My pulse picked up at the sight of his bare chest, even though I had just been thoroughly pounded not thirty minutes before. Was I turning into an animal too? Smiling, I followed him into the bathroom, where he’d dimmed the lights and lit the candles on the windowsill. He’d also filled the tub with bubbles, and the air was warm and humid and scented with vanilla and cinnamon. “Wow. I’m impressed.”
“Good.” He slipped the robe off my shoulders and hung it on the back of the door. “Go on, get in.”
I slipped beneath the warm, fragrant water, the bubbles up to my shoulders. “Coming in with me?”
He set the plastic container I keep under the sink to water my plants on the sill too and unzipped his jeans. “Definitely.”
“What’s the container for?”
“To wash your hair, like I promised.”
I smiled. “You don’t really have to do that.”
“Well, I want to. So shut your face.”
Laughing, I watched him get undressed and noticed he wasn’t fully hard for once, although the size was still impressive. It felt oddly intimate, seeing him like that, somehow more intimate than seeing his giant erection in front of my face. Why was that? I looked away as he stepped into the tub behind me.
“Scoot up a little bit.” He stretched his legs on either side of me, and I leaned back against him as he gathered me in close. “There. Isn’t this nice?”
“Yes.” It was nice. I was more of a shower person since I got up so early and was always in a rush, but it felt good to slow down and relax a little. “I don’t think I’ve used this tub more than once since I’ve lived here.”
“How long is that?”
“Three months. And I’ve definitely never been in it with another person.”
“Can’t say I’m sorry about that.” We were silent a minute, the only noise the crackle of the bubbles and sizzle of candle wicks. “So was Dan boring in bed or what?”
I sighed. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
I tried to think of a way to explain it. “Well, you know how you have a favorite pair of sweat pants or something, and they’re really comfortable and feel good every time you put them on?”
“Uh, I guess so.”
“Well, sex with Dan was sort of like that.”
“Like sweat pants?”
“Yeah, you know—something comfortable and familiar that feels good. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so, but if any woman ever said sex with me was like sweat pants, I’d fucking shoot myself.”
“Well, I didn’t know any better, OK? We both had orgasms, so I figured we were doing fine, but clearly we weren’t, because he went elsewhere to get what he really wanted, and I…” I stopped, unsure of how to finish the sentence.
“You what?” In front of my chest, Miles linked his fingers with mine.
I’m having way more fun—and way better orgasms—with you than I ever had with him. But I couldn’t say that. Miles would probably freak out and think I wanted him to be my next boyfriend or something. And I didn’t want that. I knew we were just friends doing this for the hell of it, enjoying the kick. For all I knew, sex with Miles would become routine after a while too.
Although that didn’t seem possible.
“You what?” he prompted again.
“I’m learning things about myself.” I grinned at him over my shoulder. “You’re a good teacher.”
“And what have you learned so far?”
“Hmmmm.” I settled back against his chest. “I like it when you say dirty things to me.”
“Good.”
“I like when you get bossy with me.”
“Even better.”
“I think I might like to get bossy with you sometime.”
“Sweetheart, you can boss me hard and often.”
I giggled. “Wash my hair. Now.”
“Not exactly what I meant, but OK,” he said, reaching for the plastic container. “Sit up.”
I sat up and crossed my legs, tipping my head back. “Like that?”
“Yes. Perfect.” He poured water over my head and shampooed my hair, massaging my scalp as I sighed contentedly. When the conditioner was on, I turned around.
“Your turn.”
He let me wash his hair, and I giggled as I sudsed him up. “You should get a mohawk,” I said, forming one on the top of his head.
“No, thanks.”
“Or grow a grizzly beard.” I scooped up some bubbles and spread them around on his face, covering it completely. “There. Big improvement.”
He lunged for me, trying to smear bubbles on my face, and pushing a huge tidal wave over the edge of the tub in the process. I squealed and fought back, suds and water flying everywhere. He ended up cradling me across his lap, but instead of dunking me, he kissed me, sealing our wet mouths together. I looped one arm around his back and one around his neck, my belly flip-flopping as his hand moved up my ribcage. He teased my nipple with his thumb, making it harden and tingle.
“Ever had an orgasm in this bathtub?” he whispered, his hand moving lower.
“No.” I gasped, my stomach quivering as his fingers rubbed soft little circles below my belly button and spiraled down to just above my clit.
“I love giving you firsts,” he said, keeping his hand in that spot, making me yearn for him to go lower.
