Muscle Memory

by Stylo Fantome

  He was actually a little nervous. Was she high? Was she with someone? Was she with a guy? Was she hurt?

  “This game is super cute, but we're done here,” he said, and before the girlfriend brigade could reply, he simply picked up the blonde chick and deposited her behind him.

  He stepped into the pantry, then fell short. Delaney was sitting on the floor and she was surrounded by snacks. An open bag of Oreos was in her lap, and a bag of Goldfish Crackers was next to her. A whole smorgasbord of ungodly goodness spread away from her feet.

  “Nooooo,” she moaned, hugging the Oreos to her chest. “I don't want to share!”

  Jay barked out a laugh, then bent down and grabbed her by the arms. She squirmed for a moment, then let him pull her to her feet.

  “So greedy!” he teased, fighting with her to get at the treats.

  “Can you believe Crash has all this stuff!? He's been holding out on us!” she said, finally offering him a cookie.

  “Where did you find it all?”

  “It was just out in the open, behind the door over there, the one with the lock on it.”

  Broken lock, she must have meant. He laughed again when he took in the hanging hinge and padlock. She'd probably kicked in the door, hoping to find a good hiding spot, but had instead found Crash's secret stash of goodies.

  “You're awful, you know that? How stoned are you right now?” he asked, looking into her eyes. They were clear and bright.

  “Not even a little,” she replied. “I found all these snackies and was good.”

  “Yeah, I'm sober, too. But we can fix that,” he assured her, then he started to reach for his pocket.

  “No, wait! First, let's go dance,” she insisted, dropping the Oreos and grabbing him by the hand.

  “What? No, I told you, Del. I don't dance,” he reminded her.

  “Tonight, you do. C'mon! It's dark in there, no one can see you!” she said, dragging him into the living room.

  Some techno remix of a current hit was blasting through the house, the heavy bass making the windows shake. He could barely hear himself think, let alone listen to what she was saying. But she was smiling and she was happy, so he smiled, and he was happy.

  She held onto his hand and started moving to the rhythm. Singing along to the lyrics. She would dance close to him, pressing her body tantalizingly against his for a second, then she would dance away. Rub shoulders with another happy party-goer. Laugh at some wasted dude wearing a tutu. Then she'd be close again and he could smell her perfume surrounding him.

  The next time she danced against him, he put an arm around her waist and held her close.

  “You're a good dancer,” he said in her ear. She nodded, circling her hips against him.

  “I know,” she replied, and he shivered when he felt her hand sliding up his back, underneath his t-shirt. They'd only been seriously dating for a couple weeks, and they didn't often spend time alone together. Usually it was party after party, or she was at school, or at work, or he was wasted on someone's couch and didn't answer his phone.

  But tonight, he was very sober and very present and thinking very clearly.

  “I don't want to be here anymore,” he said loudly.

  “Where else would you rather be?”

  “Anywhere alone with you.”

  It was as simple as that, apparently. So much for playing it cool all those weeks. She simply nodded and walked away, still holding his hand. He followed in her wake, moving up the stairs behind her. She must have planned it all out, he realized later, because she took him to the only empty room in the house. Crash's bedroom.

  Jay stood in the open doorway while she wandered into the room. He wasn't sure what was going on – was she getting her jacket? A purse?

  “How long were you gonna take to make a move?” she asked him, her voice just barely audible over the music. He chuckled and leaned against the door frame.

  “A while,” he was honest. She walked over to the bed, which was just a single mattress on the floor with some blankets and pillows scattered on top of it.

  “Why?”

  “I don't know. You just ... you're a good girl, Del. I didn't want to rush it or fuck it up or freak you out.”

  “Hmmm, maybe I like it fast,” she said, turning around to face him.

  “Thank god.”

  “Jay,” she said, unbuttoning her pants.

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut the goddamn door.”

  He kicked the door shut behind him and quickly locked it before storming across the room. She'd barely gotten her last button open before he was crashing into her. He held her face in his hands and kissed her without any hesitation.

