by Teddy Hester
But first, I have to get through this lunch and its conversation with Eleanor. “How was Celeste’s wedding?”
“Lovely. Everything went off well, with only a little bobble to make retellings to future generations more interesting. Bonnie and Carl asked about you. I told them you were tied up with a client. And the Regal? Where do things stand?”
We engage in generic chat like that through our salads, easy, comfortable with each other. No banter, no surprises.
And no electric blue eyes.
The waitress clears our empty plates, takes my payment, and refills our water glasses before leaving us alone. Eleanor leans forward, her hands on the tablecloth, fingers entwined. “All right, Tony, suppose you tell me why we’re here today.”
“Don’t friends still go out to lunch occasionally?” I tease.
She tilts her head in a charming pose, and her soft, rose lips smile sweetly. “It’s been nearly three weeks since you’ve last seen this ‘friend,’ and we’ve only spoken on the phone twice. I understand busy, but this feels like something else.”
I sigh. “It is. And I wanted to tell you about it.”
“Let me help. You’ve met someone.”
My gaze snaps to her face. “Yes.”
“Do I know her?”
“Funny you should ask.”
“The woman at the concert.”
Now I can only gape. How could she guess?
“Don’t look so shocked. You disappeared after that night. It took me a little while to think it through, but I eventually got it.”
“You’re an amazing woman—”
“Stop. Let’s not do this part. Our continued friendship doesn’t need it.”
She really is a wonderful woman, and I may be making the biggest mistake of my life. We’re so comfortable together and understand each other’s worlds.
The waitress passes by, returning my credit card.
“If you want to tell me about her, you can,” Eleanor prompts.
“There’s nothing to tell. We haven’t even started dating.”
To my horror, tears well in her eyes. She reaches across the table and pats the hand I have wrapped around my glass. “Thank you for that. Somehow it makes me feel less jilted.”
I take her hand in both of mine. “Were we headed down the aisle?”
She flips her hand over underneath mine and squeezes. “Of course I had dreams. But I also wondered if we weren’t a little too compatible. Too placid. Like a couple that has been married for decades instead of a couple barely into our thirties. Our lovemaking—forgive me?—was gentle and nurturing rather than what I’d call passionate. It was always good, I have no complaints. Don’t think I wasn’t satisfied.”
“But there’s a difference between being satisfied and being consumed,” I finish.
Relief washes over her face. “Yes, exactly.”
Was that why I never took our relationship to that last step? I want to be consumed rather than merely satisfied?
“Let’s really stay friends, Eleanor. I want that.”
“Are you kidding?” she asks, pulling on her coat and gloves. “You’re still my portfolio manager, and I expect monthly reports over lunch.”
I grin and walk out of the restaurant with her. “It’s a deal.”
CHAPTER 9
I feel like the kid in one of those movies who screams out a window, “It’s Friday night!” and the campus erupts into party mode.
In my case, though, the only party I’m planning on will be happening inside my house, and if Cleo’s feeling collaborative rather than competitive, inside my bedroom.
Running through my checklist: non-beige food and snacks, check. Ingredients for her rebujito, check. Candles, flowers, music, check. Clean sheets and towels, check. Plenty of condoms? Definitely.
With less than an hour before she’s supposed to arrive, I jump in the shower. By the time I hear the whir of the elevator, my breath is fresh and my face is shaved smooth as a baby’s behind.
When I arrive in the great room, Cleo’s already there, standing in the middle of the room, staring out the windows at the ocean. “Nice view.”
“Thanks. Why don’t you take off your coat and stay awhile? Would you like a rebujito? You can show me how to make it.”
She’s in blue today—patent leather boots and a long, wool trench all sporting a bright, happy blue roughly the same shade as her eyes. Her berry-colored lips are vibrant against a backdrop of black hair and pale porcelain skin. Pivoting, she faces me with the most blatant come-hither look I’ve ever received. “I need a little help with that.”
