Wanted: No Strings

by Brandy Ayers

  “Shut up! Are you really going to send him one of the boudoir photos?” Meg bounces on the balls of her feet, the excitement coursing through her needing some sort of outlet.

  “Might as well show him the goods. If he’s still into it after seeing my thunder thighs, then I’ll give it a shot too.” I pick my favorite of the photos. In it I’m wearing a big cream sweater that covers my tummy, but the oversized cowl-neck is slung low on my shoulder, with one breast almost entirely exposed. The hem of the sweater ends just at my hips, and my hands grip the center of it, as if I’m trying to pull it down to cover my pussy. There is just a hint of the red panties I had been wearing, that’s it. My legs are bare, crossed at the ankles, and I’m up on my tippy-toes. One lip caught between my teeth and the blowout to end all blowouts finish off the innocent yet sultry look.

  Truth is I am incredibly thankful Meg made me do these photos with a friend of hers. I felt sexy while doing them, and every time I see them I recall that feeling. Derek, my ex, still insists on leaving berating voicemail messages a couple times a week, despite being separated for a year. I have a sneaking suspicion the fact our divorce is now final won’t make a damn bit of difference, and he’ll continue with the messages telling me how useless I have always been. But when he calls, I just look at these photos and remind myself that I am a sexy bitch, and I’m better without his lazy ass.

  “Okay, how about this for a closing? ‘If you like what you see, and still want to get coffee, let me know.’”

  “Can you at least put something like, ‘I can’t wait to let my kitty climb all over your wood?’”

  That spark of humor I love so much ignites in my sister’s eyes. And just to make her happy, I include her stupid line. I don’t tell her that I add a postscript that my sister made me say it. “Okay, here goes nothing.”

  Clicking Send on that email feels like a huge accomplishment. An even bigger achievement than starting my business last year and making it grow. This is the first step to exploring my sexuality and sensuality. I didn’t lie in that ad. I really don’t want a relationship right now. I want to let loose, experiment.

  I met Derek my sophomore year in high school. He was a junior, a basketball player, and so sweet in the beginning. He was patient when I didn’t want to have sex yet, then stayed close to go to college. As soon as I turned eighteen, he proposed. My parents were furious, but I accepted, and we had a small justice of the peace ceremony. That night we had painful, underwhelming sex for the first time. The first of many. The changes were subtle, but consistent. He became more controlling, shorter, more terse. Then somehow over the years, I found myself being a near hermit, living with a man I no longer knew, who made me feel like shit on a daily basis. The last straw had been when he openly compared me to other women we knew and always found me lacking.

  But all that is behind me now. Regardless of whether this man would want to kick off my age of awakening, I am starting down the road to figuring out what I want in and out of bed. At twenty-six, it is about damn time.

  Chapter Three

  Trent

  I have never been this nervous in all my life. Despite the soothing decor this cafe has going on, my heart is racing a mile a minute, my leg won’t stop bouncing, and I’ve been sporting a halfie since opening Fran’s reply to me three days ago.

  That picture. Fuck, that picture. I’ve jacked off to the picture of her in that big sweater countless times in the last seventy-two hours. I haven’t masturbated this much since I was a teenager and discovered my parents got all the movie channels on cable and late at night they showed soft-core porn. The crazy thing is everything of interest had been covered in the picture. But I could picture it all hiding under there. Huge melon tits, soft belly, wide hips, and the sweetest pussy a man could dream of, all hidden under a bulky sweater. And that peek of red lace at her hip. Fuck, I almost died right there.

  We’ve emailed back and forth a couple times since that first day, and everything I’ve learned about Fran points to her being a cool-ass chick, with a dirty fucking mind. Because we’ve gone there through emails. I asked her what her dirtiest fantasy was, but on no planet did I ever think she would say multiple men pleasuring her at once. She assured me it was only something she liked to think about, and not something she was actually interested in doing. Which is good, because I wasn’t really into the whole sharing thing. But I could definitely think of some ways to give her a similar thrill.

