Perfectly Adequate

by Jewel Ann

  A tiny smile pulls at his lips as he grabs my ass, jerking me closer to him. “Why the grin?”

  I removed your pants without swallowing your dick! I’m pretty fucking proud of myself.

  And that’s exactly what will come out of my mouth if I’m forced to give an answer. So I raise onto my toes and kiss him instead. Hugging me tighter, he lifts me off the floor and lays me in the middle of his bed.

  Kneeling between my spread knees, he peels off my socks and tosses them over his shoulder, wearing a cocky grin. “I fear I’ve wasted my whole life setting the bar too low for my fantasies because you’re the ultimate wet dream right now.” He kisses along my calf, making a slow ascent up my leg while sliding my shorts down a few inches, just enough to reveal my girl-boy briefs. “Perfect.” He grins, completely removing my shorts and sending them to collect on the floor with the rest of my clothes.

  “What?” I ask as he rakes his gaze over my body without moving another muscle.

  “You’re beautiful, Dorothy. And I just want to look at you. Just for a few seconds, I want to commit this to memory.”

  It sounds sweet. It really does. But I’m sprawled out on his bed wearing nothing more than Wonder Woman briefs and a tiara. Kinky? Fetish-like even? Maybe. But beautiful is hard to believe, probably because I see parts more than the whole of things. Beautiful what? Eyes? Skin? Hair?

  “Are you a little kinky, Eli?”

  His lips twitch, eyes filled with unspoken words. I need those words. Forcing me to guess shit usually ends in disaster.

  “Define kinky.” He leans forward and kisses my abs, teasing his tongue along the top of my Wonder Woman briefs.

  I close my eyes as my fingers curl into his hair, urging him a bit lower. He runs his nose along the crotch of my briefs, driving me mad with the warmth of his breath.

  “Eli …” I lift my hips from the bed. Yes, I realize it’s the equivalent of him stabbing at my mouth with his cock. I never claimed my reasoning was fair.

  “Not yet …” His mouth denies my request as it kisses its way up my body. “If I give you that now…” he brushes his lips over mine “…I’ll have to wash my mouth out with soap and water, and brush and floss my teeth before I can kiss you. And right now … I want to kiss you.”

  I grin. “Solid point.”

  Eli kisses me, it feels different than his other kisses—a weird clash of patience and desperation. Maybe it’s his naked body hovering over mine. Maybe it’s that we’re on the verge of having sex totally naked in a bed that doesn’t belong to his mom.

  His hands explore my body. Mine rest on his arms. Eli lets things build slowly as if he wants to draw out the moment. The journey seems to matter to him. I, on the other hand, have laser focus on the destination.

  I hate that I have two modes: Don’t touch me. Or … Give me an orgasm now!

  Foreplay is simply an overabundance of touching.

  “Put on a condom.”

  “I will.” He takes his sweet time working his mouth back down my body.

  I grimace, clenching my hands to prevent myself from reaching between my legs and getting myself off. Yes, something I would have done and often did do years earlier. The look of shock guys would get on their faces after I’d pleasure myself and hop out of bed before they wrapped it up and made an attempt to stick it inside of me was truly priceless.

  But Eli is not just a random guy I plan on using for a quick orgasm. And I want him to think I’m good at sex—not just with myself, but with him too.

  Again, he lets his mouth hover between my legs as he slides a finger under my briefs, teasing my clit. My hand covers his as I jerk my pelvis, guiding his finger inside of me.

  Yes!

  He’s slow. My hips rock against his hand at a much faster pace. His thumb finds my clit as he kisses my inner thigh, teasing it with his tongue.

  Are we done kissing? I feel like we are. If he can add his long middle finger and move his tongue up two inches, including it in the mix, I will see stars.

  “Let me get the condom.”

  What?!

  He sits on the edge of the bed, retrieves a condom from the drawer, and rolls it on.

  I shimmy out of my superhero briefs. “Hurry up.”

  His body vibrates. “We have all night.”

