Big Girls Do It Boxed Set

by Jasinda Wilder

  Because I could picture it, easily. And I could see him honestly considering it, before realizing I was still here in New York with him and turning them down. But then he'd basically set up a rain-check, hadn't he?

  Maybe he didn't realize what they were getting at.

  Yeah, right.

  Where was I going to be in a few days? Here in New York still? The return flight was open-ended. We hadn't established a length of time for my visit. I'd told Jeff...well I hadn't told him much of anything. He'd DJ without me.

  Is Jeff hooking up with someone, now that I'm here in New York? That lovely thought made me sick again, and I wanted to throw up yet again. Jealous of two men. Not good.

  "Anna? Are you okay?" Chase's voice filtered through my fog of thoughts, and his hands gripped my arms.

  "Sorry, yeah. I'm fine." I couldn't quite meet his eyes. If I did, I'd say something about the groupies from the bathroom, and that would complicate things. I didn't need more complication, or drama.

  "You looked...I don't know...angry, or sick, or something. You sure you're okay?"

  I forced a smile on my face. "Yeah, just...yeah. I'm fine." I made myself kiss him, knowing the groupies were watching from the bar; after a moment, I didn't need to make myself, because I was lost in the kiss. "Great show! You killed it! That ballad was wonderful."

  "You liked it? I just wrote it the other day. That was the first time I've performed it live. I was so nervous I nearly harfed."

  "It was incredible. You totally sold it."

  "It was for you."

  "It was about losing the love of your life." I gave him a confused look.

  Chase grinned. "Well, I really wanted you to come with me."

  "So you wrote a ballad about it?"

  "Yep. I was heartbroken."

  I crossed my arms under my breasts and gave him a skeptical eyebrow-raise. "Uh-huh. You're lucky you're cute, 'cause you're totally lying."

  "Am not," Chase said, running his hands down my sides to my hips.

  "Not cute, or not lying?"

  "Not lying. I'm totally cute," he said.

  "You sounded like a school girl just then. You should never say 'totally'." I smirked at him, my irritation largely forgotten, what with all the witty banter and his wandering hands.

  "I'm a rockstar. I can say whatever I want," Chase said.

  He nipped my earlobe, then my neck, and his hands were on my ass, and then he was pushing me up against a wall and kissing me. I felt eyes on us, watching us, hating the attention I was getting and they weren't. Or weren't...yet.

  I'm so mixed up. I don't know what I want.

  Chase sensed me tense. "You're not okay. What is it?"

  I shook my head. "Not here, not now. Let's go somewhere."

  "There's an after-party uptown. We can talk in the cab on the way."

  When we were in the cab and on the way to the after-party, Chase turned to me, his hand resting on my knee. "So talk. What's bugging you?"

  How much to tell him? Argh.

  "Well, it's just...I was in the bathroom, and I heard these girls talking to you, the same ones who were trying to get you to go their place with them. They were talking about hot you are, which you totally are," I smirked at him as I used his word, "and the one girl was talking about how much she wanted you. Again, understandable. You're basically sex on legs. And the other girl was saying how she knows a girl who hooked up with you after a show, and that you're into some different kind of stuff. And I...I just don't know why it bothered me so much. But that's not true; I do know. It just reminded me that I don't know why I'm here, or what we are, and that I don't have any reason to be jealous. And no, I don't want to try and figure all that shit out right now, I just want to go to the party with you and have fun and celebrate your awesome show."

  "Um, wow, okay." Chase said, sitting back with a sigh. "That's a lot of things. I don't even know where to start."

  I shrugged and squeezed closer to him. "So don't start. You asked and I told you. I'm really, really not trying to be all girly and talk about my feelings. Mainly because I'm still trying to figure out what I'm feeling. Let's just have a good time."

  "But now you have me thinking. Yeah, I hooked up a few times before you got here, but—"

  "Chase, for real. Let's not worry about it now."

  "But—"

  "Chase. Listen to me. Stop thinking like a guy for a second. You don't have to jump in and fix anything. I'm here, you're here...just let it go for now. I'm not ready to talk serious yet."

