by Mimi Strong
The dogs were watching, yes, but after a few minutes, they wandered off to check on the dog food situation.
I pulled back and asked if Zach wanted some wine.
“Yes,” he said, but he didn't let me go.
We moved together, dancing to music that wasn't there. The kissing was setting my senses on high alert, and seemed to be doing the same for him. My passion took over my shyness, and I reached down to cup him in my hand. He moaned into my mouth as I touched his hardening erection through his blue jeans. As I rubbed the length of it, his cock rose, straining against the jeans. I reached down from the top, my hand all the way inside his jeans, and pulled his cock upright.
Zach sighed and said, “Thanks for that.”
He grabbed my mound through the thin fabric of my shorts and gave me a squeeze. “Take these off so I can do something for you.”
We were in the living room, near the front door, and the blinds weren't pulled down, so I led him down the hall to my bedroom. The furniture in there was also rearranged, and the walls were freshly painted in the same creamy white as the trim.
Zach took a second to glance around at the walls. “Good choice. I like the pink, but this gives the place some contrast.”
I sat on the edge of my bed, on top of the quilted bedspread my grandmother had given me for my sixteenth birthday. “Glad you approve,” I said, smiling.
“That blanket looks … a bit off. You should get something nicer, to go with the room.”
I thought he was joking at first—who insults a quilt? Everyone knows quilts are made by grandmothers. He didn't smile, though, but kept looking around the room, as though seeking something to criticize and upgrade.
“Hey, Mr. CEO,” I said. “You're off the clock.”
At last, his expression relaxed, and he gave me one of those million-dollar smiles of his, dimples and everything. He sat next to me on the bed, and said, “We were right about,” he lifted my chin with one hand, “here.”
He moved in and sank his soft lips down upon mine. I'd been intensely aware of him all day, of his smell, and the amount of space he took up with his broad shoulders and lanky body, but now, in my bedroom, I was even more aware.
We kissed, with me being bolder this time, pushing my tongue against his lips first. His hands went to my thighs again, as they had in the park, and he recreated the moment, sliding his fingertips first under the loose hem of my shorts, and then across the top of my panties. He pressed down on my clit softly. We weren't on a park bench, so I didn't pull away.
After a moment of delicious fumbling, he slid off the edge of the bed and knelt before me, unfastening the button of my shorts. With my assistance, he slid them off, and then my pink cotton panties. He stood, the bulge in his jeans right in front of my face, and unbuttoned my shirt, then removed it and my bra.
I reached for his belt, but he pulled back and knelt down before me once more. I was completely, utterly naked.
He put his hands on my knees, which were held together tightly for modesty. He pried them apart and glanced up at me. I lost myself in those heavenly blue eyes and stopped worrying about the revealing view he had. I relaxed my legs and let them stay parted, still sitting on the edge of the bed.
He moved forward slowly, his eyes on my pussy, and then he put his mouth against it. I threw my head back and gasped. His tongue plunged in between my folds and he flicked the tip across my clit. The sensation was almost too intense, but it was also just right. As he licked me, his lips and tongue moving up and down, sucking at my folds of flesh and flicking over that firm nub, I lay back on the quilt and relaxed, my hands roving over my own breasts.
The room was bright, as it was still hours from sunset, and he watched me as he pleasured me.
His voice low and ticklish on my pussy, he said, “Pinch your nipples.”
I was startled to hear him speak, to feel the hot vibrations in my pussy, but I did it. I pinched first one and then the other, enjoying the ripple of sensation that traveled through my body.
“I want to pinch them,” he said.
“Well, come on up here and you can.”
He gave me a dozen more licks, which made my eyes roll up in my head, and then he climbed up onto the bed. It was a king-sized bed, so we had plenty of room. I scrambled up, my legs feeling melted, and pulled off his shirt and then his jeans.
As he lay on his back, wearing only his underwear, I admired him. He had some dark hair below his navel, in a trail, but trimmed short, like the hair on his head.