  No. We most certainly do not have all night. There’s pizza downstairs. I have my meds to take. Face to wash. Teeth to brush and floss. And if he can work on his efficiency, we might have it one more time, but there’s no way we’re dragging out this one time. All. Night. Long.

  No fucking way.

  So … I attack him. That’s really the best description. I push him back on the bed and kiss him hard while lining up his cock. Then I sink down as we seethe in unison.

  “Find it, Eli.” I grin, holding up my wrist and setting my sexual activity function on my watch.

  He rolls his eyes. “It’s not a race.”

  “I disagree.” I start moving at a brisk pace.

  He grabs my hips to slow me down, but I keep pace, chasing that orgasm, angling forward to keep my clit rubbing against his pelvis. And as I approach the coveted finish line, he lifts me from him, as if he knows.

  “What are you doing?” I protest.

  He flips me onto my back—pinning my arms to the bed beside my head—and settles his hips between my legs, sliding back inside of me. “I’m finding it, Mayhem. Better keep up.” He smirks before kissing me and seriously pounding into me.

  Game on!

  Until … it’s not.

  Eli manages to find the perfect angle that denies me the friction I need, and he has my hands pinned to the bed so I can’t help myself.

  “You’re terrible at sex.” I scowl at him as sweat beads along his brow while moving above me, clearly burning more calories and approaching the damn finish line that I can no longer see.

  “I’m really not.” He grins, releasing my arms.

  My hands fly straight to his hair. Balling them into fists, I jerk it as hard as possible. “Fucker …”

  He cuts me off with his lips covering mine and his tongue filling my mouth as he slides his hand between our pelvises and delivers a spectacular orgasm just seconds after he climaxes. Eli just has to win.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Dorothy Defined

  Elijah

  Well, that was a first.

  Even the times I had angry sex with Julie, it wasn’t all that angry. More like make-up sex with a bit of attitude.

  Dorothy Mayhem sex involves a playing field—maybe a battlefield—a time clock, and placement medals.

  Before I can hook an arm around her and pull her next to me, she’s out of bed and back into her superhero pajamas, minus the tiara that fell off while she rode me like a true immortal.

  “Wow …” She bends down and cocks her head to look at the stack of books on the side table by the chair in the corner of my bedroom. “You have a lot of books on autism. Do you think Roman is on the spectrum?”

  I sit up and reach for a tissue, my briefs, and jeans. “No.”

  Dorothy eases into the chair and inspects the books one at a time. “Autism in Heels. Sounds like something for a woman.”

  I wait on the edge of the bed, jeans pulled on, hands folded between my legs.

  She glances over at me, eyebrows peaked in question. “Are you reading these because of me?”

  I nod, wondering what’s going through her mind. Do I need to apologize? Fish for some pathetic excuse?

  Dorothy tosses them onto the ottoman and rubs her lips together. “What do you want to know? You don’t need a book. All you have to do is ask me.”

  Dropping my head, I massage the back of my neck. “I wasn’t looking for answers. I was looking for insight. I was looking for the questions I never would have thought to ask until after I screwed up. Until it was too late.”

  She nods slowly, forehead wrinkled. “I bet it was frustrating reading these. Because for every three things that you could relate directly
to me, there had to be at least one … maybe two that don’t quite fit. I know this because I’ve read all the books. I think even this one.” She picks one of the books up and glances at the back of it.

  I look up at her and whisper, “Yes.”

  “If I picked up a book about men, would all the stereotypes apply to you?”

  I shake my head.

  “If I figure you out, will that mean I know everything that makes Dr. Warren act the way he does?”

  I shake my head.

  “The spectrum is human. It’s not autism. Doesn’t matter what the so-called experts say. But I owned the label years ago anyway.” She giggles. “Imagine being my parents … sitting around a table with your ten-year-old kid (after years of being told girls don’t get autism), and the doctor finally says, ‘Yes. The diagnosis is Asperger’s.’ And your kid yells out, ‘Oh great … now I have ASS BURGERS.’”