Don’t have to ask me twice. I cross over to her to give her a proper greeting. Gathering her in my arms, I lower my lips to hers and kiss hard, like I’m branding her. She takes it all, every ounce of passion I infuse the kiss with, and then slams it back at me with her own hunger, demanding more. I break to nibble on her delicious, full lower lip, then, when she moans, I dive back in.
My hand grips the back of her head, the other her ass, holding her in place for my assault. Her hands have already burrowed under my sweater and are clutching at my back. I want to feel her skin, and encounter nothing but blue wool.
“Coat. Off.” I breathe against her mouth.
“Yes.”
But she doesn’t stop kissing. So, in frustration, I shove away from her and fumble with the fabric belt cinching her waist. My hands are shaking by the time my fingers struggle with the buttons trailing down the front.
One button, two buttons, three…good Lord have mercy, is she—?
The last button unfastened, I open that blue coat, help it drop to the floor, and I stare.
Underwear. Electric blue underwear.
If you can call three triangles strung together with thin, blue cords underwear.
And patent leather boots.
For a minute, I forget to breathe.
I can’t decide whether I want to punish her to within an inch of her life or fuck her into oblivion.
Maybe both.
My hand ignores my brain’s paralysis and reaches for a well-rounded breast. Grazes it with fingertips, feels the nipple harden and extend. In reflex, my mouth latches onto that nipple, right through the electric blue gauze covering it and sucks hard.
Cleo gasps and smashes my face to her breast. My tongue circles, my teeth nip and tug, I suck as much of her into my mouth as I can and lash the puckered bud.
I need leverage. Something to hold onto while I get lost in Cleo’s feminine pulchritude. My hands slide down her back to the base of her spine and the flare of her hips. Then I peep over her bare shoulder down her back to her bare ass.
A thong. She’s wearing a thong.
Needing a closer inspection, I take a stroll around her body. My index finger drifts over a hip, across one rounded cheek, over a crevice to another rounded cheek. Not fatigued by its journey, that finger continues around to the front, across the final fabric island. From there my finger takes a short detour to the valley below, lush with dew.
The urge to rut, down and dirty, is overpowering.
Cleo’s whimper brings me back to my living room.
I scoop her up and carry her off.
*****
Cleo bounces with a squeal when I pitch her onto the bed. I pin her with my fully-clothed body, and kiss every inch of her, beginning with that delectable neck. She surges against me repeatedly. Sometimes I let her rub against my engorged cock, working her into an even bigger frenzy, other times I hold her off. When she groans with frustration, I get even harder.
I’m mad with lust for this woman.
When I settle between her legs and rub against her panties with my nose, my responsive beauty almost catapults off the bed. Another rub, and she climaxes. I fix my mouth to her fabric-covered clit and suck her through her spasms. Then I rip off her panties and get my first real taste. Salty and sweet, that dark spice of her perfume permeates even here. I’ll never get enough of this dessert. Before I’ve barely sampl
ed it, she’s cresting once again.
“Omigod, Tony. Omigod.”
She’s not crying for me to stop, so I indulge myself on her again. She’s so wet, I have to lap the excess, which makes her writhe. Sliding a finger into her passage, I stroke inside her while nibbling on the fragile skin of her inner thighs. Her hands claw at the bedcovers while I acquaint myself with every centimeter and inch of Clementine Waiteberry.
When she cries, “Yes!” and convulses around my finger, I know I’ve found her special inner spot. I intend to become best friends with that spot.
But for now, my finger withdraws, eliciting a huge sigh from Cleo. She’s almost wrung out. But I want her completely docile, and I don’t think she’s nearly there. I take this moment of inactivity to strip off my clothes.
Carefully, I lie back on top of her for my first sensation of skin-on-skin contact. Every nerve is hyperaware. Every one of her cells is kissing one of mine. I groan. It’s almost too much to bear. While I still can, I slide down her body and remove the scraps that make up her bra to expose the full glory of her breasts. Laving first one, then the other, I lose myself in the pastime. Cleo’s hips tick as she rubs against my torso.
