by Amelia Mae
I take a deep breath. “I haven’t yet,” I say, “I’m pretty new as an instructor.”
“Oh.” He sounds disappointed.
“But if you want to talk to Zara and ask for me specifically, I’m sure we can work something out.”
He smiles, “Okay.”
I smile too. I’m glad he had a good class.
“It’s just… I’m comfortable with you, Aya,” he says, “Thank you.”
He gives me a hug. It’s unexpected and sweaty, but nice.
After the students leave, I pack up my dance bag and sit on the couches in the lobby.
“Are you available on Friday at noon?” Zara calls from the desk.
I check the calendar on my phone. “Yeah.”
“Good. You’ve just got your first private student.”
“Awesome,” I tell her as I make a note of it.
My phone dings. It’s a text from Cora.
Cora: Can I give Shawn your number?
I sigh. I have to think about that.
Ding! Ding! Ding!!
Crap. My phone was off. Now I’m getting all my texts from the past few hours all at once.
Cora: He’s been asking all morning.
Cora: Apparently he really needs to talk to you. It’s important.
Cora: Come on, Aya, yes or no?
Cora: He’s really up my ass about this. What the hell happened?
Cora: Oh, fuck it. I’m telling him where you work.
No!
I get my bags and rush out the door, figuring I’ll just book it to my car, drive home and pretend I got these messages too late.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I hear a deep voice ask.
I’d know that voice anywhere.
“Hey.” I’m trying to keep my voice light and not let on to the shitstorm inside my head.
“Aya,” Shawn asks gently, “What happened last night? Did I do something?”
“Oh God, no,” I say quickly, “I just…”
“I would have kicked Jack out. It’s not a big deal.”
I’m struggling to try and explain it. Some people would think that what happened with Jack was no big deal. Maybe most people.
But, to me, it’s a very big deal.
“Shawn,” I start, “I… I have problems with… Oh, God this is mortifying… I don’t like… being seen. Naked.”
“What?” he says, “Aya, you’re…”
“Ridiculous?” I offer.
“So fucking beautiful.”
“Thanks, but that’s not what I’m getting at,” I tell him, “I’m not insecure about my body. I don't think I’m ugly. I just don’t like people seeing me naked without my permission.”
Shawn narrows his eyes.
“I don’t want to unload my baggage on you, okay?” I say, “It’s just a weird hang-up and I thought I was over it because I met you and I finally wanted someone for the first time in for-fucking-ever, but then Jack walked in and I flipped a shit.”
And I guess I’ll always be a damaged freak and once you find out why, you’ll never want me.
Whoa, that was some major 90s-teen-drama-monologue.
I can’t look at him. I just head for my car.
Fuck. I didn’t drive here this morning. I took a Lyft because I knew I wouldn’t find parking in time for class.
“Let me take you home,” Shawn says as he approaches me from behind.
When he talks to me like that, I feel like he’s wrapping me up in a warm blanket. I can’t help it.
“Okay.”
8
Aya
Shawn opens the door for me and guides me into the passenger seat.
We’re in North Hollywood and my place is about five miles west of here, in Sherman Oaks. Shawn lives in Hollywood, so I know that this is out of his way.
Throughout the drive, I feel like he’s waiting for me to talk.
And part of me wants to tell him everything. But I don’t want to risk him looking at me differently.
Or worse. Not looking at me at all.
About twenty minutes later, we pull up in front of my building. Shockingly, there’s parking.
“Come up with me?” I ask, sheepishly, “I can make coffee or tea…. I have beer… I don’t know.”
He laughs. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” I say, gathering my courage, “Just come inside.”
I welcome Shawn to my studio apartment, glad that I’d decided to tidy up that morning. But still, It’s not much.
We walk into my living room, which is also my bedroom, which is next to the kitchen that’s the size of a half-bathroom, and beside full bathroom that’s the size of a half-bathroom.
It’s just me, so normally don't mind how compact it is.
But now I’ve got six feet of hot, nasty man in my space and suddenly it feels too small. He lumbers inside and smiles as he surveys my collection of dance heels and the framed artwork on my walls. He leans against the door jamb on one arm.
God, does he even know how fucking sexy that is?
Ugh. Part of me wants to spill my guts and hope he doesn’t run away.
But, right now, a bigger, hornier part of me wants to say fuck talking, get him on my armchair and straddle him like last night.
“How about I tell you about me,” Shawn says, suddenly, plunking down in one of my ‘dining room’ chairs.
I nod. Okay.
“I’ve had five real girlfriends in my life.”
I must be making a strange face, because Shawn clarifies.
“I didn’t say I’ve only been with five women. I haven’t been a saint, especially when I’m on the road,” he explains, “But five long-term relationships.”
“Were you in love with them?” I ask.
He nods.
“You’ve been in love five times?”
He squints, like he’s reconsidering. “Maybe not with the first few,” he backtracks.
“So some were more like… infatuations?”
“Maybe,” he agrees, “But the last one, Torie, the one you overheard me with that time… I was really in love with her.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
“Because I want you to know that when I commit to a relationship, I’m faithful.”