  She moaned and he felt her nails raking down his back. Then she was pushing and shoving at his jacket and he had to let her go so the material could fall to the floor.

  “God, I was beginning to think this would never happen,” she groaned as she pressed her whole body to his.

  “Hey, this is a modern world, you know. You could've made the moves on me,” he pointed out while he toed off his shoes.

  “I did, jack ass. If I hadn't, we'd still be downstairs dancing,” she laughed, pulling at his t-shirt.

  They stumbled around the room in their hurry to get undressed. Pushing and pulling at each others clothing. She sat up on the dresser while he struggled to pull off her ridiculously tight pants. She giggled and leaned back against a mirror till he'd finally yanked the material free from her feet.

  “God, Del, your body,” he groaned, moving to stand between her parted legs. She was in her underwear, just a simple black bra and matching cotton panties. She was a small girl, but shapely and proportional. Rounded and soft.

  “Your body,” she whispered, trailing her fingers down his chest and stomach. His lifestyle and his genetics kept him lean, and his living habits kept him tone. When he wasn't stoned out of his mind, he was always walking, always running, always moving.

  “You sure you want to do this here? Good girls don't usually get fucked in a random bedroom at a drug fueled party,” he teased, planting his hands on the dresser and kissing his way along her shoulder.

  “Good girls are boring. I love getting fucked in random bedrooms,” she informed him as she tugged at his pants.

  “Wait, how many times have you been fucked in -”

  He was cut off by her hand on his dick. No, she most definitely was not a good girl, he decided. She was fucking bad, and he loved it. He moaned as she started stroking him, making him even harder.

  “I think we have more important things to worry about right now,” she breathed in his ear.

  You're goddamn right.

  It was all tongues and teeth and lips from then on. He couldn't stop kissing her. He wanted to crawl inside her. There was lots of panting and whispering. Promising each other different things, most of them of the sexual variety. Some of them of the forever variety.

  He didn't want to come in his pants, though, so he finally pulled her hand free and pinned her wrists to the mirror above her head.

  “Delaney Carter,” he whispered into her mouth as he held her wrists with only one of his hands. “You are a bad, bad, girl.”

  “I am,” she agreed, then she shuddered when his free hand landed on her breast.

  “What should we do about that?” he asked, moving his hand inside the cup of her bra and finding her nipple, rolling it between his fingers. Her eyelids fluttered shut.

  “Um ...” she mumbled. “Anything you want?”

  “Good answer.”

  His hand continued its journey down into her underwear, where she was very hot and very wet. She must have been thinking about this moment long before she'd brought him upstairs. She scooted her butt to the edge of the dresser and wrapped her legs around his waist, giving him as much access as he could possibly want.

  “Oh my god,” she moaned. “Jayson. Jay.”

  She was the only person who ever called him Jay. The only person he'd ever been close enough with
to warrant a nickname. He loved hearing her say it.

  “Again,” he whispered, sliding one finger inside her.

  “What?” she asked, her breath catching and stalling in her throat.

  “Say my name again,” he urged, now thrusting two fingers in and out of her.

  “Please, Jay,” she groaned, struggling with his grip on her wrists. “God, I love this, but please ...”

  “Please what?” he asked, pressing his thumb down hard at her core. She yelped and squirmed, undulating her hips against him.

  “God, I want you so bad, Jay. Please, I can't take it. I need you.”

  “You got me, babe. Anyway you want me,” he told her, leaning his head down to trail his tongue across her breast.

  “I'm dying here, Jay. I want you to fuck me,” she begged.

  “Goddamn, Del. Your mouth,” he growled, hurrying to comply with her request. He pulled his hand free from her panties and let her wrists go. While he struggled to get the black cotton underwear off her, she pushed and pulled at his pants.

  “I don't care,” she was breathing heavy as she kissed and licked at his chest. “I've wanted this for so long. Since I first met you.”

