A Certain Way

by Blaine, Renee

  "Not here," he mumbled, pulling away from my mouth, grabbing my hand. He pulled me down the hallway to his bedroom, slamming the door closed behind us with his foot and reaching impatiently for me. There was no deliberation, no set routine of foreplay and fuck.No certain way things had to be done. We were like kids, hands meeting and clashing, tangling as we plucked and pulled at each others' clothing.

  He slid the soft camisole over my head and then kissed me again, easing his hands down my bare arms. My fingers found the buttons on his shirt, sliding them free, baring inch after inch of soft, warm skin. My hands dove into his opened shirt and stroked up his sides, feeling the ripple of muscles contracting along his ribcage. He fumbled at my waist, my borrowed belt slapping against the skin of his stomach as he yanked at it. Unsupported, the jeans slithered down around my ankles and I stepped free of them. He turned and sat on the bed, fingers entangling with mine, and pulled, dragging me gently down beside him as he flicked on the bedside lamp.

  "I just want to look at you," he murmured, nuzzling his face into my neck. "Do you know I've been fantasizing about you since I hit puberty?" That drew me back, made me laugh, realizing how much history lay between us. We'd compared our first times, talked about what we liked, what we hated, what we dreamed of, what we desired. I knew more about Daniel, whom I'd never shared a bed with, then I did my husband. I reached for my friend with his tender, patient eyes, his rich skin and generous heart. Two wrongs wouldn't ever make a right, but maybe a right could help me start changing some of the wrong choices in my life.

  "I'm nothing special to look at," I demurred, trying to keep it light, and he set his teeth against my neck with a laughing growl. The sound shivered through me, my bones starting to liquefy and skin flushing as he nibbled a long line down my throat to my shoulder.

  "You are to me." His simple statement made my heart stutter, then steady. Four little words, more precious that the supposedly magical "I love you" in that moment. His hand flattened across my stomach, rubbing gently, fingertips dipping into my navel and swirling, spreading warmth and tiny, fluttering tremors through my body. I turned to fill my hands with his hair, kiss him like a drowning woman, fit my body against his as I rolled on my side. When we finally parted enough to breathe, he was smiling, eyes glittering and dark with humor. "I said something right, I take it?"

  "Richard wanted me to have my breasts enlarged." The thought that I'd ever allowed that bastard make such a decision for me made my blood boil again, and not in a good way. Daniel's fingers tightened on my hip, dragging me against the firm—very firm—front of his body. It drew me back into myself, into the moment.

  "He didn't deserve you, ever." He rolled us both, hovering over me, lips brushing lightly across my forehead, my cheeks. He avoided my lips, trailing that soft, barely there caress down my neck and shoulders, spending an inordinate amount of time nibbling the fragile line of my collarbone, dragging his lips slowly across my tingling skin to kiss my breasts, still covered by the thin barrier of my bra. His lips opened, closed on one peaked nipple, suckling me through the silk until my eyes fell closed and my back arched. I heard myself say his name as he turned the same, slow, torturous attention to the other breast, his fingers sliding under the fabric to stroke lightly back and forth over the still-damp nipple he'd abandoned.

  It felt like fire, tracing through my veins, from his mouth and fingers, through that heavy, warm growing fog of pleasure, making my most intimate parts throb and body grow damp with wanting. When I reached for him, he just caught my hands in his own and pinned them above my head on the bed, chuckling low and wicked against my skin. It was an unspoken promise stay still, let me have my way with you, and you'll enjoy it.

  Trust me, he was saying, as clearly as if he'd spoken. It was my choice. I relaxed, folded my arms behind my head, and let go.

  Dexterous fingers slid under my spine, flicking open the clasp with practiced fingers. I had to smile, even through the lust quickly sapping my ability to think, wondering when my shy, awkward friend had become so deft with women's undergarments. It was a wonderful feeling, to turn to love-making with laughter that didn't dull the keen edge of arousal at all. Daniel stole the smile, turned it into a moan, nibbling on the edges of my breasts as he pulled the bra away, tossing it off the bed to land with a rustle on the floor. Warm palms molded my sides, slid inch by teasing inch up until they cupped my breasts, massaging in slow, gentle circles, my nipples pressed into the center of his palms, his fingers stroking along my skin.