  I bite my lips together, until my face turns blue.

  Dorothy smirks. “It’s okay. You can laugh. It’s pretty funny.”

  I fist my hand at my mouth and laugh until my stomach hurts, just like I did in the back of her Audi when she said “snacking on Dorothy.” It’s not me laughing at her in a mean way. It’s her making me laugh in the most refreshing way. After Julie left, I wondered if I would ever laugh like this again.

  Roman makes me laugh, and it’s real. And it feels good. But it’s bittersweet because every time he does something cute or funny, I want to call Julie’s name and tell her to come watch him or listen to him repeat it. But Julie isn’t here. We are no longer a family unit. And that always steals a tiny piece of joy from the moment.

  “My parents tell that story all the time. It took me years to see the humor in it. But now it makes me laugh. Humor can be difficult for me. Laughing at myself never came naturally. I can do it now, but only because I learned to do it. Through many meltdowns and tears, I forced myself to laugh it off. And journal. I work things out that way. And sometimes I talk stuff through with my parents. They aren’t board-certified talk doctors like your mom, but they suffice. They help me put things into perspective. Tell me when I’ve overreacted in a situation or underestimated the importance of doing or saying more.”

  I make my way to her, removing the books from the ottoman and sitting on it, resting my hands on her legs, hoping it’s okay. She places her hands on top of mine. I need this. I need to know that I can touch her—at least sometimes—and that it’s okay. Some things in these books worry me. They make me think she will never want to be touched. Never truly want to have sex.

  “I don’t read those books to figure you out. I read them to learn more about a part of the human spectrum.”

  She glances up at me and smiles.

  “It never hurts to study different perspectives. Right?” I ask.

  “Right.”

  “Think it’s too late for pizza?”

  Dorothy’s jaw drops as she gasps. “It’s never too late for pizza.”

  “Okay, Wonder Woman. Let’s eat.” I stand, taking her hand and leading her to the kitchen.

  She piles half the pizza onto her plate.

  I chuckle. “Worried I’m going to eat more than my share?”

  “It happens a lot to me.” She grabs her bag and fishes out a pill container.

  “Cholesterol meds for all the cheese you eat?”

  “Not yet.” She smirks as I hand her a bottle of water.

  “Anxiety pill. Sleeping pill. Multi-vitamin. Magnesium. Turmeric. What do you take?”

  I grin, carrying our plates to the table. “I’m going to self-medicate with this bottle of pinot.”

  “Yuck. I hate wine.” She dives into her pizza.

  “Noted. In fact, I’d like to take more notes, if you don’t mind.”

  Dorothy glances up at me with half a slice of pizza hanging from her mouth. “About what?” she mumbles.

  For the next hour, I interview her, preparing to pass any and all Dorothy Mayhem tests should the occasion arise again.

  Favorite color: Red

  Place of birth: Portland, Oregon

  Date of birth: May 6th, 1989

  High school: Riverdale

  Mother’s Maiden Name: Crowley

  Childhood pets: Two dogs, both Cavalier Spaniels—Jax and Bailey

  Cavities: None

  Medical conditions: Protected by HIPAA

  Favorite pastime: Tie between Xbox and bingeing on Netflix

  Favorite Series: Game of Thrones

  Favorite musical artist: Taylor Swift

  And then there are so many things that she can’t answer about herself. I’m okay with that because I want to discover her, not study her.

  “Come to bed.” I hold out my hand as she yawns just before midnight.

  We trudge our way up the stairs.

  “Shower with me?”

  “Sounds crowded and messy.”

  “You haven’t seen my shower. It’s large and clean. And if we find something that’s dirty, I have lots of soap to use on it.”

  “Is this your way of suggesting sex again?”

  At the top of the stairs, I pull her to me. “Would that be so bad?”

  “No foreplay.”

  “Said no woman ever.” I laugh.

  “Welp, I’m a woman, and I’m saying it.”