I climbed aboard, pressing myself down upon his thick cock, just on the other side of some fabric. I rubbed against him and arched forward to lick his nipples. Both of them tightened up when I sucked on them, and I felt his cock twinge beneath me when I nibbled each one.
I sat upright on him, my naked torso on display. His long-fingered, sensitive hands ran up and down my sides, then across my front, cupping each of my breasts with a palm before gently pinching the nipples. I moaned with pleasure and tilted my hips, grinding against his cock.
He reached for something—his jeans, on the bed beside us, and pulled out a condom.
As we made eye contact, he said, “I apologize for my optimism. May I?”
“I will.” I took the packet from him and moved down his body.
His underwear was red with lighter trim, and I said, “Hey, these are scarlet and grey!” People who aren't Ohioans sometimes refer to our colors as red and gray, but they are actually scarlet and grey, and the grey has an e in it, the way the British spell.
“Go Buckeyes,” he said.
Giggling to myself over the new association I was going to have with that phrase, I pulled down the scarlet underwear and gave his cock and balls a nice stroke. While I rarely touched my own private parts, I knew my way around a man's equipment.
Holding the hot, hard erection in one hand, I massaged the balls with my other hand and licked my way up and down the shaft. In my position, I could feel my wet pussy against my calf, and I rocked back and forth on my hips to keep the pleasurable tingles going as I sucked and licked.
His lovely cock was responsive, pulsing when I flicked the ridge of skin under the head with my tongue. His manhood seemed to love everything I did, and I was so immersed in servicing, I nearly forgot about the person attached to it until Zach cleared his throat.
“Ahem,” he said. “I can't take much more, or I'm going to explode. I'd like to be inside you when I do.”
“Of course!” My cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, and I quickly rolled the condom on.
I started to get astride him, to lower myself on, but he stopped me.
“Come up here,” he said.
I leaned forward and kissed him.
He said, “I like kissing you, but I want to taste your pussy again.”
“Now?”
He laughed. “Yes, now. You taste like the best flavor of ice cream. You can either come up here and sit up here, on my face, or you can do the same thing, turned the other way around.”
Feeling nervous, I shuffled up, so that my knees were on either side of his face. He eased me down, so I was practically sitting on his chin, and he kissed my mound. His tongue ran over my glistening pink lips and clit, and I shuddered at the sensation. After a moment, I realized I was rocking my hips back and forth. I stopped, but he urged me to keep going, to move in whatever way felt good for me.
I closed my eyes and tried not to think about how awkward the position seemed. Did it matter? It didn't feel awkward at all. He flicked and sucked on my clit, and I gasped.
“Don't stop!” I said.
He moaned into my flesh, the vibrations running through me and flooding me with warmth and pleasure.
I said it again, “Don't stop,” and I couldn't stop myself from saying it over and over until I came, one immense orgasm crashing through me.
My inner walls were rippling with electricity, my eyes squeezed shut, and I felt my body being moved, being repositioned. The feeling at my pussy
changed, and he was inside me.
He rolled me to my back, and he thrust into me, the length of his cock rubbing past the base of my sensitive clit, making me come all over again, or keep coming.
I said it again, “Don't stop,” and he didn't.
He surged against me, our bodies heated and practically steaming.
Then he was moving more rapidly, sweeping in and out, moving freely and easily through my wetness.
He cried out and buried his face in the space next to my neck. He rode up high against my pussy, and his cock pulsed. He grunted and clutched me, all his weight on my chest, merging into me. And then, he slowed and came to rest.
Silently, we lay there, him atop me, and I opened my eyes for what felt like the first time, ever.
2: Princess and Duke Spend the Night
Zach Mikhelson, my new ice cream shop boy (of thirty-eight), asked sweetly if he could stay for dinner at my place, and possibly the whole night.
How he phrased it was, “Duke looks so comfortable here. Do you mind if he sleeps over?”
Duke had stolen all of the chew toys, yet Princess was still tolerating him; I was also tolerating Duke's doggy-daddy, but he was messing with my stuff as well.
