Love in Transit

by Jana Aston

  He’s holding my face in both of his hands and brushing his lips gently over mine, a whisper of a touch a hundred times more skilled in its softness than I could have anticipated. “I am lucky,” he murmurs, “but I also enjoy the occasional customs like flowers and first kisses. If that’s okay with you.”

  “Yeah,” I mumble because he’s kissing me again. “That’s okay.” It’s way more than okay.

  “Good.” He tilts his forehead down to mine as he runs his hands down my upper arms. “Then let’s go.” He grabs my left hand and we begin walking south on Seventh, but as soon as we cross Eighteenth he hails a cab and holds the door for me before sliding in beside me. He gives the driver an address on Bleecker Street and I laugh.

  “That’s a mile from here,” I point out. It’s silly to take a cab a mile.

  “I know,” he replies with a wink. There’s no more talking after that. There’s no more talking because from that point on we’re making out like teenagers in the back seat of a car. At one point Max lifts his hips and I think we’re progressing to dry-humping but then I realize the cab has stopped and he’s just trying to get cash from his wallet.

  “You’re walking me to the door, right?” he asks, kissing me again as he reaches over to push the cab door open. He’s smiling as he asks. It’s too dark and he’s too close for me to see it, but I can feel his lips curve against my cheek. His skin is warm and rougher than my own and hell, yes, I’m walking him to the door.

  “Of course I am. I don’t just drop my dates at the door and speed off. I need to make sure you get inside safely.” I shove him lightly with my hands as I speak because he’s the one sitting on the sidewalk side of the cab and I’m anxious to get moving. Hello, can I be any more obvious?

  Max steps onto the pavement and immediately takes my hand as I exit the cab, slamming the door behind me. It’s a bit quieter on this street. Quieter for New York anyhow. There’s a large residential building behind us and smaller three-story buildings, each made up of different shades of brick, directly across the street. Storefronts line the ground level of the buildings. It’s quintessential New York City. Charming with a small-neighborhood feel. I think we’re headed into the building behind us, but as the cab pulls away and the street clears Max walks me across and up to a door between a cosmetics store and a trendy women’s clothing store.

  As he inserts a key into the lock I place my hand on his arm, stopping him. “Wait, do you have roommates?”

  His face falls and he shakes his head. “Shit, no, I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry? Why?”

  “I know how kinky you are.” He sighs and leans his back against the door. “Did you want me to call a friend?”

  “Shut up and open the door.”

  He grins and shoves open the door, walking backward into the stairwell and pulling me in after him. We’re all over each other before the door has closed completely. I’ve abandoned my purse and the flowers and gotten his shirt half unbuttoned by the third step. His hand is under my dress by the sixth.

  By the ninth I already know this is going to be the best sex I’ve ever had.

  When we reach the landing I pull my dress over my head and drop it to the floor.

  “Jesus, Lauren.” Max groans as he runs his hands down my sides, his thumbs splaying over my skin. I fumble with the remaining buttons on Max’s shirt before yanking it off of him, but I clearly missed one because the shirt catches then a button pings to the floor and skitters across the room.

  “Oops, sorry,” I offer.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Good, because I’m not that sorry.”

  He pinches my ass and I yelp.

  “Sorry.” He grins.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I’m not,” he agrees.

  He picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. I have a fleeting thought that my ex wasn’t strong enough to lift me and then I shove him from my mind because he doesn’t matter anymore. Not in the slightest.

  Max rests me on a hard surface I assume is the kitchen island and I shiver as he unsnaps my bra, his fingers trailing down my spine as the straps fall from my shoulders. I lift my hips as he hooks his fingers into my scrap of underwear and slides them over my hips to the floor.

  “You’re lovely,” he murmurs as he drops his hands to the counter on each side of my hips and lowers his lips to mine.

  “Ditto.” I grin, eyeing his chest.

  “There’s that smile I’m so enamored with.” He brushes his lips across mine. “But I’m going to wipe it off your face now.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I like your enthusiasm.”

