by Ines Johnson
“Friend of yours?” I asked.
Christopher shrugged. “Just one of my brothers.”
I didn’t remark that they were of different races.
“How many brothers do you have?” As the words left my lips, I realized that I didn’t know this guy. But a moment ago I had been seriously considering letting him touch me where my bathing suite touched me. A moment after that, I’d been contemplating an invitation to a party where he’d be having sex with other girls.
This had been a fun stop in dreamland, but it was time to get back to the real world where heroes sought out their fated mates, fell in love at first sight, and made grand overtures in their apologies for a big misunderstanding.
I gathered my things. “I should go.”
“But we weren’t finished.”
I stopped and looked at him. He was pouting again, complete with the puppy dog eyes. But I saw it. There was the devilish curl to his lip that told me he wanted to make mischief.
“Why didn’t you invite me to your party?” I asked.
It wasn’t what I had planned to say, but those were the words that wanted to come out. That often happened when I was writing. I’d plot the story, but sometimes the characters hijacked it and took me where they needed to go instead of where I thought was best.
Christopher tilted his head back and peered up at me. “You mean, the party where I’m going to fuck those two girls? It’s not your scene, MK. You’re not the type of girl to be fucked with. You’re a princess looking for a fairytale. I’m not a prince. Neither is Eagle or any of my brothers.”
Again, was that disappointment I heard in his voice? Or was it my imagination? Normally, at this point in my books the hero tells the heroine all the reasons they can’t be together. But over the course of the story, they both grow and change. Is that what was happening now? Was Christopher listing all the ways that he would change? As the pages turned, would we find our way to a happily-ever-after?
“But I do want to give you an orgasm,” he said.
I heard the pages crumbling in my head and falling onto the floor with a loud thunk.
“I want to hear what you have to say about it. I like listening to you describe things.”
His eyes sparkled, an angel asking for my soul, and I swear to God, that was the moment I lost my heart to the man I knew I would spend the rest of my life with.
Chapter Six
We waited for the last of the Orgasmic Meditation group to file out of the room. Everyone looked peaceful and sedate as they waved to Holly. The golden bell jingled merrily as they left the store.
My grandmother once told me that every time a bell rang, it meant an angel got its wings. Maybe there was an angel presiding over orgasms. If so, was a bell about to toll for me?
I didn’t write about orgasms in my books. My characters never got that far. I wrote about soul-piercing gazes, light touches that arrowed to the heart, and kisses that spoke of forever. And I hadn’t experienced a single one of those either.
I had had men’s eyes on me. I had an ample bosom, so of course they looked. I had men paw at me, wanted and unwanted. I’d had my fair share of kisses, too. But none had ever pierced an arrow aimed at forever like the light hold of Christopher’s hand holding mine.
I walked into the room behind Christopher. He shut the door but didn’t lock it.
“You can say ‘no’ or ‘stop’ at any time, and I will,” he said.
His voice startled me. My fogged brain reached to understand his words. His blue eyes held mine. There was no mischief. His gaze was clear, sober, assessing.
“The boss doesn’t tolerate anything resembling non-consent. Plus, I would never do anything you don’t wish. Are we clear? Do I have your trust, MK? Do I have your consent?”
I nodded hypnotized by his words. He walked over to the far wall and pulled down the blinds. I watched his hands twist the long, plastic stick that turned the blinds to closed, shutting out the bright sunlight of the heavens and casting us down into a muted orange darkness.
“And I have your word that you’ll tell me to stop if you’re uncomfortable?” He paced towards me, slowly like a predator stalking its prey. “Let me hear you say it, MK.”
“You have my word,” I parroted.
“Then you have my trust and my consent.” Christopher placed his hands in my hair, making firm circles and then combing his fingers through. “Just relax, princess.”
His fingers grazed the C-shaped tips of my ears, then pressed over the lobes. I moaned. The sound reverberated from his finger pads back to my eardrums. I heard my heart beating at the base of my ear where his thumb touched.
“I know you don’t like water references,” I said. “But all I can think about is the sound of the ocean waves washing over me about to knock me down because your touch is so gentle but so powerful at the same time.”
He grinned, staring at my lips. I leaned forward, certain this kiss would shout the word forever. But he didn’t touch my lips. He skipped my lips.
He massaged my neck. I’d never realized how papery-thin the skin covering the neck was. Everything was magnified. I felt the calluses of his middle finger as it traced the baby hairs at the nape of my neck. In my mind, I saw him holding our newborn baby in his strong, work-worn hands.
His gaze was open, intense as he watched my reaction. “Tell me?”
I choked. I couldn’t tell him I saw forever in his eyes. I couldn’t tell him I’d just had his imaginary baby. That he was cradling the dream child in his arms. That was crazy talk.
It was crazy talk that I wrote in my books that were on Amazon’s top selling lists.
“I feel small and vulnerable,” I said. “You’re bigger than me, and stronger. You could crush me with your hands.” He could crush me with a harsh laugh at my altered version of the truth. “But your eyes tell me to trust you. Your gentle touch is soothing. I feel… cradled.”