  The coffee in this place is pretty damn spectacular but doing nothing to soothe my nerves. I’ll have to ask Fran how she found this place. It’s a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop slash bar, but without the creepy meat market vibe of a normal bar. More like a coffee place that happens to also serve whiskey. My large frame must look comical on the overstuffed velvet love seat I chose to sit in. I debated getting a table but didn’t want anything between us to keep me from touching her.

  A cool burst of air swirls inside the dining room as the door opens. There she is, finally. She isn’t late, but I was ridiculously early. Her eyes scan the perimeter of the space, and I stand so she can see me past the swarm of weekend patrons.

  As soon as our gazes connect, her whole face lights up. Fuck. No one has ever smiled like that for me before. Part excitement, part shyness, part innocence. My dick grows even more, and I thank the denim gods for keeping it contained.

  Francie weaves through the tables and people, taking what feels like an eternity to reach me. When she does, I can’t help myself. I need to feel her skin. In a fog, I lean in and brush my lips against her cheek, my hands gripping her hips. The need to take it further, capture her lips between mine, throw her on the velvet couch behind me, and feast on her is nearly overwhelming.

  Her skin is just as soft as I imagined. My lips linger on her round cheek for a moment more than is probably appropriate, and I’m rewarded with a little hitch in her breath and her body rocking slightly closer to mine.

  “Nice to meet you, Francie.” I lean back and take in her stunned expression. Her cheeks are bright red and her eyes dilated.

  Fuck. I told myself I wouldn’t try to sleep with her tonight. This is just supposed to be an initial meet and greet, with the possibility of fucking at our next get-together. I get it. She needs to ease into this, and I’m willing to jump through any damn hoops she wants to put in my way.

  But the way she’s looking at me right now is making it very hard to live up to that agreement. Fire lives in those green eyes. Just looking at her, I immediately know her ex wasted his time with Francie. There is a wildcat inside her just waiting to be unleashed. And I plan to be the one setting it free.

  Her long dark hair hangs in loose waves around her face. Visions of gathering it into a ponytail in my hand as she sucks me deep into her throat fill my filthy mind. The dress covering all those sinful curves is modest in a way. Everything is covered, barely even a hint of cleavage. But the thing hugs her body in a way that has me ready to sit up and beg for any scrap of attention she’s willing to throw my way. It stops just above her knees, and her smooth calves curve down to heels that I immediately know I’ll be asking her to wear again and not take them off as I drive into her sweet pussy.

  Finished with my slow perusal of her body, I take a deep breath, willing my damn body to cooperate. Fucking finally, I find my voice, but none of the smooth things I’d been practicing before she arrived come out. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

  Her blush deepens, and I imagine her cheeks are currently the same color as her nipples, which are poking out in a silent salute beneath her dress.

  “Thank you.” Unable to meet my heated gaze, she shifts her focus to her shoes, which just won’t do. I want her looking at me.

  Hooking my finger under her chin, I guide her face up, locking her eyes with my own. “I want those emerald greens on me, baby. Never look down when we’re together.”

  The side of her lush lips quirks up into an amused grin. “So, you’re not into subservient women then?”


  “Oh, I have no problems with a little role-playing, but mostly I like a woman who knows she gives me an instant hard-on, even fully clothed.” Taking another step closer, I brush my lips across her ear and press my rigid length against her soft belly. “And I’ve been hard since I first laid eyes on that picture.”

  Francie is even more wild than I originally thought, because she shocks the shit out of me by snaking her delicate little hand between us to stroke my length beneath my jeans.

  “Well, I guess this answers the question of whether or not you meet my size requirement, since you refused to send me a dick pic.” The slight pout of her bottom lip makes me want to bite it, and I just barely hold myself back.

  “If you don’t cut that out, I’m not going to be able to make good on my promise not to fuck you tonight.” Goddamn, her hand just keeps going. We’re surrounded by people, and it has to look at least a little weird that we’ve been standing so close, almost in a hug, and whispering in each other’s ears.