“Suck harder,” she commands, and I’m happy to oblige. On a particularly strong draw, she has another orgasm.
Noted: Cleo likes a little roughness in her love-making.
I climb back up her lithe body, kissing her chest and neck along the way, arriving at her mouth, the rest of my body covering hers, pinning her to the bed, while I hold her head in my hands and kiss her lips.
Suddenly she tears her lips away from my kisses. “I want you inside me, Tony. I need to feel you inside me.”
My soft kiss swallows her pleas. “If you have enough energy for that much begging, then you’re not ready.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Let yourself enjoy this, sweetheart. Let me pleasure you. Let me show you what I mean.”
She opens her mouth to whine again, but I insert three fingers into her pussy and roll my thumb over her clit. Her whine turns into a moan, and then a guttural cry as she pulls herself to another climax. Without slowing down, I add hard sucking of a breast to the mix, and she comes again in short order. When my invading fingers search and rub over her inner spot, she surges against my hand with another orgasm. Continuing that stimulation, I ratchet her up to the edge, back off a few beats, then ratchet her up again before biting her tight nipple. She shrieks through that release.
“Enough,” she whispers, panting, lying limp as overcooked spaghetti.
I roll on a condom and poise myself over her. “Yes?”
“Yes,” she sighs.
Fighting the urge to plunge, I slide an inch inside her. She purrs, but barely moves.
“More?”
“Yes.”
I feed her another inch. Her muscles flutter, but not aggressively.
“Another inch?”
“Yes.”
I press a little more into her snug passage and revel in its warmth. I back out to the entrance and push back in to where we’d gotten before.
“Mmm,” she hums.
“More?”
“Yes.”
I’m really testing her, seeing how long she’ll let me tease her like this, how long I can get her to enjoy the here and now. I want her to trust me to siphon off the excess energy that makes her feel out of control, and to replace that destructive energy with something more empowering.
If she’ll let me.
“I’m about halfway in now, sweetheart. Are you still good? You want more?”
She nods. “Yes. More.”
I can feel the top of her when I push. She’ll stretch to accommodate, but this first time, I like to go easy so I learn about her body and our fit. I slide back out and push back in. This time, she clenches on me as I push past that first ring of muscles.
I pull back out and then give her another inch, my cock kissing her womb.
“Almost there, baby. Here goes.”
I give her the rest, planting myself deep inside her, opening her to accept all of me. Her arms wrap around my back, and we hold each other, united. She clenches, and my cock flexes in response.
That’s it. The need to move, to claim her, is too strong. I pull out and plunge back in, thrusting. We start gentle, then she begins to meet my downstroke with an upstroke of her own.
At that point, I slide a hand under her hips to raise the angle of my penetration, and my thrusts are no longer gentle. She tightens around me with every stroke. When her legs wrap around my waist, I plunge into her like my life depends on it. She moans with pleasure each time I hit the top of her.
“Tony,” she mewls.
It feeds my libido and I swell inside her. The tighter she fastens on my cock, the more desperate her cries.
“Tony!” she cries at last, hoarse with sex, spasming on my cock that’s gone so solid it feels like a lead pipe. I smash it one last time up against her womb and let the electricity travel down my spine and up from my balls, through my cock, coming hard and long.
If I let go of him, I’ll splinter.
That’s my first thought after our mind-blowing orgasm.
My next is: I’m too wiped out to move.
I could fall asleep right here, with him inside me, and not wake up until morning. I hope he’s not the type who wants to jump up, clean up, then come back and take a nap. I hope he’ll let me enjoy this peaceful floating fog I’m in. It’s more comfortable than anything I can ever remember.
