by M. Mabie
“It's new. We've never got in bed knowing that neither of us were going to run.” He laughed and pointed at me with the comb. “You're not running, are you?”
“Not planning on it,” I said sarcastically. The truth was I really wasn't planning on it, but my plans always seemed to change.
“Well, then. Get up there, Betty. Make yourself at home.” He still wasn't wearing any clothes, just a towel and my eyes wandered over his skin. He'd lost a little weight, which only made his muscles seem more prominent. The lines in his back were strong and defined as he began walking to the closet.
He returned with a pair of boxers and a T-shirt.
“Are those for me?”
“One of them is. Which one do you want?” He was being playful and it was nourishment for my heart. So, I chose the least likely of the pair.
“I'll take the boxers.”
His face lit up like a Christmas tree. “That's my girl.”
He handed me the plaid boxers, which were way too big and didn't want to stay up after I pulled them up my legs. I let my towel fall, going topless.
Casey threw the shirt on and dropped his towel. He clapped his big hands together, and then rubbed them conspiratorially. “Now this is a sleepover!”
He smacked my ass as I climbed onto the four-poster bed and I crawled my way to the center. He followed and scooted behind me. He unraveled the towel, which was holding my wet hair up, and let the cool locks hit my shoulders and back. It gave me chills. He pulled at me and wedged my ass between his legs.
After leaning over to the bedside table, he threw the remote control onto my lap, telling me, “Find something good.” Then he moved my hair to the side and kissed the nape of my neck, finding a surprise there.
“You got ink?! Let me see.” I held my locks up for him to examine hoping he’d like it. I’d got the tattoo on a whim, praying that one day he’d see it and knowing that if he never did, I’d still have a reminder of him with me forever.
“It's a hook. You got a hook tattoo?” he softly said, so close to my skin that gooseflesh appeared down my arms and legs.
“I did. Do you like it?” I didn't know what he would think of it. After I’d got it, I badly wanted to send him a picture.
“It's beautiful. Perfect.” he added and kissed it. The hook was thin and delicate, centered barely under my hairline. I'd had the artist draw the thinnest of strings that tied at the eye of the J-shaped piece of metal. I'd instructed him to hide a C and an M in the line and to have it wrap the throat and shank. Yes, I’d studied hooks. To anyone else it would have looked like an unassuming hook and string, but to me it was a secret tribute to the man I deeply missed.
“It’s your initials hidden in the string,” I said.
He kissed my neck once more and then said, “Thank you, honeybee,” like I’d given him something precious. Casey’s simple words were full of meaning and the swallow I heard after he spoke didn’t go unnoticed.
I channel surfed, passing sports and sitcoms alike. I wondered if he had any of the good channels. It was getting late and I'd just about lay money that I could find something we'd both enjoy. Then I stumbled onto a skin-flick and tossed the remote aside, after turning the sound down.
I felt the comb slide smoothly through my hair, which I was sure would be littered with rats and tangles from the many rushed knotted ponytails I'd hastily thrown up throughout the day's travels.
Over and over, he dragged the comb through my wet hair running a hand behind it, almost like he was petting me. I watched the naked couple on the television touch each other and felt both relaxation and desire seep into my pores.
When I'd tired of not seeing him after minutes of viewing the erotic movie, I caught the comb behind me and captured his hand. I turned where I sat partway and found his eyes, hooded and glazed over.
“Do you always watch porn topless at slumber parties, or is this new?”
“It's been a while,” I said coyly. I released his hand and placed mine on his leg. He licked his lips, and on its own, my tongue came out to wet mine. “I'm usually completely naked.”
“Your dirty talk is improving. Tell me more,” he said bringing a hand around me grabbing a free breast.
“I've been doing some reading on it,” I said, trying to keep the smile out of my voice, which has always been my problem. “Studies show that men love it when you tell them how wet you are.”
His breath caught and he held it, nodding his head slowly. He closed his eyes like he was soaking in my words, then muttered under his breathe. “Finally, a study I can get behind. What else do they say?”
“They encourage the use of genital slang.” I turned towards him fully and away from his grip on my chest.
He leaned back and I crawled up his body, keeping my legs between his. My arms holding my weight above him. His hands found my sides and held me there.
“They also say to ask for things that you want—to beg if necessary—and to repeat your lover's name.” My voice was husky and low. Watching him swallow hard almost made me lose it, but I stayed the course. Holding back all the humor from my face, as best I could.
He asked weakly, “Have you tried any of their theories?”
“Not yet. I've been waiting.”
“I think now would be a good time. Education is very important.”
I took a breath and lowered my mouth to his ear. I licked the lobe and said as seductively as I possibly could, “Casey?”
He exhaled a long rumbling, “Hmm?”
“Can you feel how wet my pussy is? Please?”
That was all it took. In one fast move he lifted me and rolled us over. Kicking my legs apart, he masterfully switched our positions.
I was in Heaven.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
HAD I DIED AND gone to Heaven? Or maybe it was my mom showing me what it was like.
Only hours before, I had been sulking and brooding. Painting a damn shed. Then Blake appeared out of nowhere, painted Bait in red on the wall, took care of me and made me eat, washed me in the tub with her two small hands, and then there I was in bed with her, about to sleep with her, really sleep with her, for the first time in over a year.
