by J. Lea López
He stepped back when she pushed the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She admired the sight before her. Not quite a six-pack there, but he was muscular, with a smattering of dark curly hair on his chest and trailing down toward his belly button. The perfect balance of firmness and softness.
She turned her back to Malcolm and swept all of her hair over one shoulder, giving him access to the zipper on her dress. He pressed his lips to the back of her neck as he unzipped her. Soon she stood in a pool of beaded satin.
“Is it okay if I touch you here?” His fingers skimmed across her belly.
She nodded her approval and leaned back into his body.
“And here?” Hands cupped her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples to attention through the lace of her bra.
“Oh, yes.”
“While I kiss you here?” Lips, teeth, tongue, nipping at her earlobe. Biting gently. Caressing the sensitive inner curves of her ear.
“Oh, Malcolm.” Every touch sent tiny shockwaves through to her core.
She pressed her hips back against his growing arousal, which made him groan into her ear. She shivered with desire and spun around to face him. If he wanted her mouth, he would get it. They backed up to the bed and Malcolm sat. Sasha stood between his knees and unhooked her bra. At the sight of her bare breasts, his tongue darted out, wetting his lips. He placed his hands on her hips and gazed at her nipples.
“May I?”
“No.”
His focus shifted to her face.
“No. I want to taste you first.”
She pushed him back on the bed and he scooted to the center. She straddled him, grinding her hips down against him and sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. Through him, too, judging by the way he clenched his eyes closed and pressed his head back into the pillow.
“I want to taste you here.” She kissed his mouth eagerly. “And here.” Flicked her tongue over his bicep. Then his chest.
“Yes.” He opened his eyes and watched her trail kisses over his abdomen.
“And here.” She pressed her lips to his stomach, just above the waistband of his pants. With sure fingers, she unbuckled the belt, popped the button, and released the zipper.
“Yes.” The response was breathy and urgent.
“Especially here.” She reached into his boxers and palmed his hard length, smiling when she heard him draw a sharp breath.
He lifted his hips and she stripped the rest of his clothing off. She took a moment to admire his naked form. If her panties hadn't already been soaked through, they would be at the sight of him lying prone, that beautiful cock standing at attention.
“You want my mouth?” She was less timid now, and her voice didn't falter. The process of giving, asking for, and receiving permission was empowering in a way she hadn't expected.
“Sasha.” He exhaled her name. “Yes. God, yes.”
She leaned forward and eased him into her mouth. Slowly, slowly... all the way, until she could take no more, then she pulled back. She took her time and tended to him in the same way he'd kissed her. Long, slow strokes of the tongue, tasting every curve and ridge. He moaned and murmured yes, yes, yes over and over again. Consent never sounded so sexy.
After a few minutes, just as his thighs began to tremble, he touched her cheek. “Stop, stop. I don't want to finish yet.”
She stretched out beside him and he rolled over to kiss her. She could never get enough of those kisses. Before he had the chance to ask, she placed his hand over her breast. That was all the encouragement he needed.
“You are amazing.”
Her toes curled at the tickle of his breath in her ear.
“And so beautiful.”
She gasped when he rolled her nipple between his fingers. He did the same to the other nipple, then trailed his hand down her stomach. He tugged at her panties.
“I'm dying to get you out of these.”
“Yes, please.” She helped him slide them over her hips, then kicked them over the side of the bed.
Malcolm slipped his hand between her thighs and stroked two fingers over her labia. It wasn't going to take much to send her over the edge. He slipped one finger inside. She couldn't remember the last time she was this aroused. She sighed.
“I love hearing that.” Another finger in. His thumb hovering over her clit. “You're so wet.”
“Yes. Oh...” She raised her hips, practically begging him to move.
He did, circling his thumb around that sensitive spot, instantly making her shake with pleasure. There was no stopping the orgasm that overtook her with the next swirl of his thumb. He pressed his mouth to her ear.
“Yes. That's it.”
“Oh god yes, Malcolm.” The tingling waves washed over her, pulsating gently. They subsided after a moment, only to be coaxed back up again by her partner's skilled fingers. “I want you. Now. Please, I need you.”
He knelt and pulled her hips down to meet him. She looked up into his eyes and gave her final consent. He pushed into her, filling her completely. She reached between them and stroked her clit in rhythm with his thrusts. She found herself repeating yes, yes, yes, with each push, getting louder and louder. She wasn't usually so vocal, but she couldn't help herself. Before long, Malcolm joined her vocalizations.
He grasped her hips and lifted her slightly off the bed to meet his thrusts. She was on the brink of a second orgasm. She wrapped her legs around his torso. She loved the way he felt inside her, the way his every word and action tonight had been for their mutual pleasure, not just his own.
“Malcolm...” She dug her nails into his arms. “More. Yes!”
Whatever modicum of self-control he'd been holding onto was gone. He fucked her hard and fast until they came together in a loud release. Sasha cried out as Malcolm collapsed on top of her, spent. She wiped the perspiration from her brow and stroked his back until his breathing returned to normal.
He rolled off her and pushed her hair back from her eyes. He kissed her once.