  Chase searched my eyes, then shrugged. "Okay, I guess I get that. Later, though, okay?"

  "Sure. Later." Later, when I've figured out what the hell I'm even feeling, much less what I want to do about it.

  The after-party was massive. Hundreds of people, band members, fans, techies and roadies and groupies and I didn't even know who else. The huge loft apartment smelled like booze and body heat and cologne and perfume. There was a makeshift bar along one wall and corner, staffed by a catering company, two men and two women, clean-cut, nondescript and efficient. Alcohol was flowing freely, the noise level nearly deafening. I saw no one I recognize except Chase's band mates: Dave, Austin, and Gage, each whom I'd met a total of once, when I first arrived.

  Chase got a vocal welcome, and I felt him turn on the charisma. On the way up, he was just Chase, laid back, quiet, holding my hand. He was still in his battered leather pants, but he'd put on a white linen shirt, the sleeves cut off and the edges artistically frayed, unbuttoned to his navel. Then, as soon as the door opens and we walked into the loft, he transformed into a different person entirely. It was like his entire being just...turned on, and he exuded this powerful, irresistible charm and charisma. He was dynamic, just standing, walking, talking, when in this mode. Every eye was on him, watching him, hoping he'll talk to them. He was funny, entertaining, attentive to the person he's speaking to...

  Which meant everyone was looking at me. Judging me. Assessing me. I wanted to let go of Chase's hand, just get away and catch the first flight back to Detroit, away from the attention and the rockstar drama. It was ridiculous. I mean, he wasn't even famous yet, and he was being swarmed by people who want his attention, and that meant I was being grilled, questioned, chatted up and flirted with. The women all wanted Chase to notice them, to talk to them, to flirt with them. To take them home. Except, he was with me. He flew me here from Detroit, and brought me to the show and now this party, when he could probably have had any two or three women here, at once.

  I didn't know whether to be jealous and upset that he probably has taken multiple women home, and flattered that he likes me enough to want me there, instead of these women. I chose flattered, because it was easier. The jealousy got pushed down and ignored, to be dealt with later.

  The party lasted well into the night, or more accurately, the wee hours of the morning. When things started to blur, I asked Chase to take me home. He seemed like he wasn't ready to leave the party yet, but he did. He made his rounds of goodbyes, which took nearly another hour, by which point I was yawning and starting to come down from my buzz.

  By the time we got back to Chase's place, I was too tired to do anything but fall asleep. Chase, bless his sweet heart, curled up behind me and let me sleep. My last thought, before succumbing to sleep, was that I'd have to reward him later.

  * * *

  We slept the day through, had late breakfast/early lunch at a diner a few blocks from Chase's walkup. We talked, a lot. He had a degree in musical theater, oddly enough. He'd almost joined the Army out of high school but hadn't at the last second. I told him about my first boyfriend, the one who'd cheated on me with my best friend's brother. That really messed with my self-esteem, needless to say. He'd told me he'd never really been attracted to me, and had thought it was just because I was fat—his words, not mine. It turned out he wasn't attracted to me because I was fat, and because he was gay. I got over it, mostly. I chalked that one up to bad luck and learned to feel better about mys
elf, to accept my body as uniquely mine, and uniquely beautiful.

  Chase spent a long time after that story reminding me how perfect he thought I was. He took me home, brought me to his room and stripped me slowly, peeling my dress off, kissing my flesh as he bared it.

  I stood stock still and let him kiss me, let the touch of his lips on my flesh ignite the always-banked fires of desire within me. He unzipped the back of the dress, brushed the sleeves off my shoulders and let it fall around my feet. Then, standing in front of me, he began at my shoulders, kissing his way down my body. He was slow, for once, lingering at my breasts, then down to my belly and my thighs.

  By the time he had kissed his way back up to my lips, I was trembling with desire, my nipples hard with need. I wanted him to touch me, wanted to feel him hard against me, feel his hands on me, feel him fill me. His kisses had inflamed my passions, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from begging him.

  He hadn't even taken his shirt off, and I found myself aching to touch him. I tugged at the hem of shirt, but he pushed my hands away.

  "Not yet," he said. "Soon."