Oh, and she'd just asked me if I could, please, see if her pussy was wet.
Well, you bet your sweet fucking ass I could. I'd never been surer of anything. She was ready for me, but I'd make damn sure she knew exactly how wet I could make her.
I gazed down at her, with my weight on my arms, the same way she had, and turned the tables. “I like your research.”
I couldn't take it any longer and leaned down to kiss her smiling lips. I paused before our mouths met and watched her close her eyes. It was one of those rare and sublime moments. I’d trade my soul for a picture of her like that, frozen in time. Her hair splayed over the white pillowcase under her head. In my bed. Her lips pursed ready for mine. She looked peaceful waiting for me.
All for me.
“Look at me, honeybee.” And her eyes fluttered open and met my gaze. She grinned unabashedly and wrapped her arms around me causing my balance to wane, and I fell atop of her. I heard a contented laugh come from her and crushed my mouth to hers. Her tongue didn't hesitate, meeting me and running itself over mine.
I felt her hips grind against my naked lower half. I felt her readiness soak through the boxers, but I wanted to make her beg for real, like her bullshit research had mentioned. My lips left hers and ran across her clavicle.
I retreated lower, kissing my way down to her navel and I circled it, leaving a wet trail every step of the way. I skimmed my hands up the inside of the loose shorts and found her dripping and so ready for me. But she'd have to wait.
I wanted her just as bad, the head of my hard cock sneaking up the front of my shirt. But if this relationship had taught me anything, it was patience. And I could hold out for a little longer if it meant hearing her desperate for only me.
I parted her damp flesh and ran my thumb from her clit to her entra
nce. Her back arched, her body invited me to come inside. I felt her clitoris delicately bead and throb under my touch and knew she would come undone with little more than what I was already doing.
But I wasn't leaving her tonight. I had nowhere to go. I was taking my time with her. It would be such sweet torture the likes of which she’d never had to deal with.
In the past, I'd been too rushed to be with her. So needy to make her come, almost trying to prove to her that I could. But I knew I could. She'd come to me, skin marked with my letters, because I needed her. To sate my needs and confirm her own.
I continued the mild assault with my thumb. I skirted my fingers over her opening, promising to go in, to bring her the release she craved, but I didn't. Instead, I removed my hand and watched her face and body grieve its loss of me. I reveled in that power.
I slowly removed my shirt and her boxers, pulling them down her legs inch by inch, letting the fabric graze her love-slick skin. Her nose was that beautiful shade of pink that haunted my dreams.
I led her leg to the side of my face with my left hand and found my cock with the other. I kissed her ankle and rubbed myself, making a show of it.
She writhed. Her pouty mouth shaped into an “O” as she watched. She could only take so much. I watched as her hand slowly crept to her center and began its own sensual mission, her long middle finger finding the spot and running over it in time with my strokes.
Just as I saw her head start to dip back into the pillow and her eyes start to close—sure signs that she was getting close to her peak—I moved her hand and stilled my own.
“Not yet, honeybee. You have to wait.” She didn't argue, only nodding her compliance, biting her lip. She was breathing hard and I watched as she tried to rein in her desire. “You're not ready yet.”
“I am ready, Casey. I'm ready now.” Her voice sounded seductively deprived.
I lowered myself to kiss directly on the bare flesh above her pink pussy. Pussy. If she said that word, then I'd have no choice but to cave. I'd probably cave anyway, because this power I had over her was heady. It always was.
Blake in the throes of passion was always a precious sight, but Blake being submissive and obeying my will was nirvana. Not often over our history had we played with the roles much, always too rushed to take our time. Although, there were times in the heat of an argument, she'd yield to me when she knew her body had sided with mine. That time in Atlanta, she would have done anything I told her even though she was a little afraid.
Thinking about her like that only served to chip away at my tenacity and so I continued my onslaught.
I licked at her swollen skin and sank my rigid tongue through her, diving in, giving it one long taste.
“You taste so sweet, honeybee,” I said against her skin in between kisses.
She was bare, precisely how I’d liked. Smooth and silky. Nothing to hide her away from me.
What I’d said wasn't all for show to drive her crazy. I‘d done my research, too. Certified by the University of Blake. She'd always reacted to me telling her how much I loved her pussy.
She wasn't that vocal, but let me tell you something real about what true amazing was. The way Blake smelled, felt, tasted, and looked when she'd clench up tight in the face of a climax. Amazing. I’d prayed almost every day that I was the only man who'd ever really seen it.
So, I didn't continue with my worship. She’d tip over the edge too soon. I only gave her enough to reinforce my torture.
“Touch me,” she panted. “Please, Casey. Please.”
So the begging was a dick-wagger. She was right. My cock twitched hearing her say my name. Who was I really torturing? If I made it five more minutes, then I’d have been lucky.
Her hands found my head, void of the hair, which she loved to touch. I couldn't deny that feeling her skin on my skin wasn't a new sensation I liked. I loved hearing her say she’d missed my hair, knowing the reason I cut the shit off was because I couldn’t stop feeling her hands run through it in my sleep.