After sex, Zach and I rummaged through my kitchen for something to make for dinner. There were plenty of cafes within walking distance—Short North is the kind of neighborhood you never need to leave—but neither of us wanted to get fully dressed.
Zach rifled through my cupboards, found my stash of chip-clipped snack bags, and started chucking them into the garbage.
“Bad Zach!” I said, scolding him as I would a dog. “Those are mine. Mine. Put them down.”
He shook what had once been a bag of Doritos, but was now mostly crumbs. “This isn't even food. It's just orange salt.”
I grabbed the bag away from him. “I love orange salt.”
He snatched the bag and tossed it in the garbage can. “You'll destroy your taste buds, eating stuff like that.”
I grumbled and muttered about my taste buds being just fine as I retrieved the plastic chip clip.
Four more bags went into the trash, including some Sour Soothers I'd been keeping for my next movie night.
“Excuse me,” I said, still smiling, but feeling defensive. “You're the CEO of a company called Butter Spoons. I don't think you're the diet police.”
“Butter and cream is real food,” Zach said. “High calorie, yes, but it's food.” He shook a bag of my precious deep-fried, cinnamon-sugar-covered pita chips. “Notice how the Best Before date is three years from now? Laura, that's not a good sign.”
As I looked over my disheveled kitchen, I said, “Maybe we should go out for dinner after all.”
“Let's not give up just yet.” He opened the freezer and pulled out my Marshmallow Peeps.
“Ah, good. You found dinner,” I said, grabbing the Peeps from him.
He gave me a look that made me worried he was about to tackle me. I calmly set the Peeps on the kitchen's island. “Easy now,” I said. “I'm going to step away from the Peeps.”
The buzzer for the front intercom sounded, and the dogs barely shifted from their spots on the couch. Duke lifted his head and barked, once, then went back to sleep.
“Probably one my neighbors locked out,” I said, running to answer it.
Through the crackling speakers came the voice of Renee, my best friend. (She'd simply been a good friend before my other one stole my no-good ex-fiance, after which Renee had been upgraded to best friend.)
“Thank God you're alive!” she said.
“Oh, Renee, I have to recharge my cell phone. Sorry about that!”
The sound of something clattering came over the intercom. “Door's not opening, try again,” she said.
I stared over at Zach, who was destroying my kitchen in his scarlet-hued underwear and nothing else. I couldn't turn away my best friend, who'd come over worried about me, so I buzzed her up and gave Zach fair warning.
He was in the bedroom putting on some more clothes when she came in the door.
“Put on one of those sexy dresses,” she said. “We're going out to hunt you down a jazz partner tonight and OH-MY-STARS-YOU-PAINTED-YOUR APARTMENT?”
I shushed her and pulled her over to the window, away from the hallway. Renee, a tiny young woman with black hair and freckles like Lucy Liu, worked as a nanny for little kids, so she really did yell things like “oh-my-stars” when she got excited.
I had just seconds alone with her before Zach came out, and I wanted to prep her so she didn't say anything embarrassing, but before I could explain everything, she turned around and yelled, “HALF-NAKED MAN!”
He wasn't half-naked, not even close. He was finishing doing up the buttons on his shirt, but even so, the net effect of this subtle still-dressing detail was that it left no doubt in Renee's mind as to why I hadn't been too concerned about my cell phone that day.
She forgot all about the new paint color and immediately started grilling him about who he was, how we met, and when were we getting married.
To the last question, he grinned and said, “Summer weddings are nice.”
Renee got comfortable, sitting between the dogs on the couch. She calmly stroked Duke as though they were old pals and said, “Laura already has a dress. Only worn once. The cleaner got all the vomit out.”
I tried giving Renee subtle hints to tone it down. With her cheery disclosures, she was making us look like teenagers compared to the only real grown-up in the room. She didn't take the hints, so I finally plopped myself down on her lap and clapped my hand over her mouth.
Now what? I was dying to change the topic. The paint color looked nice. Maybe I needed a whole new apartment. I could get one with a fireplace.