“I have one more question,” he said.
“What's that?”
“When can we do that again?”
She grinned and snuggled against his warm body. “Ask me in the morning.”
She had a feeling the answer would be yes.
The Haricot Verts
“Why don't they just say green beans?”
You look across the table at him through eyelashes and candlelight. See if you can make him understand.
“'Haricot verts, the thinnest, sweetest, most delicate variety of French green beans. Everything thin and pretty deserves a special place of honor, a fancy title.”
You fumble with the water glass, fingers uncoordinated. He's watching as you look down through the clear liquid and ice cubes; through the water, your fingers appear as thick as they feel. What does he see when he looks at you?
“You know the haricot verts.”
“I know what?” He laughs at you, softly, nervously.
“You know who the haricot verts are. The homecoming queen, the guy with the slick tongue and Daddy's money. I bet you knew one in high school, or maybe college. She was completely out of your league, but you asked her out anyway. Right?”
He sits back in his chair, looking past you, over your shoulder, and it's your turn to chuckle.
“Even after she turned you down, you still let her copy your class notes every time she asked, didn't you?”
His eyes meet yours again, a little colder this time, less twinkle.
Apologize. Tell him it was only a joke.
The waiter interrupts by announcing your entrees and setting plates in front of you. It looks beautiful, as it should, haricot verts and all.
“I guess you never had any problem getting your own haricot verts?” He doesn't sound too annoyed. Only slightly. “Always had any guy you wanted, no doubt.”
He holds your gaze for a long time, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. He's waiting for your answer. You shake your head.<
br />
Tell him he's wrong. Tell him you're more the canned string bean kind of girl and you know it. The ones that inevitably turn all children against vegetables—all perfectly the same stout size, always too mushy, with a bitter, tinny flavor. They could never hold their own next to haricot verts. Tell him you never tried.
You push your pretty little vegetables around the plate. Tell him you would have let him copy your class notes, too. Tell him:
“I should’ve ordered mashed potatoes.”
The Reluctant Exhibitionist
“Why won’t you let me watch you?”
My stomach twisted with anxiety at his question, but also with excitement. Tim, my boyfriend of a year and a half, lathered soap on my back as we stood under the hot shower spray. He loved these post-sex showers as much as I did.
“It’s weird,” I said, reverting to thirteen-year-old terminology to describe something much more complex than weird. He held my shoulders and leaned forward to whisper in my ear.
“It’s not weird. It’s damn sexy.” His hands slid down over my breasts, pinching lightly at my nipples, not that they needed any help perking up.
My body was still sensitive and alert after the orgasm he’d given me only minutes before. He could bring me to the edge and hold me there for what seemed like eternity before plunging me over the precipice. It was always worth the wait. With his slippery hands moving down my stomach now, I could barely think about the original question. If he wanted a straight answer, he’d have to stop working me up. And by the feel of things, I wasn’t the only one becoming aroused again. A slow shiver snaked down my spine when he captured my earlobe between his teeth.
“Do you get excited thinking of strangers seeing you touch yourself?”
“Maybe. A little.” Not as much as the fantasy I’d shared with him a few months ago: being watched while having sex. But it still pushed all the right buttons. I swallowed my lust.
“So why not let me?”
“It—it’s different. I’d feel self-conscious.”
He let go of me and turned away to rinse the soap from his chest.
“I don’t get how you’d be comfortable in front of random strangers, but not me. After this long, I thought you’d trust me at least that much.”
Standing naked in a shower, you wouldn’t think it possible to feel any more exposed, but in that moment, I did.
“It’s not about trust.”
“Then what’s it about?” He squirted a palm full of shampoo and scrubbed his hair. Vigorously.
By the time I garnered the courage to tell him, he’d rinsed his hair and started sliding the shower door open.
“Tim, wait.”
“Forget it.”
“No.” I slid the door shut again.
“I hate that you shut down like this when I bring it up. I won’t ask about it anymore, okay?”
I pulled him back under the water with me and pressed my body close to his. He was still semi-erect and the feel of him made my muscles clench tight.
“I love you,” I said.
The hard line of his lips softened. He kissed my forehead.
“I know, babe. I never—”
“That’s why.”
“What?” He stepped me back, shielding me from the water. He cupped my chin and held my gaze when I tried to look away. My face had to have been bright red, and not from the hot shower.
“I don’t care what some anonymous person, who I’ll never see again, thinks when they look at me. But I do care what you’ll think.”
He leaned me back against the shower wall. He was hard against my hip.
“Is that it? This whole time?”
Well, when he said it like that, it did seem a little silly.
“You already know what I think when I look at you, how much I love your body.”
Of course I did, but there was still that irrational fear in my brain. Seeing me naked in the shower, or touching myself while we’re having sex, was one thing. But to be fully laid out, exposed, engaged in something so intimate that I’d normally do without him… That struck a tiny chord of terror within me. Would he like what he saw? Would he think I enjoyed it more alone than with him?