  He went to his dresser and removed a long, wide strip of black cotton. "Trust me?" When I nodded, he wrapped the blindfold around my eyes and tied it in back. "Can you see?"

  I couldn't. I fought back an initial rush of panic. It was loosely tied, and my hands were free so I could pull it off if I wanted to. I forced myself to relax and focus on the other senses.

  I had the aftertaste of dinner in my mouth: corned beef Rueben and fries with a Coke. I heard a rasping metallic click and then tiny whump of flame coming to life from a lighter, then the snap and pop of a wick catching: a candle being lit; these sounds were repeated several more times. I smelled the candles, smelled Chase—male sweat, faint cologne, leather. I was aware of Chase moving around the room, hearing his footsteps on the old, creaking hardwood floors, following his smell and the intangible feeling of his presence. Now he moved close to me, not touching me.

  Goosebumps pebbled my flesh, on my arm, and then my side, a strange, not-quite physical sensation. It moved from my side and down my hip and my leg, and then back up the other leg.

  "What is that?" I asked. "What are you doing to me?"

  "Guess."

  "I can't figure it out. It's like—god, it's weird!" Then it hit me. "You're not touching me, but almost, right? Moving your hand right next to my skin but not actually making contact."

  "Bingo."

  He rewarded me with a leisurely removal of my bra. No other part of him touched me except his hands on my back as he unclasped the hooks. Not being touched had never been so erotic. I tried to anticipate where he'd put his hands next, but he always managed to surprise me. He slid the straps of my bra off my shoulder, and I expected to feel his hands on my breasts, perhaps skimming underneath to heft their weight, or rolling a nipple; he kissed my back where the strap had been, a slow tonguing kiss across my back. I felt his hair tickle the back of my left arm as he moved across my body. I lifted my arm as he kept circling around, planting kisses as went, and then he was kissing the side of my breast, one hand on the small of my back, the other wrapped around one leg, kissing, kissing; he was kneeling next to me, I realized. He still hadn't touched my nipple, or removed my panties. I was tingling everywhere, every inch of my flesh burning with anticipation of his touch, his kiss. My folds were wet, waiting, wanting.

  I put my hands in his soft hair, smelling of shampoo and pomade. His hand on my leg finally, finally slipped up to dip beneath the leg hem of my panties, pushing up to the crease of my hip, achingly near my wet, hot core, where I wanted his touch so badly. I was trembling, waiting for him to move just an inch to the right.

  He pulled his hand free and I moaned in dismay. He tugged he waistband of my panties down enough to kiss a fiery line across my hipbone to my belly just above my sex, slow, hot kisses that had my knees buckling.

  Just a little lower, please!

  "Soon, baby," he said.

  I'd spoken aloud without realizing it. "Please, Chase. Touch me. Kiss me."

  He just chuckled as he kissed my opposite hip, then down my leg, pulling my panties down as he went, a single centimeter at a time, it seemed, agonizingly slow. Then, after an eternity of torturous delight, my panties were off and tossed aside and he was kissing up my calf, holding the leg in both hands, sliding his palms up my thighs to cup my ass, kneading the muscle. I spread my legs apart as he neared my groin, lips now mid-thigh and still rising, and yes, oh please...

  I nearly fell backward when he lapped at me with a long swipe of his tongue across the labia. I moaned, tangled my fingers in his hair and let my head fall backward. He held my ass in both hands as he kissed and licked, flicked and tongued, moved his head from side to side and up and down. I felt my legs dipping in the rhythm of his mouth's motion, helpless to stop myself, and now the fires were raging out of control, burning and exploding, my muscles tensing in preparation for the imminent explosion....

  He moved away, and I whimpered. "I was so close, why'd you stop?" I sounded whiny in that moment, but I didn't care, I wanted his mouth on me again, or his hands.

  I reached and felt the empty air around me, but he'd moved out of reach. I smelled for him, listened for him, simply felt for his presence, but he was nowhere my senses could find.

  I heard his voice, over to my right, against what would be the closet wall. "Take two steps back."

  I hesitated. "Where am I going?" I thought about the layout of the room, and answered my own question. "The bed, right?"

  "Two steps, and then stop."