Just like our newborn baby would feel as she looked up at her father for the first time. He would smile at her just like he smiled at me now.
Christopher’s hands went down to my shoulders, massaging the caps. My head lolled back as his fingers rhythmically dug into my flesh. I realized that in this position, he had me completely under his control. He could pick me up. He could set me down. He could lead me in any direction he chose. And I wouldn’t hesitate to follow.
Instead of moving me bodily, he moved his hands along my body; steadily south. My eyes flared as I pinpointed his destination.
“Is this okay?” His fingertips grazed the topmost place where a woman’s chest became breasts. “You can tell me ‘no’, MK.”
No. Actually, I couldn’t. My body told my brain to shut its mouth. Every cell in my body screamed that this was him; the One.
In the recesses of my brain, something nagged at me, like the buzzing of a tiny gnat. I mentally squashed it and arched into Christopher’s patient, skilled, masterful hands. He took his time arriving at his destination. Slipping and sliding down the peaks of my breasts. Circling and tapping at the underside where underwire met flesh.
Other men had felt me up before. I’d never enjoyed the experience. They’d all been a series of awkward squeezes and painful pinches.
Not Christopher.
He lifted my right boob and massaged the skin at the crease. I let out a helpless sound and grabbed onto his shoulders.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Tell me what you feel?”
Like I wanted to cry. “I feel like I’m falling, because of the circles you’re making with your thumbs.” My voice did not sound like my own. It sounded far away. My words came out choppy. Staccato, like I was speaking over a static radio.
“I won’t let you fall, Mary Katherine.”
I opened my eyes and slammed right into his blue depths. He was wrong. I fell. Right into him.
Christopher allowed me to lay my head against his heart. My heartbeat synched to his as both his palms covered as much of the surface of my breasts
as they could manage. They felt like they were swelling in his hands.
When the fleshy part of his hands, the part at the bottom of his thumbs, met with my nipples, I had to press my thighs together.
“Tell me?”
I couldn’t tell him what I was feeling in that moment. It was too embarrassing.
“Tell me, princess? Please?”
I couldn’t resist him. Not with the way he whispered ‘please’ to me. I would’ve given him anything in that moment. And so I told him. “I feel like I have to pee.”
He reared back, away from me. I was left mortified. I let go of his shoulders and tried to push away.
“Please don’t.” His voice was so soft, so full of wonder.
My brain had to be malfunctioning. That couldn’t be right. I’d just told this guy that when he’d touched my breasts, it made me feel like I had to pee. That had to be disgust in his tone, revulsion.
Instead, I saw awe and excitement sparkling in his eyes. He pulled my torso back to his.
“Please?” he asked again. “Tell me.”
I couldn’t form words. I couldn’t look away from the… was that hope in his eyes? What could he possibly be hoping for?
When I didn’t offer any resistance, he took it as acquiescence. He cupped both of my breasts in his hands. Using his thumbs, he began a windshield wiper motion.
The sensation of fullness in my core increased. I pressed my thighs together. When that didn’t relieve me, I squirmed, shifting my weight from foot to foot. I had to get out of here before I truly embarrassed myself.
But Christopher held me firm. “Just breathe, princess.”
Princess? I latched onto the endearment. He’d said he wasn’t a prince. But he kept calling me his princess. With my mind on the fairytale, I let my thighs part and something unexpected happened.
“Tell me?” he said like he knew what was happening inside my body but wanted the vocal confirmation.
“I feel…” There wasn’t enough air in the room. I took a deep breath, but it made matters worse. My breasts felt like they were spilling out the sides of my fitted bra.
“Tell me, princess?” Christopher found both of my nipples through the padding in my bra that seemed threadbare.
“So full,” I whimpered. “I’m so full… down there. I have to go.” But I didn’t make a run for the bathroom. Having to pee never felt this good. It wasn’t the fullness that was overwhelming. It didn’t feel like liquid trying to make its way out of me. It felt like something else trying to make its way inside me.
“It’s spreading,” I panted. “It’s warm. And heavy. And smooth. I can’t stop it.”
He flicked both my nipples with his nails and the fullness burst inside of me. Like fireworks, it spread. It wasn’t gentle. It burned and singed me from the inside out.
I well and truly fell then. But true to his word, Christopher caught me. He brought us down to the pillowed ground. He held me until I caught my breath.
“Was that a…?”
He nodded as he brushed a strand of hair from my face. His fingers were tender as they placed the strand back where it belonged. I closed my eyes and settled into his care.
Now, I saw what all the fuss was about. I understood why sex made people stupid. I would have failed at school, at my career, probably at life if I’d known something so magical could happen with my body.
“I’ve never had a woman come from breast fucking,” he said as he continued to stroke the side of my face. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He’d have the privilege of seeing it night after night when we were married and the baby was snug in her cradle.
“Christopher?” Holly’s cheery voice called from behind the closed door. “Do you two need a condom? I moved them from the bottom to the top cabinet.”
“No, Mom, we’re good,” he said. “We’re just masturbating.”
Chapter Seven
“Mom?” I bolted up. Out of his hold and onto my knees.
“Yeah. Holly’s my mother.”