  “I like your cock.”

  “You haven’t met my cock yet.”

  “I know, but you make me feel optimistic.” I bite my lip as I say it because I realize it’s true. He makes me feel hopeful. He makes me feel like me.

  “Ditto,” he repeats. His voice is soft and husky. His eyes are dark and piercing, his lips warm as they meet mine, soft yet firm. Perfect.

  Outside a cab honks and someone shouts an obscenity. Inside Max’s apartment I moan as he slips a finger inside of me. I groan when he makes it two and I clutch his forearms when he angles the heel of his hand over my clit.

  “That’s good,” I gasp.

  “I can do better than good,” he says as he drops his head to my chest, his tongue flattening across one of my nipples. I love having my tits played with and when he moves his spare hand to my other nipple and tugs I clench around the fingers thrusting inside of me. Then he chuckles and adds teeth to the mix and I’m about done for.

  “That’s better than good,” I pant, my breath short.

  “You’re quite the kinky girl for someone with such a sweet exterior.” He withdraws his fingers from me and wraps his lips around them.

  Fuck.

  I watch him slide his fingers slowly out of his mouth, a light pop sounding when he’s done. Then I’m scrambling off the counter and yanking at the button on his jeans, desperate to hold him, to feel him inside of me. Now.

  “I’m not that sweet,” I tell him as I free the button and tug at the zipper.

  “Good to know,” he replies and takes over with his pants, pushing my hands out of the way to free himself. His cock is hard. And sizable, oh, lucky day.

  I am so glad I said yes to Max, I think as I wrap my hand around his cock. You can’t go through life being skeptical just because you’ve been burned a few times. No one’s intuition is right every time and I shouldn’t blame myself for that. Besides, I think my instincts are improving because I feel really good about Max. I think I’m getting savvier because everything about this night is one big yes.

  “Yes,” he hisses as I twist my wrist and stroke the length of him.

  See? We’re in total harmony.

  He wraps his hand over mine and we stroke him together. He’s thick and long and I’m getting ever wetter feeling him in my hand. He really is long. I can’t wait to sit on him.

  “It is nice.”

  “It?”

  “Your penis. I wasn’t wrong.” I flick my eyes to his and squeeze my hand around him.

  “Thank you.” He grins. “It’s nice of you to mention. So polite,” he adds with a smack to my ass which catches me off guard and I yelp. Then he lifts me again, my legs quickly wrapping around his waist, and moves us with ease to the sofa, resting me on my back and following me to the cushions.

  It’s leather and the material is smooth and cool beneath me, in stark contrast to the warmth and hardness above me. Max brushes a strand of hair off my cheek and kisses me. Our tongues swirl, exploring each other, before I press my lips to his neck, enjoying the texture of him—the subtle abrasiveness of his jaw, the skin rougher from shaving, growing softer the lower I explore. He smells like some combination of pine and the ocean, an expensive cologne, surely, but something else too. Something Max.

  His pants are still hanging around his hips and I slide my hands inside and
palm his ass, traversing the contours of his body, my hands behaving as though they’re on a sexual voyage over the river and through the woods.

  When I move to push his jeans lower my hand hits his wallet, so I pull it out, but I’m a terrible pickpocket because I immediately wave it in his face and ask if he’s got a condom. Please let him have one in his wallet, because I don’t think I can wait long enough for him to retrieve one from the bathroom or wherever the hell he stashes them.

  Max nods as if to indicate for me to retrieve it myself, so I flip open the wallet while he watches, his mouth on my breast. On the left side there’s a New York driver’s license in a clear window telling me Max the non-model somehow still manages to take a great ID photo, which everyone knows is near impossible, and that his name is Max Hunter. I smile at that because I didn’t know his last name till just this second. On the right side of the wallet are three credit cards in staggered slots and behind that one long pocket for cash. I dig my finger behind his license and am rewarded with not one, but two condoms.

  “Two,” I say, holding them up and tossing the wallet aside. “I like your confidence.”

  “I hope you still like it tomorrow when you have trouble walking.”

