reflected on his eyes, their gleam just gorgeous. It was magnetising, drawing me forward to gift him a lazy morning kiss—bad breath and all. I didn’t care. It was his punishment for trying to cook me.

  The kiss deepened, and I got the sneaking suspicion that he was more than happy with what I was doing, and that my ‘punishment’ was more a ‘present’. Damn it!

  Feeling his already aroused cock against my belly harden even further, my insides sparked to life. I was ready to have him again, wanted to have him again. A highly sexed-up woman wasn’t normally what I would describe myself to be. In fact, BOB had kept me happy for quite sometime. But fuck me … when around Josh … I could most definitely be the spokesperson for Horny Goat Weed.

  Releasing his mouth, my look was nothing but amorous as I shuffled down his body and under the sheet, my destination ... the Loch Ness monster.

  ***

  After blowing his mind and balls, we showered and said our goodbyes, Josh heading back to his room and me preparing for a phone conversation with my brother. I hadn’t spoken to Tom since the day after Josh smashed my camera, and I was desperate to see how he was going.

  Dialling his mobile, I kicked back on my funky black-and-white striped room chair, and casually crossed my ankles on the matching ottoman as I waited for him to answer the call.

  “Thomas Lee, Stunt Driver Extraordinaire,” my brother answered, his singsong voice that of an idiot’s.

  I shook my head and smiled. “If you were so extraordinary, you wouldn’t have broken your hip.”

  “Hello, dear sister,” the pompous drone continued. “How’s the sex-dance photography going?”

  “How’s not being able to walk properly going?”

  “Harsh. So harsh.”

  “Oh stop it, big baby, you did this to yourself.”

  “You’re so mean. And no, I didn’t. The ground did this to me.”

  “Thomas the Tank,” I said, rolling my eyes and calling him the nickname I’d called him since we were kids. “Stop blaming the earth and take responsibility for your daredevil ways.”

  “Never!”

  God, I missed him. Before his accident, we saw each other daily at the studio. He was my shadow, and for as long as I could remember, always had been. Tom was younger than me by two years, your typical, mischievous little brother: smelly, annoying, and a thief who never stopped eating. He was also my favourite person in the world, and one brilliant photographer.

  “How you holding up?” I asked, all joking aside.

  “You want the truth or the not-so-truth?”

  “All truths.”

  “My fucking arse hurts, my legs itch like hell, it’s hard to wank and I miss being behind a camera.”

  Too. Much. Information.

  “Thanks for that.”

  “You ask, you receive.”

  “There’s no reason why you can’t take pics, hon. You’ve got crutches. Book a shoot in the studio and see how you go. I’m sure Mum will drive you and help you out.”

  “Are you even listening to yourself?”

  I smiled and looked out of the window to the view of Sydney Harbour. The sun was shining, a bright glare reflecting from the water’s surface. It was a beautiful day. “She’s not that bad, Tom. Give her a break.”

  “She’s not that bad?” he asked, his voice raising an octave or two. “Cori, she’s ironing my jocks!”

  I laughed again. “You should give her a medal for that. I would.”

  “Okay, try this then … Shelly came over yesterday to watch a movie with me. Mum made us fairy bread. Fairy fucking bread! You know, slices of bread with butter and
sprinkles … that you have at a child’s birthday party! I swear to God, she doesn’t want me to find a wife and breed like rabbits so that I can gift her grandchildren. Because if she did, she wouldn’t make me and my girlfriend fucking fairy bread.”

  Oh, the ache in my tummy from uncontrollable laughter. Mum certainly was a meddler. She meant well, but damn did she stick to us kids like shit to a shovel.

  I’d managed to escape the family nest early on, but poor Tom was a glutton for punishment, choosing to stay at home a while longer.

  “Sorry, but you won’t get any sympathy from me. How’s Shell, by the way?”

  “Good. But she thinks my cock broke in the accident, too.”

  “Tom! She does not. And I don’t want to talk about your cock.”

  “It’s killing me. I need to—”

  “Right, busy day ahead. Just wanted to check in on you. You seem fine so, I’ll get going—”

  “Is that dickhead being good to you?”

  His question caught me off-guard. “Who? Josh? Why?”

  “Is he behaving and treating you better?”

  “Yes, of course he is. It was just a misunderstanding, Tom. When he smashed my camera, it was an accident.”

  Lies.

  Tom’s tone of voice turned stern. Protective. God bless him. “Good! Just be on the alert with him, Cori. He’s a loose cannon.”

  I kept my gaze on the flurry of activity—fifteen floors below—despite my thoughts now turning to Josh and how it felt to lay in his arms. “Tom, that’s a bit harsh. You don’t know him.”

  “I know enough. I did my research too, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. But these guys are not who they appear to be. Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

  He yawned. “I don’t read. You know that.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I really gotta go. Take it easy. I miss you.”

  “You too, Sis. And email me some of the shots you’ve taken. I want to see whether my replacement is doing me justice.”

  “Will do. Love you, and remember … be nice to Mum.”

  “Whatevs. Love you too.”

  I disconnected the call, feeling a little homesick. I missed my friends and family … even Mum. And I all of a sudden wanted some fairy bread.