  When his lips touched just below my breastbone, damp and feverishly hot, my stomach clenched, tightening into a hard, seething knot, my breathing shallow and harsh as he trekked downward, meandering soft, tonguing kisses along the skin, making me whimper and groan beneath him. He nipped at my hipbones, soothed them with his tongue, following their arch downwards, trailing along the outer edge of my panties. His tongue slipped just under the hem, and startled a stifled shriek from my throat. He turned his head, his hair tickling along my thighs, making me writhe and giggle beneath him.

  "Laura..." There was something almost painful in his voice, forcing me to open my eyes, even though my eyelids felt like they had been weighted, to look at him. He looked up at me with his head cradled on my thigh, his skin so dark against mine, his eyes filled with more than lust, more than need. I could see the sheen of sweat along his back and shoulders, the tension his careful, slow pace had etched into his muscles. I couldn't find words, so I simply reached out to touch his face, trace my fingers across his lips. He kissed them, eyes closing, his eyelashes making dark, arching curves against his cheeks.

  "Are you sure you want this?" He rasped the question out through a throat that seemed too tight for words. "I don't want to be something you regret in the morning." That made me laugh, comb my fingers through his hair, smoothing it across my skin. It was so soft, softer than the finest silk. He opened those begging, wanton eyes again and looked at me.

  "Daniel," I said, and even I could hear the thick, sweet sarcasm in my voice. "I want this. I want you. Trade places with me and I'd be happy to show you just how much."

  His soft laughter against my skin made my breath run out in a long sigh.

  "Not just yet." He laid the lightest of kisses on my thigh, then turned his head and licked a long, slow line of wetness up the silk of my panties. Just the feel of that languid, deliberate caress closed my eyes, drew a purr from me. His fingers slid over my hips, down the outside of my thighs, dragging the thin strings of my underwear along with them. I shifted to help him draw them away, toss them in the general direction as my bra. He smoothed a palm of the smooth skin bared to his gaze and cupped his palm over my mound, rubbing small, gentle circles with the heel of his hand against my clit. When I twisted and bucked under the assault, he lowered his head and drew his hand away, tongue sliding out to trace a teasing line down over the slick folds. My body tightened in response, drawing a self-satisfied hum from him before he opened his mouth and devoured me, sweet lips sucking, warm, wicked tongue lapping and teasing.

  I was gasping and moaning, hips rising to meet his eager mouth, when he scraped his teeth lightly over my clit, and the world exploded into orgasm. It rushed through me in waves, rich and golden as sunlight, washing away all the doubts, the shadows, the fears. All that was left was a solid, strong glow, and a frantic need to have him inside me. I caught handfuls of his hair, dragged his mouth from my soaking flesh, pulled him up to kiss him. His body settled into mine like the piece of a puzzle, all naked skin and thrumming heat.

  "I wasn't done with you yet," he grumbled, fingers sliding back down to play in the slick, wet folds of my pussy. I rocked against his hand, trying to breathe, to speak. Tiny electric shocks danced through me, making me shiver and clutch at him. His cock lay against my thigh, hard and twitching. I hadn't even noticed him removing the rest of his clothing. He was good, very, very good. And very, very close. I pulled away from his hands, his mouth, pushing him over onto his back. He wasn't the onl
y one who wanted to explore and savor. I was just too impatient to take the time he'd lavished on me, too greedy.

  His skin was smooth and salty with sweat under my tongue. I'd known he didn't have much body hair, but I hadn't known he was silken skin over hard-packed muscle, that the ridges of his abdomen were ticklish, making him squirm and groan and laugh breathlessly. His erection brushed against my throat, and I lowered my head until I could lick the sticky, salty precum from the tip and wrap my lips around the dusky head. It pressed him back into the bed, his body tense, fighting the urge to thrust into my mouth. His skin was so soft, velvety as it slid over my lips, an intricate map of veins and ridges. His hands tangled in my hair, a tiny, tugging pain as I willed my throat open, swallowing him a slow, careful inch at a time. He was thicker than I was used to and it was a conscious effort to work my way back and forth along his shaft until I could rest my lips against the dark, glossy hair that framed his erection. He cried out, using his grip on my hair to pull me off of him, his eyes wide and face flushed.