  “Oh, game on.” I rip one of the condoms open and examine it in the dim light to make sure I have it flipped the right way and then slide one hand up the length of him while placing the condom on him with the other.

  I roll it down slowly, inch by inch. His cock is hard and heavy in my hand, the condom slick. When I’ve finished I turn my eyes to his while placing my palm on his abs, lightly scratching with my fingernails. Then I yelp as he slides me lower on the couch while spreading my thighs wide and settling between them. He maneuvers me like I weigh nothing, positioning me to his liking. He’s got one of my legs over his shoulder and the other resting in the crook of his arm. Then he guides himself to my entrance and slaps me with his dick. He does it again and I groan.

  “Stop fucking with me and put it inside.”

  “You want it inside?” he teases, nudging his tip at my entrance.

  “Yes.” I arch my back and grip the armrest over my head. “Yes, dammit. Now.”

  “I don’t know,” he says, pausing and easing back. “I’m not sure. Do you think we’re ready for this, Lauren? Maybe we should wait?”

  “Are you kidding me right now?” I move my arms back and slap them against the couch, trying to pull myself up enough to argue with him. I’m dripping on his sofa and he’s playing hard to get. Unreal. I knew he was too good to be true. This city is filled with weirdos. Hot, dimpled, sex-withholding weirdos. It’s probably his fetish, getting women worked up and spread eagled on his sofa. Teasing them about how good it’s going to be and making promises about being unable to walk after and then not delivering. Son of a bitch.

  “Yes, I’m kidding,” he says, and then he confirms it when he slides into me in one long thrust.

  One hard thrust. Perfectly positioned.

  A thrust that stretches me with the most delicious ache.

  It’s perfect.

  He’s perfect.

  He slaps my tits lightly and then pinches my nipples simultaneously. Quick, rough and unexpected. I bow my back off the sofa and scream his name.

  “I’m going to fuck these next, Lauren,” he says while gripping my tits so hard I wonder if they’ll bruise. I don’t care if they do—totally worth it. Every touch and pinch and pull makes me wetter, my nipples a direct ticket to my arousal. I squeeze around his cock in rhythm to his thrusting and squeeze harder when he does.

  “So good, Max. So good. Just like that.” I should be shocked by my wanton behavior with him. Or have a moment of modesty over the sounds we’re making—the slapping of skin and the sound of his cock sliding in and out of me. The indeterminate sounds coming from my mouth and the dirty words coming from his. The mess we are surely making on his couch.

  But I’m not. All I care about is how good this feels. The pressure building in my pelvis. The heat, the sweat, the way it feels when he leans forward enough to cause contact with my clit as he brushes his lips across mine. The words he whispers about how beautiful I am and how good it feels to be inside of me. The way he tugs my hair to position my neck for his mouth.

  That’s all that’s on my mind right now.

  “I’m close,” I tell him, but he shakes his head and shifts his hips, sliding out of me.

  “No.”

  “What do you mean no? I want to come!” I whine.

  “Not yet.”

  “What do you mean not yet? Can’t you catch up?” Then I mouth the word ‘please’ silently and he laughs.

  “Good things come to those who wait, Lauren.”

  “The early bird gets to come, Max.”

  “Jesus,” he says, but he’s grinning. “I should have been paying more attention to women who read. Who knew that bookworms were so mouthy in bed?”

  “I can read aloud to you later if you want,” I offer with a wink.

  “Like a kinky bedtime story?” He looks interested.

  I nod, my hair sliding against the leather beneath me.

  “Okay, deal,” he agrees half a second before he slams into me again. I grunt as the air is knocked out of me and then brace my hands over my head against the arm of the sofa as he moves.

  “Max,” I cry and arch my back. It’s too good. And when he pinches my nipples again I climax, my muscles contracting around him like a vise. Above me his shoulders jerk as he comes and he licks his lip as his mouth opens on a pant. It’s sexy as hell and I pulse around his cock again, an aftershock to my orgasm.