  Fuck it, he didn't care, either. He left her underwear dangling from one of her ankles and he held her legs wide apart, stepping back into the space between them.

  “Liar, you hated me. You slapped me,” he chuckled, rubbing his erection between her thighs.

  “You deserved it, but fuck, you were so hot. And you were looking at me like I was garbage,” she told him, sucking on the side of his neck.

  “I thought you were just some good girl who didn't know what she was getting into,” he said.

  “Well then, do you still think that?”

  “No.”

  “What do you think about me now?”

  “I think you're a very naughty girl who's about to get fucked.”

  Before he could do it himself, Delaney grabbed him by the base of his cock and it was her hand that guided him home. They both moaned when he started sliding inside her. Fuck, she was so warm and tight and all the things that were good and right in the world.

  “Oh my god, I can't breathe,” she gasped when she finally took him to the hilt. She'd leaned back again and she had her hands on her chest, playing with her breasts through her bra.

  “You better learn to hold your breath, then,” he said, his voice strained with the effort it took him not to pound her through the wall.

  “Oh, I fucking will.”

  She just keeps surprising me.

  He pulled away, then slowly slid back. He kept it up for a few strokes, in and out. Back and forth. Getting to know her all over again, from the inside out. It was fucking fantastic, but it wasn't enough for him, and it clearly wasn't enough for her.

  “Harder,” she moaned, scratching her nails up his chest before leaning close.

  “Like this?” he asked, pumping his hips faster.

  “Harder,” she said it again. The lace of her bra was tickling him, so with one hand, he wrenched and pulled awkwardly at her straps, forcing the material off her chest and down to her waist.

  “Fuck, this feels good,” he groaned, thrusting harder still and reveling in the feel of her nipples brushing against his bare chest.

  “God, yes,” she cried out. “Don't stop. Don't hold back. Fuck me harder.”

  He'd always said she was psychic, that she knew what he was thinking or wanting or needing. He wanted to pound her through the wall, so he figured she must know already; that's what she was really asking for. What kind of gentleman would he be if he denied her?

  So he began fucking her as hard as he could. His fingers dug into her thighs as he held her legs as wide apart as they could go. She screamed and cried out, her hands gripping him by the neck so strongly, he could feel a friction burn from them.

  “Fuck, babe, you feel so fucking good,” he hissed, staring down between their bodies so he could watch them together.

  “So good. This is better than good. This is the best,” she panted, tracing her tongue along his bottom lip. He groaned as nerve endings fired and shot off sparks.

  “Shit, we should've done this weeks ago,” he groaned. “Our first date. Fuck it, the first time we met.”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted to the rhythm of his thrusts.

  One of her hands fell away from his neck. He was biting down on her earlobe when he felt it again. Her fingertips, sliding around his cock as it pumped in and out of her. They would disappear for a second, then touch him again, then disappear again. Over and over. He realized she was playing with herself and him, at the same time.

  “Fuck, you're gonna make me come,” he warned her. She let out a throaty laugh and her hand moved.

  “I want you to,” she urged, pumping her hips back against him.

  “Fucking dirty girl, wanting me to come,” he chuckled, leaning back enough to grab one of her legs. She gasped and shuddered as he pushed it up, almost far enough that it was touching her chest. Then he rested the back of her calf against his shoulder.

  “Holy shit, Jay, you're so fucking ... deep ...” she groaned, cracking the mirror when her head fell back against it.

  “So fucking deep,” he repeated, kissing along the edge of her leg.

  He could feel it starting. Her pussy tightening around him, almost convulsing. Her whole body started to shake, and even in the dim lighting, he could see a faint blush start to spread across her tits. He cupped them in his hands, squeezing gently.

  “Oh, please,” she whispered, her fingernails clawing him. “Please, fuck me, I'm going to come. Jesus, Jay, I'm going to come so fucking hard.”

  “Do it, do it, do it,” he demanded, pumping as hard as he could. The whole dresser was moving and shaking, pounding into the wall behind them. She couldn't catch her breath and she squeezed her hands over his, catching her breasts in a death grip.

