by Alexis Angel
“Let’s see if we can’t change your tune,” Kirk says.
His palm lands on my ass cheek before I have time to wonder what that might be. I’m still processing the way that delicious little burst of pain makes me feel (Oh yeah, I’m still in slut mode, for sure. But when am I not around this man?) when Kirk lifts me up off his cock and places me on the hardwood floor on my knees.
Now that big, fat, rock-hard cock that I’ve been so gaga over is right there in my face, level with my mouth. All twelve inches of my favorite piece of man meat is covered with this gorgeous mixture of his cum and my cream to the point where it’s practically dripping off him.
Instinctively, I stick out my tongue to lick it. I want to taste him, taste myself, taste us.
But before I can, Kirk grabs a handful of my hair and pulls me back, leaving my tongue outstretched and wanting—a tantalizing fraction of an inch away from the dick I want to lick like an ice cream cone.
“Don’t be cruel,” I say, staring up at him and batting my long, thick eyelashes in a way that he can’t refuse. “Gimme.”
“Spit on it, Em.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “And what if I don’t?”
“Then you don’t get your reward.”
I consider it for a second. Historically speaking, Kirk rewards are the kind of rewards I’d do just about anything for.
I give him my best bedroom eyes, I pucker my lips, and I spit on his cock.
“Again.”
I obey him. Partly because I want to see where this is going. Partly because as it turns out, I really like the way his dick looks when it’s all wet and sexy and dripping like this.
“Good girl.”
He strokes my hair and I preen.
“Reward now, please, Daddy,” I say, remembering how he likes it when I call him that.
He smirks.
“Since you asked so nicely…”
Kirk pulls me up and turns me over so fast it makes my head spin. Before I know it, I’m bent over the bathroom counter. I can feel where I was sitting when he made me cum for him earlier, because the counter is still slick with my honey. He presses me into the wet spot, like he’s mopping it up with my tits.
He spanks me again. This time, there’s nothing to stop me from moaning. When I do, the sound of my own arousal makes my pussy absolutely purr.
“I’m gonna fuck your ass now, babe,” Kirk says.
I can see him in the mirror now, washboard abs and all. His reflection is smiling down at me. I smile back at it as he spreads my ass cheeks wide open for him.
“And you’re gonna watch yourself while I do it.”
His cock presses against the tight pucker of my asshole. He levels it there with one hand. With the other, he gathers up a handful of my hair and pulls on it until I’m staring my own reflection down in the mirror.
The look on my face is an expression of pure, unbridled ecstasy as his big, hard rod forces its way in.
I think everybody secretly wonders what their face looks like when they orgasm. Most of us probably never want to find out. I’ve seen some pretty ridiculous O-faces in my day, after all.
For some people, it’s a Pandora’s box better left unopened.
As Kirk reaches around my waist and between my legs, I realize we’re about to open it whether we want to or not.
Luckily, I’m not about to do it alone. I can see Kirk there behind me, thrusting in and out of my ass in a hard, slow fuck while he traps my clit between his fingers and strokes it like he means business.
“Thats right, baby,” he says, his lip curling with pleasure. “We look good together. Now cum for me.”
His hand releases my hair and strokes down my spine. Then it wraps around my body. His fingers glaze over my rib cage, and I arch my back for him, bouncing my ass against his cock.
I am going to orgasm for him. I’m already so close. Any minute now—any second—and he’s going to blow my mind once again.
“Fuck yes, Em! Give it to me!” he howls.
“Oh my god! Kirk! Fuck! Fuck yes!”
He picks me up, one arm just under my tits, the other strumming my clit like there’s no tomorrow, and it hits us both at once.
BAM. Christmas morning. Chocolate cheesecake. Cherry bombs.
“Fuck!” We sigh simultaneously.
There in the mirror, we’re pure sex. Chests heaving. Hair a mess. My nipples dark and hard. His broad shoulders. Our skin, glowing in the candlelight.
It’s then that I hear them, so far down the hall I can only just barely make out the words:
“And so that’s how the new secretary ended up bent over the boss’ desk in front of the entire office with a cucumber in her ass.”
“That’s so fucking wild! I guess you never really know what’s going on behind closed doors, huh?”
Emily
WineBar’s townhouse seems perfect to me, even for Russian Hill. It’s a classic Edwardian-style house on a fairly flat, easy-to-walk block. In my experience, the area is also nice and quiet without too much traffic.
For whatever reason, that’s not the case as my taxi pulls up to the front of Kirk’s building—or as close as we can get to it. It looks like all the street parking is taken, and there’s a small crowd of people lingering idly in front of Kirk’s front door. I feel my stomach churn faintly, probably from stress.
What the hell is going on?
I step out of the taxi and begin walking toward the townhouse. Everybody outside the front of the building is mingling in groups. Most of them turn to look—or glare—at me as I approach.
This is already a lot different than my expectations. Instead of a small, intimate gathering of loved ones, this is clearly a full-fledged shindig with half the city in attendance. Instead of feeling self-conscious about meeting Kirk’s family, I’m strangely self-conscious about walking in alone at a giant party filled with strangers.