  I took one step backward, then another, and felt the edge the bed bump the back of my knees. I stopped, and waited. My heart thudded in my chest, and I smelled his hair before I felt his presence. My four other senses had never been so sharp as now without my sight. I felt his fingers brush my belly, barely contact at all, a whispering touch, like feathers, or a breath; I gasped and shivered.

  The featherlight touch turned to a gentle but unmistakable push. I leaned back to sit on the bed. Chase kissed my kneecap, and my thigh, and then I was falling backward, laying down with my legs hanging off the bed. A hand clasped around my wrist and extended it above my head. Then, beginning at my palm, Chase kissed his way down my arm. I sucked in my breath when he reached my breast, slipping his lips around its circumference, narrowing to my aching, stiffened nipple. He only lingered there for a moment, grazing it with his teeth but once. I wanted to crush his head to my breast, or guide his hand down to my core, or simply beg him to touch me, touch me. I didn't though. The game, the drawn-out, rapturous, torture was exquisite.

  He repeated the process for my other arm, lifting it above my head and kissing his way down to my breast. This time, however, instead of merely moving away from my breast, he kept lapping and licking downward, tracing the lines of my ribs, the hollow of my diaphragm, the expanse of my belly. All the while his hands were brushing and whisking and whispering across my skin, just the pads of his fingertips touching now, and then his palm circling the taut peak of my nipple.

  His tongue found my drenched, throbbing folds again, dipped in to pull from my trembling lips a moan of relief. Yes, now he would let me release, now...

  He tongued my clit until I was writhing on the bed, sight gone, the only sound my voice, the only scent the musk of my arousal, lost in tactile ecstasy, so close, so close, wavering on the verge, teetering on the brink...one last touch of his tongue...

  I grabbed wildly for him when he pulled away again, and he only laughed. My entire body was on fire, quivering with need, primed and set for explosion. My senses were so attuned now that I could hear the rustle of his pants legs as he moved, hear the soft susurrus of his breathing. Every inch of my flesh was on fire, waiting for the next place he would kiss or touch me.

  I heard the leather of his pants zipping as he moved to stand next to me. "Sit up and turn to face my voice."

  I did as he'd instructed, wondering what was next; he too
k my hands in his and placed them on his chest. I could feel his heart pounding under my palm. He moved my fingers so I felt a button on his shirt. I realized what he wanted and complied eagerly, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off. I wanted to rip his pants off, but, according to the way he was playing this game, I made myself wait. Instead, I explored his torso with my hands, all my attention now focused in my fingers. I traced each muscle, each line and angle and curve from shoulder to wrist to abdomen, lingering, and now I couldn't stop myself from replacing fingers with lips. I kissed him slowly, deliberately. Each time I neared the V-cut above the waistband of his pants, I lingered, let my fingers toy with the button.

  When he was shaking and tense, I slipped the button free and unzipped his pants. I moved with delicate attention, following the muscles downward, pushing the pants away inch by inch. I stripped them off, then, unable to wait any longer. He was in his boxers now, and I let my hands learn the shape of his body through the underwear, the curved stone of his buttocks, the hard angles of his hips, the rigid shaft of his straining member. He'd leaked a dot of moisture at his tip. I moved his boxer-briefs down on one hip, licked the hollow where leg met hipbone, then across until my lips were brushing next to his soft, rigid flesh. He sucked his stomach in, a reflexive motion of anticipation. Instead of touching him, yet, I revealed his other hip, mirrored the kiss across his groin.

  Now, at last, I tugged the elastic over his tip, slipping him into my mouth as I exposed him. He gasped past clenched teeth as I took him in to my throat, groaned when I wrapped my fingers around him, and rumbled deep in his chest when I bobbed my head and moved my hands along his shaft. I sucked until my cheeks hollowed, sliding my hands on him faster and faster, his hips bucking him into my mouth.

  His breathing was ragged, and he was buckling at the knees.

  "Oh, god, I'm gonna come," he said.

  I let go immediately and moved back on the bed, laying down on my back and waiting, legs spread in invitation. I heard him growling, imagined him flexing every muscle in an effort to hold back.