She embraced me and pulled my head in closer to her center, attempting to give herself relief.
I reached for her hands with one of mine and held them together above my head, tight to her flat belly.
“Don't you get it yet?” I whimpered, in between wide licks up her cleft. “I've got you. Right now, your mine. Let me keep you for a few more minutes. Even if it is just on this ledge.”
It was then I slipped a finger past my mouth and slid it into her and she moaned. Still not fighting the hold that I had on her hands.
“Casey, I need you. I need yoooouu,” she groaned, losing control of her body. “Please. Make love to me. Please, I can't take it any longer.”
Yes, my sweet honeybee, that is exactly what I’m going to do. Make. Love. To. You.
I climbed up the bed, released her hands and they went straight to my back. Her grip sinking into my muscles, her fingers fitting perfectly between my ribs.
So in tune with her, I didn't even waste the thought on guiding myself into her. My body was educated in hers. Her body was searching for mine between us. Squirming up with her pelvis, her greedy sex found me.
We could find each other with our hands tied behind our backs.
I pushed into her and she came apart the very second my hips rocked into hers.
My God, I thought.
Then my lips said, “My God.”
All complex thoughts were gone.
She quaked and seized around me and I felt a slickness that could boost any man's ego ten-fold. Yes, in fact she did come and I could feel it.
I ground against her as she rode me from the bottom through her pleasure. Then a carnal male drive took over and consideration was simply a thing of ten minutes ago.
My fists balled the sheets under the pillow she laid on, and my other hand held her hip as I set a punishing rhythm, losing any precious control I thought I had.
Her hands were everywhere, gripping my back and grasping my shoulders like she couldn't get a good enough hold on me. My hand slid under her ass and lifted her to an angle that sent fire up my spine.
“Ah, I want you to come again, Blake. Can you do that for me?” I hissed air through my teeth, feeling my back starting to tense and my ab muscles beginning an all too familiar twitch. “I want to come inside you while you're screaming my name.”
Her center clenched and then I brought my hand between us and ran my hand over her quickly, parting my fingers around where we met. She came off the bed, her arms around me tight and the force pushed me back onto my heels.
My words and my ejaculation came at the same time.
“God, you’re here. Ah, fuck, Blake. Fuck, Blake!” We held on to each other so tight, chest to chest, hanging on for dear life.
I lay there that night, with the whole world in my arms. Biting my tongue to keep from telling her how much I loved her again. It was all I had, but it never felt like enough. I thought about it and came to the conclusion that that was what love was. Never having enough of something. Always wanting more. Being greedy with your heart.
The wind blew in through the long, sheer curtains from the north and it ran across the flowers in the garden out back. The scent reminded me of why she was here. Reminded me of what I'd lost.
Blake had fallen asleep merely minutes after we came after the third round, which ended only a few minutes prior. It was almost light outside. She lay on her belly in the crook of my arm with one of hers stretched across my chest. I rubbed my hand up and down her side, her skin was velvet on my battered palms.
Every so often she'd startle, but only waking enough to squeeze me, letting herself know I was still here—I thought–and then she'd fall back into her slumber. It filled me with hope.
I watched the curtain move in the wind and it finally lulled me to sleep.
I was visited by the reoccurring dream I had often about Blake's wedding. In my dream, I stood at the altar with her and Grant.
It changed though. Sometimes I'm th
e priest. Sometimes I say their vows with them, like a third party. But it was always the three of us standing there. In this particular version, the priest asked Blake to kiss her husband and she kissed me.
When I woke up the next morning I didn't feel the dread I usually did. I felt like maybe she was going to pick me. As my eyes blinked open, the first thing I saw was the small tattoo she'd had done on the back of her neck.
She was rolled away from me and slept peacefully. Her side rose and fell like the tide. After we'd exhausted ourselves physically and emotionally last night, she'd swept her hair up into a messy bun on top of her head. Still held up with the elastic, her hair was just so that I could see the ink through the few wispy pieces that had slipped from the hold of the hair tie overnight.
The hook wasn't very big. I wondered how they'd even made the lines so fine and faint. It was delicate and not very noticeable at all. My initials stuck out—at least to me—plain as day. Knowing that she'd marked her beautiful skin with my brand did something inside me.
It made that possessive voice, which I always tried not to pay attention to, louder.
She is yours and her skin bares the mark that proves it.
Instinctively, I pulled her warm body flush against mine and I held her like that until she began to stir, waking up. Her body relaxed into mine and fit into every void my body left for hers. Her ass tucked into my hips, my legs were traced with her legs, one of her feet slipped in between my calves. The soft cool skin of her shoulders and back perfectly paired with the hot skin on my chest.
I had one arm under her and her head lay on it, her fingers woven into mine where they met. My free arm wrapped around her flat stomach, my hand almost reaching from one side to the other of her.
I felt her belly rumble. She was hungry and she'd lost a lot of weight since I'd last seen her body. Her hipbones were sharp, the definition of her ribs showed, her clavicle more distinct. She didn't look unhealthy, but for someone who worshiped food the way she did, it was a clear message she'd been going through something, too.