What’s that even about? I can run a room, command all the attention at a party. But right now I’m off-kilter. This whole meeting the family business has thrown me for a loop.
Whatever. Maybe it’s possible that, for business reasons, WineBar can hardly plan any event without a huge guest list. Maybe everyone’s out here and there aren’t actully that many people inside.
I keep my head up, eyes scanning the area as I saunter through the crowd and let myself through the front door.
Okay, yeah, it’s fucking packed.
Even with little open space, Kirk’s house seems larger than ever with hordes of people—strangers—milling around, their loud conversations echoing off the high ceilings.
The air is pungent with the combined scents of midmarket perfume, cologne, fancy beer, and liquors of all kinds. It’s like some hotel bar in Union Square on a Friday night, only with less tourists.
I need a fucking drink.
I point myself toward the rear entrance with determination. I know that WineBar has to be outside, no doubt at the center of the action. I’m almost ready to yell at him, but I fight the urge.
This is his barbecue, after all, and I’m ready to see where this is all going. Without having the floorplan of this place memorized, I find a quick route to the huge wrought-iron doors leading outside.
The crowd’s a bit thinner outside, but the setup’s still elaborate with tables, string lanterns, and downtempo electronica playing quietly from somewhere. There’s also the sound and smell of sizzling food…and there’s the grill.
More importantly, there’s WineBar with his back facing me.
And yes, of course, there are three women flocked around him, all wearing awfully unconservative dresses.
What. The. Fuck.
Maybe I should embrace that urge to yell.
I see WineBar’s face in profile as he turns and says something to the chestnut-haired girl in the black minidress on his left. All three women erupt in laughter, and Kirk has a stupid, fake little smile on his face.
I find myself almost stomping to the grill, ready to let
WineBar have it. Why did he even invite me to this thing? All the stress, and the time, and the taxi…I need to know just what in the hell he was thinking.
I’m almost there, maybe a few feet away, when Kirk turns his head around and notices me. The recognition hits his face, and Kirk’s phony smirk instantly transforms into a grin of genuine delight. And surprise. And relief.
I can feel the warmth in his eyes, and my anger melts and evaporates just like that. Kinda like how that smile is making my panties melt, too.
“Fancy meeting you here.” Kirk turns around to face me entirely. He’s still smiling, and his eyes stay locked on mine.
“Hey, Tad,” Kirk calls out while still focused on me. And like magic, some dude runs over and takes the barbecue fork that Kirk is holding out.
“I’m glad you finally trust me,” the guy declares jokingly. He seems thrilled to take over the grill, even as the women gathered around it start to look around for other things to do.
I feel speechless as Kirk approaches me. And a little bit lightheaded. And a whole lot horny.
Kirk softly brushes his fingertips against my left arm. Right now, it feels better than any embrace, especially since it seems to carry the promise of much more.
My whole body responds with a shiver that races over my skin and finally settles right there at my clit. As usual, WineBar has me wet and ready to go with nothing more than a look.
“Big party.” I find my voice at last. It sounds a bit hoarse right now, but Kirk doesn’t seem to mind as his smile broadens.
“Yeah, it’s just a little thing I threw together.”
Our eyes are still locked, but by now Kirk is so close that I’m almost looking straight up at him.
“What did you call this on the phone? A small get-together or something? Modesty makes me so fucking hot.” There’s my voice, loud and clear.
“In that case, we should head back into my tiny cottage soon.”
“Oh, nice downplaying,” I tease. “I would like to see your tiny cottage very much. Maybe it has, I don’t know, a bed we could enjoy? If there’s enough room?”
Kirk’s fingertips are moving up and down my arm with just a slight bit more intensity now.
“Barely. My bed is pretty much a fold-out cot.”
I throw my head back, groaning dramatically. “Oh! You’re so modest! I can’t take it!”
I’m sure people are staring at us, but I don’t give a fuck, and neither does Kirk. He’s still looking only at me, and he’s laughing.
“We can see the cottage soon enough. But there are still people here I want you to meet. You at least have to say hi to my brother. He’s almost here.”
I back up a little and look down at the pastel paving stones under my feet. The music suddenly sounds a bit louder, and my stomach’s churning again.
“Okay.”
Kirk recloses the gap between us and starts rubbing my arm.
“This is so not like you, Emily. Tell me what’s wrong.”
I bite my lip. “I’m…actually a little nervous about this whole thing. You know, meeting your family. I guess I can’t hide it.”
I look up to see Kirk’s gaze meeting mine once more.
“No, you can’t.”
The time that it takes for Kirk to bring his lips to mine feels like an instant, but it also feels like an eternity, since I know the kiss is about to happen, and I want the moment to just last and last.
Kirk kisses me, deeply, hungrily, yet also tenderly, and I feel the last day and a half of angst and apprehension dissipate.
“I’m glad to get that off my chest,” I utter quietly.
“I’m so happy you’re here, and I want you to enjoy yourself. I’m going to do whatever it takes to calm your nerves.”
Well, that sounds promising.
“And just what would that be?”
While I like where this is going, I want Kirk to be specific. In fact, I really like the idea of Kirk being extremely specific about this.