  If it’s possible to glow from sex, I’d swear I’m glowing. It’s probably just sweat but I’m going to enjoy my moment.

  He pulls out and then flips us so I’m lying on top of him, both of our chests heaving. I close my eyes for a moment and lay my head down while he runs his fingers through my hair.

  “Max?”

  “Hm?”

  “I need to get up.”

  “In a minute.”

  “I’m dripping on your thigh though.”

  “I know,” he agrees and slides his other hand down my back and cups my ass, holding me to him.

  “You’re going to have a stain on your couch.”

  “God, I hope so. I’ll think of you every time I jerk myself off while looking at it.”

  “How sweet,” I reply, propping my chin on my hand to look at him.

  “Question,” he states by way of asking.

  “What?” I examine him from beneath my lashes, wondering what he wants to know.

  “Now can I buy you dinner? I’m starving.”

  “Yes,” I laugh, pushing myself to a sitting position and finally looking around. Exposed brick and industrial ductwork. Huge kitchen with, yes, a large marble-covered island that my ass was on. Stainless appliances and open shelving and… stairs? “You have a second floor?” I question.

  “Yeah, but don’t go up there.”

  “Why not?” I ask and the skepticism must be written all over my face because he laughs.

  “God, you’re easy. I’m kidding. My bedroom is up there. Go clean up and find something to wear. I’ll order dinner.”

  “You’re just going to send me to your bedroom unaccompanied?”

  “Yup. Go ahead and snoop, Snooper McSnooperton.”

  “Snooper McSnooperton?”

  “Do you prefer Curious Kitty? Nosey Night Owl?”

  “I’ll take Nosey Night Owl.”

  “Deal.”

  “I’m just not used to so much transparency,” I add.

  “You’ve got trust issues or something?”

  “No. More like issues with my judgment.”

  “Because you hang out with jackasses?”

  “Yeah something like that.”

  He gets up and pulls on his pants as he walks to the kitchen. Opening a drawer, he holds up a menu and asks if Chinese is okay.

  “Ohhh!” I clap my hands together in
excitement. “We’re ordering Chinese?”

  He walks back over, handing me his shirt and the menu, then jogs down the stairs to retrieve everything I abandoned on the way up. “What do you want?” he asks, thumbing through his phone, his thumb poised over the dial.

  “I can’t decide.” I tap my finger against my lip. This is exciting for me. Like for real exciting. Big deal exciting. My stomach grumbles.

  “Between?” He hits dial and raises the phone to his ear.

  “The Mongolian beef or the sesame chicken,” I muse. “Or maybe the lo mein. Do they have good egg rolls?” I squeak as he begins speaking into the receiver. “Hold on, hold on, I’ll decide!” I tell him but he waves me off and orders everything I just mentioned, plus a chicken with broccoli.

  Obviously, I’m in love with him.

  Just kidding, I’m not quite that easy.

  I run upstairs and clean myself up while we wait for the food, but I keep his shirt on because I like it. Also because I couldn’t find anything better to wear when I snooped. I considered one of his t-shirts, but they were clean and the shirt I’m wearing smells like Max. He’s got a lot of nice clothing though. Suits and silk ties. This apartment. He’s clearly not in entry-level marketing.

  The doorbell rings, so I abandon my snooping and head back downstairs. I arrive to Max spreading our feast out on the island.

  “Tell me you cleaned that countertop,” I quip as I snag an egg roll. “Holy crap, I’m going to eat everything,” I mumble with my mouth full. “So good,” I add and take a seat on a bar stool. “Thank you for dinner. All the dinners, since you ordered three of them for me.”

  “You’re welcome, but I did it for myself.”

  “How so?” I ask, dragging the containers of food closer to me and eyeing him.

  “I need you to keep your energy up. For the sex marathon.”

  “I’m going to be too full to have sex after eating all this food.” I wave a fork over my spread and shrug. “So I hope Sex Marathon is the name of a show you wanted to watch together.”

  He drags two of the containers back towards him.

  “What do you do anyway?” I ask, glancing around his apartment.