  "No more. I won't last through any more." He was already moving, rolling me with him, sliding over me. There was a heartbeat of hesitation as the tip of his cock slid against me, his eyes closing, his lips going thin and tight. It had been so long since a man had that reaction just touching me. I melted, arms sliding around him, fingers smoothing down the sweat-slippery spine. He eased that first inch in, and sighed as my hips arched to accept him, slid him deep inside the tight sheath. I could feel the tiny, shuddering pulse of that intimate part of him, the fluttering grasp of my own muscles adjusting to accommodate his body. His eyes open, blind and glazed with hunger. His hips flexed, drawing him back, and my body spasmed in protest. He drove back in, strong hands fisted in the tangled sheets. He found a rhythm that was fast and hard and deep, drawing incoherent gasps and moans from both of us until it fused our mouths together, feasting at the taste of each other on our lips, the scent of sex and sweat sweetly strong in the air. I was soaring along that gilded crest against, riding a wave of sensation that glittered and foamed as it curled and broke, rolling me under into star-spangled darkness, wringing his own orgasm from him with a shout that could have been my name as he sank home, spilling hot and viscous into me.

  It took long moments to come down off the high, bodies slowly relaxing, entwining into each other, his head resting in the curve of my shoulder and neck, one of my legs wrapped over his, his arm around my waist, mine wrapped around his shoulders. He turned his face and nibbled along my throat, sleepy and satisfied.

  "Too quick," he muttered, his hand wandering up my side to cup my breast, roll the nipple between his fingers, drawing a shudder through my satiated body."I promise, I'm usually better than that."

  I laughed, nuzzling his hair, my own fingers tracing eldritch patterns across his shoulders. "I hope not," I replied, my voice lazy and distant. "I'll die from pleasure." I pouted as he pulled away, rolling off the bed. He padded from the room, treating me to a beautiful view of his tight butt and lean, muscled legs. I heard him go into the bathroom, water running, cabinets banging open and closed. By the time he came back I was drifting, sleepy and dreamy, my body still buzzing with afterglow. I yelped, jerking out of my haze when something rough and warm and wet slid between my legs, stroking the already sensitive flesh. Daniel grinned down at me, still moving the washcloth back and forth in long, thorough strokes, running along crevices that throbbed and spasmed at his touch.

  "Just thought I'd help you get cleaned up," he laughed, leaning down to kiss me again.

  "I think I'd need a shower for that," I replied, his fingers doing something ingenious around my still burning clit. I sighed, relaxing into his touch.

  "We could do that too," he commented, bending to take one of my nipples between his teeth. "Later." * * * * "Can you get the door? It's probably FedEx with some parts I'm expecting." Daniel was bent over the sink, brushing his teeth. I thought he looked incredibly cute with a towel wrapped around his waist, his mouth full of white-green foam. I trailed my fingers across his shoulder as I passed, smiling. I hadn't stopped smiling since I'd woken up with him thrown across me like some sort of softly-snoring security blanket.

  "Sure." I padded barefoot down the hall, luxuriating in the silky slide of the pajama pants and camisole against my well-abused skin. I'd finally stumbled out to the car sometime before dawn to drag in the lingerie I'd bought a lifetime ago and was reveling in wearing it, despite the fact that the first set hadn't stayed on my freshly-showered body for more than thirty seconds after I walked out of the bathroom. I was almost positive that if I turned off the lights, I could glow in the dark. I felt wonderful.Until I swung open the door.

  I felt the smile seep away like water through a cracked cup as I looked at my husband. He was impeccably dressed as always, a white oxford shirt open at the neck, tucked precisely into his perfectly creased khaki slacks. The belt and shoes were rich brown alligator, the watch on his wrist a chunky affair of gold and a designer name. His carefully styled blond hair barely moved in the early morning breeze. I looked at him, this handsome stranger I had married, and felt nothing. No rage, no pain, no disgust. His very existence left me cold.

  "Laura." Disapproving blue eyes swept over me, from my tousled, still damp hair to my bare feet to the hand still holding open the door. I leaned against it, sliding my grip up until my hand rested above my head on the edge of the door and supported my weight, cocking a hip in a deceptively casual, deliberately sensual pose.