I closed my eyes and opened my legs, my body relaxed and humming. “I only wish there were some firsts left for me to give you. You’ve done everything already.”
He stopped moving and shook me gently. “Hey.”
I opened my eyes and saw that his expression was serious.
“Everything is different with you. Everything feels like a first.”
“Is that good?”
He smiled, making my heart skip. “Yes. It is.” Sliding a finger inside me, he lowered his lips to my ear. “Now be a dirty little slut and tell me to make you come.”
“Want to stay over?” I asked Miles as we dried off. “I can finish packing my bag and we can leave first thing in the morning.”
“Sure.” He shook his head like a wet puppy, flinging droplets at me. In fact, the entire bathroom was a mess. Water was everywhere.
“I’d better mop up this floor.” I hung up my towel and reached for a dry one on the shelf.
“I’ll do it. You pack.”
“Seriously?” I smiled happily. Holy crap, Dan would never have offered to clean up that mess. “Hey, do I need to pack a dress and heels for any reason?”
“Definitely.” He knelt down and started sopping up the water.
“Oooh, what’s the reason?” I asked, clasping my hands together.
“Sometimes I like wearing a woman’s shoes while I fuck her.” He looked back at me and rolled his eyes at my stunned expression. “Because I want to take you somewhere nice, Natalie. Jeez.”
“Oh. Sorry,” I said, laughing. “But with you I never know.”
I finished packing my bag, adding a white strapless sundress and some nude heels, a bathing suit, and my camera. When I was done, I went into the bathroom and pulled an extra toothbrush from my vanity and offered it to Miles. “Want this?”
“Yes, thank you.”
We brushed our teeth side by side at my sink, Miles in his boxer briefs and me in boy shorts and a tank. As our eyes met in the mirror, I felt a funny little flutter in my chest. For all his egotistical jokes and promiscuous ways and his complete refusal to seriously commit to anything except ink, he really was being very sweet to me. He’d make a good boyfriend or husband if he ever decided to get serious. Too bad he’s content to be a man-child his whole life. He’s got a lot to offer someone besides just sex.
He finished up and caught my eye in the mirror. “You look funny when you brush your teeth.”
So much for sweet. I spit and rinsed. “Shut up, I do not.”
“You do, and you get toothpaste all over your face. Look at you, you’re a mess.” He grabbed a hand towel and smas
hed it over my mouth, tucking me under his arm. “I could make a mess on your face.”
“OK. That’s it.” I took the towel, threw it down, and took him by the shoulders. “You’ve threatened me enough times with a mess. You should fucking do it already.” I marched him backward into my room and pushed him down onto the bed.
“Is this you bossing me around?” he asked, leaning back on his elbows as I yanked his underwear off.
“Yes.”
He grinned. “I like it already.”
Fourteen
Natalie
I woke up feeling rested and happy, Miles’s arm still curved over my belly, the sheet pulled up to our hips. Smiling, I stayed wrapped up in him a few more minutes before carefully sliding out of bed to use the bathroom. When I came back into my room, he was on his back, one arm over his head. I snickered at his hairy armpit, his messy hair, the scratches on his shoulders. I’d be surprised if there weren’t teeth marks too. I’d been a little out of control last night.
But holy hell, it had been fun. The most fun I’d ever had in bed—and I had three more days of it to look forward to. Three days of guilt-free, uncommitted, mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex. Beyond that, I didn’t even care.
I poked Miles in the shoulder. “Wake up, sleepyhead. You talked me into a road trip and I’m ready to go!”
“Oh God, what time is it? How can you get up so early?”
“It’s not early, it’s nine already!”
He groaned, but he sat up and blinked. “I need my glasses. Where the hell did I leave them?”
“In the glove box of your car,” I said, already heading into my closet. “Let me throw some clothes on and grab them while you wake up.”
“Thanks. Keys are on the table in your front hall.”
I put on denim shorts and a soft white t-shirt and tugged my Converse sneakers on my feet. Snagging the keys off the table near the door—my belly cartwheeling at the memory of my back against it—I went outside and practically skipped to the Jeep in the sunshine. What a perfect day to start my vacation.
Ten minutes later, Miles had loaded my bag in the car and we were on our way to his house so he could pack. I suggested stopping by Coffee Darling for a couple cups to go, but Miles saw through my plan to check up on things, and we hit Starbucks instead.