  “I feel like you’re just using me for quick orgasms.”

  She walks toward my bathroom, pulling me behind her by nothing more than her index finger clasped to mine. “Would that be so bad?” She shoots me a flirty grin over her shoulder.

  Dorothy … Dorothy … Dorothy …

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Missed Goodbyes

  Dorothy

  Worst night ever.

  Plot twist—great sex ends in restless sleep. At least for me.

  The firm bed.

  The itchy sheets.

  The nightlight from the hallway.

  The extra body heat.

  It doesn’t work for me.

  By four in the morning, I give up. Why torture myself any longer?

  “Eli?” I say.

  No answer.

  “Eli!”

  “Jesus!” He jumps once from my slightly elevated volume and a second time when he opens his eyes and sees my face an inch from his face. “Whoa …” He jerks his head to the side and sits up in bed. “What’s going on? Why did you yell at me? What time is it?” He looks at his watch on its charger by the bed.

  “I’m going to go exercise.”

  “What? It’s 4:00 a.m. on a Sunday.”

  “Yes, but I have to work.”

  “Not until eight,” he replies in a raspy voice as he rubs his eyes.

  “I can’t sleep. So I might as well go exercise.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No. I’m going to the gym. You’re not a member at my gym, are you?”

  “No …” he murmurs on a yawn.

  “Okay. See ya.”

  He grabs my arm.

  “We’re not going to kiss.”

  “Morning breath?” He laughs.

  “Yes.” I wrinkle my nose.

  “How about an awkward hug?”

  “Why does it have to be awkward?”

  “It doesn’t. It’s just a high probability.” He pulls me into his body and hugs me. I try to mold my body to his without falling on top of him. But with him leaning against the headboard, I don’t know where to put my arms. So I just stick my butt out and let him hug my torso while my cheek smashes uncomfortably into his shoulder.

  He releases me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” He grins. “Drive safely, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Dorothy?”

  I turn at the doorway. “Yeah?”

  “I’m flying to San Francisco tomorrow morning for a two-day conference. I’ll be back Wednesday.”

  “Okay. Um … should I tell Warren about us? Because right now he’s expecting me to go to dinner with him
Tuesday night.”

  “Probably not quite yet. I have to work with him, and he asked you out just days ago. I’m not sure how well he’ll take the news. Maybe give it time.”

  “Act normal?”

  Eli chuckles. “Sure.”

  “You’re laughing because I’m not normal.”

  “Dorothy, I lost all sense of normalcy before you came along. No judgment here.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  I stop by the gym and burn a quick six hundred calories. Eli will get the notification as soon as he checks his watch. This makes me very happy.

  The happiness doesn’t quite balance the disappointment that I feel over hating his bed. I know he will ask me to stay over again. And I also know I will say no. Unfortunately, I have bigger problems.

  Warren.

  “Good morning.” He slithers up beside me as I pay for my coffee in the cafeteria.

  “Dr. Warren.” I smile. Okay, it’s a grimace I try to sell as a smile.

  Thankfully, Dr. Warren is so full of himself, he buys it. “I have reservations at a very popular restaurant. I think you’re going to be quite pleased.”

  Act normal. Don’t tell him.

  Easier said than done.

  “Only if you tell me the name of it.”

  “Nope. It’s a surprise.”

  “I don’t like surprises.” I take quick strides toward the elevator.

  He stays hot on my heels. “You’re going to like this one.”

  Nope. I won’t like it. I’ll just make sure to eat dinner before going out.

  “By the way …” I turn after stepping into the elevator.

  He follows me, bringing his overpowering scent with him. “Yes?” He flashes me his expensive smile.

  “We won’t be having sex on our date.”

  “No?” He cocks his head to the side. “You sure about that?”

  I stare at the digital floor numbers as the elevator ascends. “Positive.”

  He takes a step back and slowly inspects me over the lid of his coffee cup. After a few seconds, his face morphs into something like recognition. “Oh … I get it.”