  “You don’t want to fuck me tonight?” Her pout is clear as day in her voice, which I can’t see because I have to close my eyes to keep from coming in my pants. “But I’ve been all wet and needy for you since all those sexy things you said in your emails. I thought about not wearing panties tonight, but I was afraid you would make my juices run down my thigh just from sitting next to you.”

  Holy shit. I think I’ve met my match. No woman has ever thrown me off my game like this. I always have complete control over my desires. Not tonight though.

  “We need to leave.” I’m panting in her ear, the soft strands of her hair dancing from the force of my breaths.

  Her hand drops away from my crotch, and she steps back. I follow. I never again want there to be that much distance between our bodies.

  “Did you change your mind? Am I being too forward?” The fire and lust in her eyes quickly gets replaced by unmistakable fear.

  I shake my head firmly, wanting there to be absolutely no fucking doubts in her head. “Oh no, this is happening. But I don’t want the first time I hear you screaming my name to be in the middle of a coffee shop while people sip their drinks and watch me pound into your pussy.”

  Her breath comes out in little huffs of arousal. Thank God for craigslist, because I can’t believe I might have missed out on this girl had my friends not seen her ad. “You like that thought, don’t you? You like the idea of all these people watching how undone you make me. How I’ll punish you with my hands against your ass while my cock is shoved deep inside you?”

  She nods slightly, obviously embarrassed by her little kink for exhibition.

  “We’ll play with that another time. Right now I need to get you behind closed doors so I can do whatever I want to you. Understand?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Good girl. Remember those two little words. You’ll be saying them a lot in my presence.”

  Chapter Four

  Francie

  Holy shit.

  I can’t believe this is happening. I am actually doing this. I’m going to hook up with a complete stranger. Okay, not complete stranger. We’ve talked over email and Google Chat a few times. But still.

  I can’t believe the first time I have sex with someone other than my asshole ex-husband is going to be with a stranger.

  Everything about Trent is big. He’s tall. Broad. And the bulge in his pants is more than a little intimidating. But apart from the physical aspects, he also has presence. He drew my eye immediately when I walked in, and I’m not the only one. People around us notice him. Women and men.

  Trent grabs my hand and practically drags me to the door of the cafe, urgency screaming from every tense muscle in his body. We burst out onto the icy sidewalk, and I almost bite it in the ridiculous heels my sister talked me into wearing. Thankfully, a thick arm wraps around my waist, steadying me against his side.

  “Your place or mine?” White puffs of breath circle us as Trent pants beside me.

  It takes a minute for the question to penetrate. My place or his? Shit. I don’t know. If we go to his place, God knows what I’m walking into. He could have a dungeon beneath the floorboards of his living room where he keeps all the unsuspecting girls he picks up off craigslist.

  So, my place.

  But is that any better? He is a stranger. Do I really want to let this guy who I barely know in on where I spend ninety-five percent of my time? He could be a crazy stalker that waits in my hall every day for a glimpse of me.

  So, not my place.

  A hotel? Is that too seedy? It seems a little prostitute-ish to take a dude I just met to a hotel so we can bang.

  “Stop thinking, Francie.” Trent spins me into his chest, covering my mouth with his and chasing every bit of hesitation away. “Where to?”

  “My place. It’s close.” I turn, and this time it is me dragging him down the street. For a moment I’m a little embarrassed that he is going to see what I’ve been calling my rebound apartment. I went from having a fabulous historic brick mini-mansion in the North Hills to a shoebox-sized studio apartment on the South Side. I had no desire to take any of the asshat’s money, so I’m living on my income alone now. I’m learning to budget and save and pay bills for the first time, since Derek had me on an allowance and never let me have access to our bank accounts.

  Remembering that fact goes a long way to erasing my concerns about what Trent will think of my place. Who gives a flying shit what he thinks? I’m on my own now. Everything I have is mine and mine alone. I’m proud of my place and what I’ve done with it. If he doesn’t like it, well then, he doesn’t have to fuck me tonight.