“Let’s go check out the cottage.”
Thank. Fuck.
Just what I wanted to hear.
Kirk’s hand grips mine smoothly, and he pulls me tightly against him as we share another kiss, this time staying in the moment a little longer, our kiss getting close to indecent for a family event.
I just can’t help it. Being pressed up against his sexy body makes me lose all reason. Or even remember why I should be reasonable in the first place.
All I can think about right now is getting out of these fucking conservative clothes and letting Kirk do his thing to ‘calm my nerves.’
With my hand in his, Kirk leads me through the path of partygoers back into his house.
Emily
I don’t know what I’d do without my newsletter.
That’s how I feel most of the time, anyway. Today, I don’t know what to do at all.
Conservative? What the fuck?
The best I can hope for is some advice from my knowledgeable, wise, and well-sexed readers.
The cursor blinking on the blank email screen mocks me. This is like the worst writer’s block ever. I’m asking for something more than just inspiration.
It feels like I need a fucking miracle. Or at least a half-decent idea.
Shit, it’s getting late. I stop worrying and start typing. I start with what’s becoming my standard chatter about WineBar.
It seems like it’s all good news, or should be, and I try to keep a chipper, upbeat tone. But then I get to what I really need to know:
OK, so conservative dress.
Like, what does that even mean?
And what does it mean when it comes from WineBar?
I know I can rock this shit, but like, uhm, help. WTF am I supposed to do to make it hot? I mean, that kinda pulls out all the good choices and leaves me with what?
Tell me what u think, bc I have no fucking clue. If I ask WineBar, then he’ll be like “oh, you know.” How can he be sooper talkative one moment and then when I have a question he’s “Listen” and then gives me one fucking word or something?
LOL, so totally overthinking this. Need ur help, babes!!!
Just as I hit send, I hear my front door open, which is enough to make me leap out of my chair and nearly have a heart attack. It takes about half a second to realize that it’s only my best friend and fellow romance author extraordinaire, Lana.
There’s no reason I should be startled, but I still let out a little half scream before walking over to greet her.
“Jesus, Em. I’m supposed to be the tense one. What the fuck?”
Lana’s face is dead serious. She may be intense sometimes, but thanks to this barbecue and Kirk’s vague-as-fuck dress code request, I’m so far from chill that I think I might know what it’s like to be Lana now.
Maybe I can channel some of this nervous energy into figuring out a fucking outfit already. Since Lana’s here, I can recruit her to the cause as well.
“Come on, let’s go,” I demand, trying to be casual but already marching in the direction of my bedroom and my closet.
There has to be something perfect for today hiding there. I really hope Lana can help me figure out this whole conservative thing. This is one first impression I don’t want to mess up.
“Let’s go where?”
“To pick out something for this fucking barbecue already. You know—WineBar, parents, and all that shit.” I’m walking at a steady clip. I hear Lana following casually behind me.
“Okay, but Em…”
I get to my bedroom well before Lana, and by the time she strolls in, I already have a couple summery dresses laid out on the bed, and I’m busy looking through various tops.
“A dress would be easiest. Would it be better if I planned out an outfit?” I ask her.
I feel like I’m losing track of whatever ideas I may have had. I don’t want to put this all on Lana, but I need her relative clear-headedness right now.
“Emily?”
Oh, thank fuck. I’m starv
ed for an outside opinion, and Lana’s ready to tell me something, at least.
“What is it, Lana? The flared floral dress? I was thinking that too. That’s pretty conservative, right?”
“How much sleep did you get last night?”
I give her a crazy look because that’s not the usual type of question Lana would ask.
“I’m very well rested. But let’s focus here. All I need is something conservative, but still slutty at the same time. Those are the only requirements.”
I’m focused on efficiently looking through dresses, hoping one will jump out as the perfect one.
“Um, Emily, I think you’ve stumbled on a fashion oxymoron. Conservative and slutty can’t exist in the same outfit.”
I’m still quickly rifling through dresses as I try to explain.
“Here’s the thing, Lana. I need to make a strong impression, but I can’t do that unless I look amazing. Conservative? What the fuck? That’s not inspiring to me. Would it be for anyone? No,” I answer before she can respond.
Because hello, who gets excited about conservative clothes? It’s sure as fuck not me.
And then there it is—my drop-waist green sundress. It’s the right weather for it, and the flowing design is sexy, but in a subtle way.
“Just a question, Em. Have you eaten recently? Like at all?”
I pull the sundress from the closet and hold it out for Lana to see.
“This is perfect, am I right? And I have those kitten heels in a matching color. Fuckably conservative.”
“Did you have breakfast?”
Lana doesn’t want to give her input for whatever reason. Well, so much for that. Thanks, bestie, looks like I’ll have to rely on my instincts about the sundress.
“Just an apple.”
“Oh. That’s not much of a breakfast, but better than nothing.”
“It was actually last night’s dessert.”
I lay the dress carefully on my bed as Lana looks on.
“Yeah, eating’s probably a good idea. Do you want to order something? Delivery? I could run out and pick something up for you.”
Now that the clothing dilemma is solved, my edgy energy slows down. I have just enough time to get ready.