“Okay. That’s good I guess,” I tell him, “But, I suppose I should tell you that I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“Neither am I,” he says, “I’m away for months at a time. I’ve got fans screaming my name. I’ve got women at my beck and call…”
“Whoa, cocky, much?” I call him out.
Shawn chuckles. “Yeah, sorry, that sounded pretty awful.” He runs a hand through his wavy, light brown hair. “I mean…Torie, explained it best. She told me that whether or not I even wanted that kind of attention, I have it. And any girl I’m really with is going to have that thrown in her face. Like it or not, this lifestyle leads to a lot of hurt feelings.”
I cut him off. “So what are you looking for?” I ask.
“I’ve got a long stretch of time in LA before the next tour,” he starts, “About two months. I mean, we’ve got an album to work on, and other stuff like that, but I’d like someone to spend some of that time with someone who isn’t a bandmate.”
“So what, like, a temporary girlfriend?” I ask.
“Kind of.”
I think about it. It’s weird, sure, but, the non-committal commitment is kind of appealing to me. I can get reasonably comfortable with him.
But I clearly can’t trust him too much. Not that I was planning on it anyway.
“More like a friend with benefits,” he clarifies.
Hmm…
I nod. “I think I can make that work.”
Wait, he was asking me right?
“Yes, Aya,” he grins, “I was asking you.”
I’m embarrassed.
“And no, you didn’t say that out loud,” he states, “I’m just pretty sure I can read your mind
.”
I smirk. I hope not. It’s getting pretty filthy in here picturing some of those benefits.
“But a few things don’t make sense,” I tell him. I may be cunt-blocking myself, but I’m curious and I need to know. “Why were you in a club last night looking to hook up? Doesn’t really suit your exclusivity thing.”
“Jack kind of dragged me out,” he says, “I kept making the same mistake on a chord progression and he figured it was because I was tense.”
I don’t understand how sleeping with a random woman will help him play the bass better, but I let it go.
“Also… Why not just whore around and have a bunch of one-night stands? It’d be easier,” I wonder, “I mean, you’ve got one of the few jobs on earth where sleeping around is actually encouraged and nobody’s going to judge you for it. Why not take advantage?”
Shawn looks at me, wheels turning in his mind.
“What’s the big reason?” I ask.
“Honestly?”
I nod as he narrows his eyes.
“Oral.”
I cough. Not the answer I expected.
“I don’t go down on my one-night-stands,” he says with a little laugh, “Too intimate.”
“And you like doing… that?”
I’ve been leaning against the refrigerator in my tiny kitchen, a mere few feet from Shawn. He rises from his chair and closes the distance between us.
The playful smile on his face has been replaced with a serious, hungry expression that makes me I shiver as his fingertips find my shoulders and drift down my arms.
His voice drops an octave to a dangerously sexy tone and he growls in my ear. “Last night, I sucked the taste of you off my fingers, Aya. And now I need more.”
He dips his lips to my neck, to that perfect spot just below my left earlobe. He grazes my skin with his teeth.
I grab his tee shirt with both hands to pull him to me. He presses his chest against mine so that so that I’m tightly sandwiched between the refrigerator and his big, muscled body. I feel him hardening under his jeans.
“Kiss me,” I demand.
Shawn cups my face in his large hands and his fingers wander through my hair. Then he leans in and brushes my lips with his.
He starts out slowly, taking the time to savor my mouth. Then he parts my lips with his tongue and deepens the kiss, giving my hair a little tug.
I groan into his mouth.
I reach down and palm his hard cock over his jeans. He lets out a deep, rumbly sound and takes my hand away.
“Fuck, Aya,” he seethes, “I’ve been on edge since you left me yesterday. If you just say my name the right way, I’m pretty sure I could come.”
“Shawn,” I breathe into his ear.
He grunts and lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his waist and carries me across the room to the bed. He lays me down and hovers over me, one knee on either side of my hips.
I practically tear his shirt off and touch him all over as we make out fiendishly on the bed. My hands roam over his back and broad shoulders. I revel in being underneath him. He smells like leather and soap and man.
He pulls back, his eyes half open and his lips all red and puffy. They’re shiny and smell like my cherry lip gloss.
I giggle. He looks so good like that. A little dazed. Breathing heavy.
Good and kissed.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
Nothing. Nothing funny about a stupidly hot man wanting to go down on you.
Nothing at all.
He hovers over me and reaches for the waist of my jeans. He undoes the button. Then the zipper. Slowly.
“Lift up,” he commands, “And try to relax.”
I groan as he slides my pants and underwear down over my thighs, my knees, and all the way off. He tosses them, along with my sandals, to the floor and presses his lips to the spot just inside my hipbone.
He drags me to the edge of the bed and kneels at the foot, positioning himself between my legs.
I close my eyes. I try to relax, but I’m gasping for breath. Every touch makes me shake in the best possible way.
He drags his fingertips over my sides and guides my right leg over his shoulder. Kisses my inner thigh. Then lightly bites it.
He moves his mouth closer. And closer.