He grasped my hips, pulling them forward, and bent his knees so we were about the same height. The tip of his cock pressed against my slick opening. I wanted nothing more than to slide myself down the length of him, to have him fill me, but he held me firm. Desire glinted in his eyes and twitched the corners of his mouth into a devious grin.
“You see how hard you make me?”
I nodded.
“You like that?”
“God, yes.” It was difficult not to let my eyelids flutter shut. My entire body pulsed with need. I kept my eyes open and looked into his, willing him to see how much I wanted him.
He leaned in for a kiss, still poised just beneath me, nudging slightly upward. I braced my hands behind me against the wall and tried to ease myself down, but he had the better position for control.
“Baby, don’t tease.” A whimper escaped my lips. The sultry, begging kind Tim found hard to resist.
He held tight to my hips, and straightened his legs out, thrusting full into me. I couldn’t silence the satisfied cry that passed from my lips. Sacrificing balance for heightened sensation, I wrapped one leg behind him and tilted my hips so his pelvis pressed against my clit with each thrust.
“Wouldn’t you like to see how hard—” He pushed deep, stretching me. “—how hard I’d get looking at you?”
His naughty talk had me on the brink. The sizzling pleasure mounted in my abdomen and tingled down to my toes.
“I want to see you touch that pretty little pussy until it’s nice and wet.”
“Oh God, Tim.”
He pressed me up against the wall and gripped my ass with both hands, surely leaving red finger-marks, fucking me as fast as the slippery shower floor would allow, but he never stopped talking to me.
“How hard do you think you could get me without ever touching me?”
I’d never thought of that. Never thought of having that kind of power over him. But I thought of it now, and it burst the bubble that had been building inside me, sending sparks flying behind my eyelids.
“Make me watch until I’m begging to fuck you.” His voice was strained through clenched teeth. “Bet you’d like that.”
I could only moan in response. He groaned with one final thrust and buried his face in my neck, panting. He held me there for a moment while we both caught our breath, then redirected the showerhead.
“Looks like we have to wash up again.”
I grinned a delirious grin and stepped into the spray.
“Hey.” He patted my ass.
I turned around.
“I love you, too.”
Tim kept his word and didn’t bring up the topic of watching me masturbate for the next few weeks. Of course, now I couldn’t get it out of my head. The way he’d described it made me realize an important distinction I’d never thought of before: it wasn’t the act he was interested in seeing, it was me. Okay, it was me in the middle of that act, but still.
I came home on a Friday evening after work and the house was dark. I had been hoping for dinner out and a sexy night in to kick off the weekend, but Tim wasn’t there. When I turned on the light, I found a manila envelope propped against the lamp on the table.
Anna.
My name beckoned to me in black marker. The envelope was heavier than I expected, and when I opened it, a digital voice recorder slid into my hands. Intrigued, I pressed play and turned up the volume.
Hey babe. Surprise.
The sound of Tim’s voice made me smile. What did he have up his sleeve? I made my way into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine as I listened.
Let’s try something different tonight. I bet you’re ready to relax after a long day, so head upstairs for a nice hot bath. Then slip into something that makes you feel sexy. Turn this off until you’re ready for the next ste
p. Don’t cheat and listen ahead, either.
I laughed. He knew me too well. I was the one who liked to open gifts on Christmas Eve, not because of any long-standing tradition, but because I couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer. I clicked the tape off and followed his instructions.
I filled the tub with steaming hot water and added a few capfuls of the vanilla-scented bath oil that had been waiting for me on the counter. The aroma filled the whole bathroom. I stripped down and sank into the water, my muscles already beginning to relax. Sipping my glass of wine, neck-deep in silky bathwater, I wished Tim were actually there with me instead of a disembodied voice coming from a machine. I was tempted to cheat and listen some more, just as he expected I would be, but I resisted. He’d gone through the trouble of setting this up, so I didn’t want to ruin it. Instead, I focused on letting the tension of the work week go, skimming my hands under the water, letting the oil soften my skin.
When the water started to cool, I drained the tub and toweled off. While trying to decide what piece of lingerie to put on, I added an extra step to his instructions and applied a sweet-scented lotion he had given to me for my birthday earlier this year. I took my time, massaging my breasts and tummy, giving my ass a gentle squeeze as I spread the lotion. I slathered it on, from my ankles up to my thighs, loving the smoothness against my skin.
I couldn’t help myself. I brushed my fingers between my thighs, feeling the wetness there. I spread a little up over my clit, relishing the jolt of pleasure it sent through my body. Tim’s instructions were having the desired effect.
Once in the bedroom, I slipped into a black lace thong and a matching stretch lace camisole that hugged my body. Okay. Ready for more direction. I pressed play.
I hope you’re feeling good right now. I’d love to touch you, feel how soft you are after the bath. To smell the vanilla on your skin.
His voice was as silky as the bath oil, the lotion, warming my body to the core. I tingled with anticipation.
Set the recorder down on the bed so your hands are free. Make sure the blinds are closed tight so no one can see.
I did as he instructed, though part of me thrilled at the possibility that someone might look in and see me in my skimpy lingerie, nipples hard and standing out against the thin lace.