  “This is me.” I pull my keys from my purse and unlock the stairwell door. We barely make it in the door before Trent has my front pinned against the cold brick wall. His warm mouth sucks and nibbles on my neck and shoulder, the clashing of cold and hot sending goose bumps along my skin.

  “Thank fuck.” The words caress my skin as he sighs the words against me. “Another block and I was going to pull you into an alley just to get a taste of your pussy.”

  Fuck. That’s hot. I want that.

  I had no idea the thought of doing it in public would turn me on so much. But then, I have no idea about anything when it comes to me and sex. It is past time I start learning though.

  One of Trent’s hands slides down my side, tracing the curves I’m only just starting to appreciate. He gathers the hem of my dress in his palm and drags it up my thigh until my hip and half my ass are exposed to him. Slowly, so slowly I think I might have an orgasm simply from the intense anticipation seeping through my body, his fingers trace back down to between my legs.

  “No panties.” The statement comes out part reverence, part curse. “You’re a bad girl, Francie.” His hand disappears momentarily before the sharp sting of his palm on my skin singes my ass. “I like that about you.”

  He bites the space where my neck meets my shoulders and backs away enough for me to lead him through the dark alley that connects to the equally dark stairs. I walk with the skirt still rucked up around my waist, my bare ass hanging out for him to see. I wonder briefly whether he can see my arousal dripping down my inner thighs.

  We both practically sprint up the stairs, almost crashing into the wall at the top of the landing. Then we’re stumbling past my joke of a kitchen, Trent’s hands exploring my body as we go. He presses me against the wall beside my bed, which I normally leave folded up into the wall, but left down and actually made just for this occasion.

  Before I can react, the zipper on my dress is undone, and he shoves the whole thing to the ground. I’m standing with my palms pressed to the smooth drywall in nothing but a bra and heels.

  I’ve never felt more alive in my entire life.

  “Jesus, what perfume do you wear?” Trent runs his nose down my spine until he’s kneeling behind me. “Smells so good I want to drown in it.”

  “No perfume.” I barely get the words out thanks to the hormones swamping my body and dul
ling my senses. “I use coconut oil for everything. I always smell a little like it.”

  Trent groans behind me while he licks the small dimples above my ass. His hands seem to be everywhere. Running up and down my legs. Thank God I waxed. Over my hips. Don’t think about the weight I carry there. Deft fingers grip the five hooks and eyes on my bra, needed to keep the girls up and at attention, and flicks it open. I let the bra fall to the ground and nearly lose my mind when his hands cup my breasts, lifting them as if taking their measure.

  “These tits are fucking insane. Turn around.” That demanding voice sends shivers from my head to toes, and I’m helpless to resist.

  Midturn it dawns on me that the lights are still on in here. Like, every single light. It is one of my many weird quirks that have developed now that I live alone. I don’t like coming home to an empty apartment. The alley and stairs are bad enough. So, every single light in my little place is blazing from the time I wake up to the time I go to sleep. Something I am wholeheartedly regretting now that the world’s most impossibly hot man is kneeling before me, nothing hiding the rolls, cellulite, and saggy boobs that have haunted me since puberty. My hands twitch with the need to cover myself up. A man hasn’t seen me in my birthday suit since my ex saw me get out of the shower two years before I left him. He made a comment about needing to cut back on the cheese because it was all collecting in my thighs.

  My body and brain are at war with conflicting ideas.

  Brain: hurry and turn the lights off, apologize to this poor man for subjecting his beautiful eyes to your pale, frumpy body, and show him to the door.

  Body: Fuck. That. No. Fuck. Him.

  I clasp my hands in front of my freshly waxed pussy, weaving my fingers together over and over. My skin prickles as his eyes travel across every naked inch of me, and I avoid looking at his face at all costs.

  But he’ll have none of that apparently. Trent grips my chin and guides my gaze back to his, just as he did back at the coffee shop. “You are the most stunningly beautiful woman I’ve ever had the privilege to touch.”