“You have a wedding dress?” Zach took a seat across from us, in the wing-back chair that really belonged in a home with a fireplace.
“I was engaged recently,” I said.
Renee pushed my hand off her mouth. “The little troll-monster left her at the altar.”
I got up from Renee's lap and walked toward the bedroom. “I can't bear to hear this one again,” I said. “Renee, you go ahead and tell Zach the whole story. I'm going to freshen up. When I come back out, we'll decide where to go for dinner.”
Zach stood. “Are you sure? I don't need to pry. I respect your boundaries.”
I glanced at the overflowing garbage bin in the kitchen. Sure he did.
“It's fine,” I said, smiling sweetly, then I went into my bedroom and shut the door.
I lurked in my bedroom for nearly half an hour, rearranging furniture. It was actually nice to have someone else recount the humiliating tale of me being left at the altar. This way I didn't have to re-live it, that lump strangling my throat every time I brought it back to mind. I've heard that talking about painful events is supposed to ease the pain, but talking about that day seemed to be searing it into my memory, making the whole thing more dramatic every time.
Some days, I could handle the story, like when I told Shawn. We'd been walking near the beach, and he was just such a laid-back, relaxed person. He'd called me “grounded,” but he was the rock-solid one, and I'd felt like I could say anything around him.
Zach was different. He had been kind and considerate thus far, but there was a hint of judgment. Perhaps I was still sore about him throwing away my junk food stash.
I came out of the bedroom at last, dressed up like someone who'd never get left at the altar. I wore a scarlet-red dress, from one of our label's new collections, and a pair of sandals that were casual, but with enough heel to make my calves curvy.
I strode out to the living room and waited for Zach to notice me. The two of them were talking about ice cream flavors, and he stopped mid-sentence to eye-grope me, much to my delight.
“Not bad,” Renee said. “You clean up okay, Laura.”
Zach said, jokingly, “Thanks for stopping by, Renee, I guess you'll be on your way!”
I laughed an
d said I was hungry, and we were going out for a late dinner since nothing in my kitchen passed muster with the CEO of Butter Spoons. I insisted Renee join us, assuring her she wasn't a third wheel. Having her with us felt right, like we were becoming a little group of friends.
We had a nice evening at a local place, enjoying a thin-crust pizza fired in a wood oven, as well as a pitcher of sangria. Lars would never have imbibed in a fruity drink, calling it “girlie,” but Zach was happy to share whatever we wanted.
“Zach is a good catch,” Renee said, right in front of him.
He seemed to blush, and excused himself to the washroom.
The second he was gone, Renee said, “OH-MY-STARS are you two zooming? Does he make you sneeze?” (Sneeze was Renee's nanny-filter euphemism for orgasm, though it almost sounded dirtier than the real word.)
I smiled, my cheeks flushing from the sangria and the memory of that afternoon in my bedroom. “Maybe.”
“Did you both sneeze at the same time?”
“Close enough. Honestly, I'm happy to sneeze at all.”
“I know. You only had about five with Lars, right? How many are you at now?”
I tried to count, but I'd lost track. There'd been a few with Shawn, and today's had seemed like it might have been two. Not having a number was a good thing. I crossed my arms and squeezed myself in a happy hug as Renee and I grinned at each other.
“Lucky Laura.”
I said, “I'm having so much fun.”
“Wow.” She patted me on the knee. “Lars is wrong. You're not frigid at all.”
“What? He said—what? How dare he! I should—” I punched my fist into my other palm.
“He's been telling everyone,” Renee said, looking serious. “It's what I wanted to talk to you about today. Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.” She patted me on the knee again, which seemed patronizing. Renee had a boyfriend waiting at home for her, and there was no end to the stories about the incredible things he did to her.
I said, “Renee, just because I don't have multiple orgasms when someone sucks on my earlobes, like you do, doesn't mean I'm frigid. Furthermore, Lars has a crooked dick and he shaves his balls, and his junk looks like … like a sickly naked mole rat!”