He stirs, and I tighten my arms around him to keep him pinned. He must take the hint, because he doesn’t try again. He snuggles into my neck with a tired little kiss, and settles.
The man used my body well. I lost track of how many orgasms he gave me before he finally penetrated me. I’m used to sex taking about 10 minutes, beginning to end. He spent longer than that just kissing one boob! Did he make me come, doing that? I can’t remember. I’ll try to pay more attention next time.
Next time. Oh, yes, there will definitely be a next time. This is my boyfriend, and we’re in a relationship, which means I can jump his bones whenever I want. I’ve had boyfriends before, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a relationship like the one with Tony looks like it may be.
There has to be a downside someplace. He’s too yummy not to have been snagged by some girl before now. Why is he still single? Why didn’t he close the deal with Jade? What’s wrong with this picture, and what am I missing?
“I can feel you thinking,” he mumbles against my neck.
“Eeep! You startled me.” I mock-slap his back.
“Did I not get the job done the first time? Do you need more of my attention to quiet your chattering mind?” he drawls.
Replete. I think that’s a word I heard one time and thought was cool. It means overfull. Tony sounds replete. With pussy. He’s certainly replete with cockiness.
I’m tired, and I’m lethargic, but I’m not down and out.
“You did your job just fine. Now, are you ready to go again?”
With a groan, he reaches down to catch the condom as he pulls out of me. Rolling onto his back, he ties it off and drops it in the trash bin by his bed. He starts to get up.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To wash up, Nosey Parker.”
“That’s what I thought. Don’t bother.” I pull him back down beside me. “My turn.”
I roll and position myself between his legs and get my first view of what the man totes around in his trousers.
“Damn.”
One hand behind his neck, he tilts his head up for a look. “Something wrong?”
“Nothing. Not a thing. Not a single thing.” I curl my lips in between my teeth to stop the blabbering.
No wonder he took his time feeding me this monster. Thank God I didn’t see it beforehand. Flaccid, it’s every bit of nine inches, and almost as big around as my Brita Sport water bottle. Worked up? I bet it’s gonna look
like a Subway foot-long!
My pussy took it, though, so maybe my mouth can, too.
I start at the other end, though, with his balls. I don’t know why, but I just love men’s balls. It’s weird, I know. They’re weird. Maybe that’s what I like about ‘em. Kinda puckered, kinda hairy, kinda not quite symmetrical, and so very, very tender. Vulnerability in the midst of rampant masculinity. They have their own unique fragrance, too. A musky man-smell and clean sweat.
I just have to pop one in my mouth. Tony gasps through clenched teeth. He’s not giving me the evil eye, though, or yanking me off by the hair, so it’s safe to assume he likes me to do that. I’ll just test that theory. Yep, a twitch and a hiss. He’s mine. I’m gonna make him lose so much control, it’s gonna make his head spin.
Like he worked my breasts, I stroke, suck, and lick his balls, first one, then the other. I’d like to take them both in my mouth, but they’re proportional to his dick, so I’m afraid I could hurt him trying to get them both in my mouth at the same time. Maybe some other day.
I settle for one in my mouth, swimming in my wet heat, my tongue circling around and around, then tickling the ridge between. The whole time, I watch his shaft, seeing what makes it twitch and what brings it back to life. It all seems to.
Before that thing gets too big, though, I want to taste him. Pulling myself up a little, I can lick the cum off his cock left behind when the condom came off. One long, long lick from the base to the flare of the cap has Tony breathing harder. Straddling his thigh, I come at that beautiful cock from the side and lave it all, bottom to top, teasing him by avoiding the tip. After a few passes near it, he growls.
Like that’s a threat. I have his favorite body part within biting distance.
I play with it a while longer, but the bigger it grows, the heavier it gets. Maybe Scanties needs to design a line of briefs for the well-endowed. That thing’s really bound to be a problem sometimes, like a roommate I had in college once whose size F breasts made it impossible for her to find a dress that fit her size 6 body.