  “Oh my god, Jay ... Jayson ... Jayson, I'm coming.”

  Beautiful words to hear from any woman, but coming from Delaney, shit. He actually felt proud of himself. Like he'd done his duty to god and his country, now he could die happily. While she screamed and her pussy turned into a vice around his dick, he fell forward onto her. He dropped their hands from her chest and took one of her nipples between his teeth, biting down. She cried out again and convulsed, her limbs cramping up and locking around.

  “Fuck, Del. I can't ... I can't ... I'm gonna come in you,” he growled, his whole body flush with hers as his hips pumped away.

  She didn't respond and she didn't let him go, so when he came a second later, it was deep inside of her. He shuddered and groaned and bit into her shoulder. All of his muscles clenched and locked together while his orgasm went through him like an electrical current.

  “Jay, Jay, Jay,” she sighed his name over and over again, and he realized her hands were on his head, holding him close.

  “Holy shit, Delaney,” he gasped for air, turning his head to the side and laying his cheek on her abused shoulder.

  “That was ... better than anything I'd fantasized it would be,” she told him, still trying to catch her breath.

  “You've fantasized about us fucking?” he asked, a little surprised. Of course he'd fantasized about it. More than was healthy. But for some reason, he'd never thought about her doing it.

  “God, all the time,” she chuckled. “I'm gonna wear out the detachable shower head at my apartment.”

  “That is So. Fucking. Hot,” he informed her. She purred and rubbed her body against his.

  “Want to know what I fantasized about? What I imagined you doing to me?” she whispered in his ear, and then she started telling him.

  He'd just fucked her so hard, he was pretty sure he was going to collapse once he let her go. But the feel of her body against him and the sound of her voice in his ear and what she was doing to him with her words ...

  Seriously. Fucking marry this woman.

  4

  Jon was tryin
g to be a good sport. He'd trailed behind Mrs. Sloan through a Ross “Dress for Less!” store, but when she'd told him to grab whatever he normally wore, they'd both fallen into an embarrassed silence. Jon didn't know what he normally wore. So he just tried on a bunch of different clothing she helped him pick out, trying to figure out his sizes. They walked out with a lot of polo shirts and jeans, and even a couple pairs of shoes.

  Then he let her talk him into going to a salon, where he was asked what style he normally wore his hair in – short? Long on top? Styled? He couldn't answer, so Sloany just asked them to give his short hair some kind of shape, just neat and trim. After a trip to a department store for some decent cologne, which she picked out all on her own, she finally took him to Starbucks, but she left him alone at the counter.

  “What can I get for you?”

  Who would've thought it could be such a crippling question? He stared helplessly at the huge menu. Did he like lattes? Americanas? Espresso, or no? Flavor, or no? Iced, or no? The barista stared at him, so Jon gave up and just ordered a regular coffee, black, and a bagel for himself.

  Jesus, do I even like coffee?

  Not a great start to his first day at “work”, he decided when he sat down. He was already in a bad mood, and worse, it turned out he didn't like coffee. He was sipping at his bitter, unpleasant drink when Sloany finally came back from the bathroom.

  “Ready to tackle the day?” she asked in her smooth voice, smiling big at him while she slid into her seat.

  “Thrilled. Where am I working again?” he asked, stuffing pieces of bagel into his mouth.

  “The, uh ... oh, here – the Peter Blakeman Community Center. A Miss Katherine Beaumont will be your supervisor, she'll get you set up and tell you what to do and sign off on your hours,” Sloany explained.

  “And what exactly am I gonna be doing?”

  “Meal prep, kitchen help, things like that,” she told him, looking over a sheet of paper. “You'll be there from noon to three, I'm just taking you early so you look good to everyone.”

  “Appreciated.”

  “I'll make a success of you yet, Jon Doe,” she assured him. He cleared his throat.

  “I made a decision about that.”