  "Richard." I raised an eyebrow at him, matching the drawling sarcasm that I could hear trickling into my voice. "What are you doing here?"

  "It's time for you to end this little temper tantrum and come home now," he informed me. "Go get dressed, and I'll wait and follow you there. There is a certain way to handle marital problems, and you running off like a child is not it."

  "I suppose you were thinking we could go see a counselor, maybe a retreat? Take a second honeymoon, all that last-minute rescue crap they advise to couples having problems?" "If necessary. We'll talk about it at home." I almost laughed at the arrogance in his expression. I smiled sadly

  and shook my head, looking down. "I don't think so." I could feel movement at my back, registered Daniel's presence even before Richard's eyes narrowed. Strong tanned arms wrapped around my waist from behind, and Daniel rested his chin on my shoulder, his wet hair curling wildly against my face, making me shiver. The smile was back, lazy and catlike, as we both regarded Richard. "I don't think I'm going anywhere at all."

  "Your hands are on my wife," he said coldly to Daniel. "Take them off, now, and we'll just forget about all this. Laura, go get dressed."

  "I'm not your wife anymore," I said evenly. "And Daniel's hands are just fine where they are, thank you very much." I leaned back against him, turning my face to rub my cheek against his shoulder. "I've found my therapy, Richard. You wouldn't believe what a night with someone who honestly knows what the words 'making love' mean can do for a girl's ego."

  "You can't possibly compare our marriage to some fling with this...freak," Richard spat at me. Daniel's laugh was muffled against my skin, and I didn't have to look to see the wicked glee in his beautiful dark eyes.

  "No." I grinned as I spoke. "I really can't. There's a vast difference between a generous friend and lover and a selfish, demanding, spoiled child of a husband. I think I'm making the better choice. Good-bye, Richard." The door was still swinging closed on his stunned, openmouthed expression when Daniel turned me to steal my breath with another of those long, lingering kisses.

  By the time the door was locked and dead-bolted, and we were tumbling across the rumpled sheets of Daniel's bed, Richard's pounding fists and shouts of rage were already forgotten. We were absorbed in each other, in the fumbling of my clothing off my willing body, in finding the perfect fit of him into me. Laughter spilled into the whispers and moans of lovemaking, and back into laughter again. His warm hands and tangled sheets were the most important things in my world
at that moment, and it was perfect, if not exactly proper. * * * * The divorce went surprisingly well, considering what an ass Richard made of himself after I left. I walked away with nothing more than what I asked for: my own income, my personal possessions, and the car that I drove. That was fine with me. I love my tiny apartment, only a few blocks away from Daniel's place, and I love the feeling of being free. My family no longer is speaking to me at all. Apparently, Cara and Richard are getting married in the fall. I wish her all the luck in the world. She'll need it with him and the certain way he has to have everything in his life, including his woman.

  If the best revenge is living well, I think I've got it covered. Some nights I stay home with my big, fluffy cat, rescued from the parking lot at work, and watch television in my pajamas. I was never allowed to have a cat when I was married to Richard, he thought they were sneaky and destructive. It interfered with his routine, with the way he wanted things. Liberty and I are best friends, spending long, lazy Sunday afternoons sunbathing on our patio, or snoozing on the couch with the radio turned on low.

  Some nights I spend in Daniel's bed, wrapped in his arms, his body, surrounded with friendship, and slowly, love. We're building on ten years of friendship, six of which we lost to my own stupidity and weakness and Richard's controlling ways. He's not pushing me, and I'm not ready to make any big movements towards commitment yet. He just smiles when I start to back away, and changes the subject. That's just his way.

  We went to the local skateboarding park, two twenty-somethings laughing and falling over each other among the agile youngsters, trying to relearn what we've forgotten. Or, more correctly, what I've forgotten. Not only has Daniel kept his edge, he's learned a few tricks I never saw back in high school. We're planning on driving down to the beach, spending a week surfing and snorkeling, once the weather warms back up in the spring. It feels easy and right to plan vacations together, to squabble over little things like who went and got the Chinese last time or whose turn it is to do dishes.