He gives my seam a long, slow lick.
“God, Shawn,” I gasp.
Fuck, I’ve never had a guy get this up close and personal with me before. Most guys I’ve been with made me feel like going down on a woman was chore. Or something only to be done in reciprocation for a really good blow job.
But Shawn… Fuck.
Shawn laps at me like there’s nowhere he’d rather be than between my legs. He swirls his tongue around my clit before sucking it into his mouth, then drives it in deep enough to make my toes curl.
I grip at the sheets behind me.
He keeps going.
“I’m so fucking close,” I moan after a mere few minutes.
He does not fucking let up.
“No, I don’t, sweetheart,” he says with an evil grin on his face, as I realize I said that part out loud. Screamed it, probably. “I want to get you there. Again. And again…”
I can’t tell if I’m saying things out loud or not anymore. I’m barely even saying words.
He keeps licking me. Sucking on me. Occasionally running his hands up my body, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake.
He focuses on my clit and drives two fingers inside me, bending at the knuckle and drawing them forward.
It makes me crazy.
I rake my fingers through his hair and fight the urge to fuck his face even harder.
I screech as I start pulsing. “Oh God, Shawn.”
I come as hard as I’ve ever come before. It’s quick and intense and amazing.
When I come down, I try to switch positions. I want to get on top of him for a little payback, but no… he’s still not letting up.
He scoops my ass up into his his cupped hands and lifts my hips back up towards his mouth where his eager tongue goes right back to me.
He’s still going.
I fight against him a bit. But it’s a fight where his tongue is trying to invade my pussy for the sole purpose of pleasuring me and for some stupid, fucking reason, I’m whimpering in protest.
Fuck it. If he wants to tongue fuck me six ways to Sunday, I’m going to let him.
I grind my pussy against his eager mouth and he dives into me like a starving man at a piece of fruit.
“Please,” I moan, seconds from tumbling over the edge.
He mumbles something I can’t hear, but I can feel the vibrations against me and, oh God, it feels good as I come. Again.
That’s twice.
And he’s still going.
9
Shawn
When I said I like oral, I wasn’t kidding.
When I said I’d licked Aya off my fingers and fucking loved it, I wasn’t kidding.
And now she’s burned through about three orgasms on my tongue and, no, I wasn’t letting up. I’m going to get her to at least one more.
It’s a point of pride with me.
Aya moans as she creams herself on my face again.
She’s reached a state of sex-drunk deliriousness. Like she’s not aware of where she is or what her body’s doing.
It’s kind of scary.
But, fuck, it’s so damn sexy.
I switch so that I’m hitting her clit with the flat part of my tongue and mining her pussy with two fingers.
She can’t even moan anymore, she’s too spent out and her voice is too hoarse. She’s reduced to making these soft mewling sounds that send pangs of lust straight to my aching cock.
“Shawn,” she manages to eek out.
She’s starting to come again, this time a torturously slow boil. She closes her eyes and her head rolls back. She makes a desperate little noise. I think it was a please.
Her whole body tenses up. Her stomach contra
cts. She clutches the sheets behind her. Her toes curl.
Her orgasm takes over and it’s a fucking sight to see.
I’m so hard it’s too painful not to take care of, so I unzip my jeans and grip my dick, giving myself a good, firm stroke.
I lick her through her orgasm while I fuck myself with one hand. I don’t want to come yet, just to relieve some of this pressure, but I can’t help it.
I come in thick, heavy spasms. I lurch forward, dousing my bare chest in sticky fluid.
I have to leave Aya alone for a minute or so while I clean myself off in her bathroom. When I return, she’s lying on the bed, on her back, a beautiful, blissed-out mess.
She lets me into bed with her and sprawls on top of me like a starfish as I pull the blanket up over both of us. I hold her close and stroke her pretty blue hair as her heartbeat slows down.
I don’t bother to hide my deep inhale. She smells like honey and flowers and clean sweat and, even though I’ve just came, I’m hardening again.
Despite it being the middle of the day, Aya is fast asleep. I close my eyes and drift off underneath her.
I wake up sometime around sunset, moaning in my sleep and gasping for breath. I feel lightheaded. All the blood has rushed south.
My arms are empty, but I feel a warm, wet mouth on my cock. A tongue swirling around the tip, then sucking me in deeper.
I let out a low, feral groan.
Aya…
I look down at the wild little pixie whose pouty pink lips are stretched around my cock and the sight alone is almost enough to make me come right there.
She looks up at me, her deep brown eyes meeting mine.
“Jesus, fuck Aya,” I hiss.
Almost as if to spite me, she sucks me down harder. Her hands wander up my thighs, over my abs. I guess she likes what she feels.
“So damn hot,” she moans around my cock.
“Ugh, fuck,” I grunt back. I’m really starting to lose it. “You’re driving me out me out of my fucking mind.”
She backs off, starting to bob up and down on me, working the base with her hands.
“I’m close,” I warn her.
She takes me deeper than I thought possible, so I’m ramming the back of her throat. Aya’s a small girl, but she’s taking all nine inches of me like a damn pro.