The man of my dreams transformed before my eyes. He looked like a little boy then. The curls on his head seemed childish. His blue eyes filled with wide-eyed innocence. I expected his mother to walk in and offer us juice boxes and a snack.
Christopher grinned in a way that was anything but childish. He ran his thick fingers down the side of my face.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “She’ll be thrilled that we brought you to orgasm.”
My face flamed where he touched, and not in the good way it had a moment ago. I scrambled to my feet.
Christopher lounged back against the pillows. “Do you swear you don’t masturbate? Because it’s not normal for a woman to come like that, especially a virgin.”
I couldn’t handle this conversation. I hoped over the pillows and grabbed for the door handle.
“Mary Katherine? What’s wrong?”
I yanked the door open. There were a few customers milling around the sex toys and DVD collection. Had they heard me?
Holly looked up and smiled at me. I saw it then. She had the same blue eyes as her son. And they were sparkling at me in the same way. She was thrilled I’d had an orgasm. She’d heard me having an orgasm. Which meant they all had.
I ducked my head, hiding my steaming cheeks. I made a mad dash for the exit. The bell rattled my nerves as I slammed out the door. I didn’t stop until I was in my car. Thankfully Lucille turned over on the first try. I took off down the street, going zero to forty in the old jalopy.
My mind reeled. Had it all been some kind of warped sex shop prank? Were mother and son some kind of sick duo that lured girls into the back room to… what? I didn’t know. I didn’t care.
It had all been too good to be true, right from the start. A handsome guy interested in me like that? Yeah, right, Mary Katherine. These kinds of things only happened in romance novels. Not to girls like me. Chubby virgins who wrote inspirational romance. I was easy prey; low hanging fruit.
They were probably laughing at me. Telling stories to the yoga sex class about the fat girl who got off from her breasts being massaged. Breasts that still tingled from Christopher’s touch.
I launched into my apartment and slammed the door behind me. I wanted to cry but my body was too sensitized. I stripped off my clothing; down to my underwear, but my panties were moist.
I got the feeling that Christopher would’ve laughed at that word; moist. But my brain was too addled to think of another.
I sat on my bed, but I couldn’t sit still. I pulled on a robe and sat at my computer. I was a plotter. I spent hours pouring over research. I grafted spreadsheets for plots. I did psychological workups on my heroines, heroes, and villains. But tonight I just started typing.
The story shaped into an ugly duckling trope. A plain girl and the college jock. It was the typical teen-flick set up. He uses her to win a bet. The joke goes cruelly wrong. She runs off. But in my story he follows her.
As he comforts her, they begin to touch. He takes her hand. Then he touches her ear, then her shoulders, and finally her breasts. She has an orgasm from the breast manipulation.
The words flowed from me as the memories from my time with Christopher flooded my senses. There were no waves crashing. In the story, outside the marching band was practicing. Her orgasms came along the crescendo of the drumbeats.
By the time I finished writing, I was drenched in sweat again. I’d written four solid chapters. I sent it to my editor without doing a spell check.
It was the best I could do. If Moira didn’t like it, then maybe Hera would release me from my contract. I had nothing to lose.
The shower’s water was a raging flood on my sensitive skin. I could only stand it for a few moments. Orgasms were nothing like water on the body. I totally understood Christopher’s point now.
I hit the covers, and I was immediately pulled into a deep sleep.
I woke in the morning with a delicious hum running through my body. My hand r
ubbed at my chest and my whole body came alive, along with my memories.
I remembered Christopher watching me. Those bright blue eyes that had been so full of mischief… and awe. Those hands that had been so strong… and gentle. That voice that urged me to talk, to tell him a story, to share my feelings.
I tossed my head back down onto the pillows. The feathers let out a puff as my muddled head landed with a thud.
It was late in the morning by the time I rose. I trudged around my apartment. I cleaned the bathroom. I rearranged my closet, putting away the last of the winter items and hanging all of my spring dresses. I reorganized my shoes by heels, wedges, and flats.
I avoided my computer for as long as possible.
It was late afternoon but the time I finally sat down at the screen and prepared to face the world outside. I woke up the screen and waited to connect to Wi-Fi. I watched the inverted triangle go up and down, gaining in signal strength.
There was some fan mail. A few queries from other authors about joining in on a group promotion. A few bits and bobs of spam.
There was an email from Moira.
I almost avoided it, but my browser was on a setting where I could see the first line of the email. I saw the words “love it” and “want more.” I clicked open.
My eyes grew bigger and bigger as I read. Moira loved the writing I’d done in haste the other night. She thought it was fresh and exactly what she was looking for. Other than a spell and grammar check, the only thing she saw missing was the male POV.
My elation burst and the pieces came crashing down. It was a stretch for me to write that much from the heroine’s POV. To detail someone’s first sexual experience outside of a passionate kiss. To detail my first sexual experience in such a detailed, unapologetic way.
I hadn’t truly thought anyone would want to read it. I hadn’t believed it was any good. Christopher had kept asking, no begging, me to tell him more. He’d wanted to hear my carnal thoughts. And now, it seemed, Moira wanted to share them with the world.
Along with the male’s point of view on the matter.