At Miles’s house, he packed up a duffel bag while I stripped his bed—we’d left it a mess yesterday morning. When he was done and I’d put fresh sheets on the mattress, he announced he had to write a quick blog post.
“Right now?” I paused in the middle of slipping a pillow into its case.
“Yes, before I forget any of the details of that fuckhot blowjob you gave me last night, although that is not likely to happen in this lifetime. If ever anything was unforgettable, that was it.”
My cheeks got hot. “You can’t write about me giving you a fuckhot blowjob!” I shrieked, although secretly it delighted me to think I might be the subject of one of his lurid posts. Me, of all people. Me!
He laughed. “I love when you say fuck. Listen, men and women depend on me. I make the world a sexier place, therefore a better place, when I share these things. And you’re helping me do that. You should feel proud of yourself.”
I chewed on my bottom lip. “Fine. But don’t use my name.”
“I never use real names.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “It protects the innocent, and it keeps things light. Fun.”
While Miles wrote, I sat on the porch with my coffee and a book from the house’s dusty library, a volume of poems by Mary Oliver. I’d never heard of her before, and I didn’t know much about poetry, but hers was so beautifully easy to understand, and so personal, I felt like she was speaking right to me. One poem in particular, called “When Death Comes,” made chills sweep across my back and down my arms. I sat up straight and read it again, then I looked out across the orchard, half expecting to find the poet herself standing there, pointing a finger at me. I looked at the words again, trying to memorize the final line.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
It was such a simple statement, and yet so powerful an idea. I knew exactly what she meant. That feeling had inspired me from the time I was young to go after what I wanted and do my best to achieve those goals. Swimming, good grades, Dan, a college scholarship, my own business, my house…but I could see now how fear of change, or maybe fear of failure, had shaped that ambition into a careful, tidy, safe sort of life. And when my life was over, did I really want no mistakes on my record? No messy lessons learned? Nothing that made me say, I can’t believe I did that!?
I wasn’t planning to, as Miles said, fuck up my life. But I was planning on taking a few more chances. Living out loud a little more. If I made mistakes, so be it—I’d own them.
Miles came out onto the porch with his duffel, his computer bag, and his coffee. “Ready?”
“Yes. Just let me put this book back.”
He tipped his head too read the cover. “Ah. That’s a good one. I got it for my mom for Christmas one year after hearing Mary Oliver on NPR. I doubt she ever opened it. Want it?”
“I can’t take your mom’s book,” I said, rising from my chair. “But I might buy my own copy. I really like it.” After I replaced the book on the shelf, Miles locked up the house.
“Want to take the top off?” he asked after throwing his bags in the back and his coffee in a cup holder.
“Sure.” I put my coffee in the car too, helped him remove the roof panels and stow them in the back, then jumped in the front seat.
Miles slid in behind the wheel a moment later and surprised me by grabbing my face and planting a huge kiss on my lips.
Butterflies took flight inside me. “What was that for?”
“For being brave,” he said, starting the car. “I’m so fucking proud of you.” He threw an arm across the back of my seat and looked over his shoulder as he reversed out of the driveway.
“Thanks. I’m kind of proud of myself, even though my life feels a little upside down right now.”
He grinned as we started down the highway. “Told you it was me.”
It took me a few seconds to realize he meant Madam Psuka’s prediction. “Oh, stop. That wasn’t real. You didn’t upend my life, you just helped me see that I needed to make some changes. Have more fun. Explore a new side of myself.” I cocked my head. “Hey, what did you call me in your article, by the way?”
“Cinnamon Buns.”
“Cinnamon Buns!” I yelled, my eyes bugging. “That’s the anonymous nickname you gave me?”
“Yeah, why? You don’t like it?”
“No! For one thing, it will be totally obvious to anyone who knows what I do for a living, and for another, I thought it would be something sultry and glamorous, like Svetlana.”
“Mmmm, Svetlana.”
I hit him on the leg. Hard.
“I’m kidding,” he said, laughing. “You’re much hotter than Svetlana. Beautiful girl next door with hidden dirty streak beats Ukrainian acrobat any day. And anyone who reads this article will agree with me. Trust me, it’s highly complimentary.”
“When can I read it?”
“Right now if you want. It’s live.”
“It’s live? I thought you were going to let me see it first, at least!” Diving into my purse, I scrambled for my phone. “Oh, God. I’m scared.”
“Don’t be. I’m telling you, it’s all good.”
My heart thumped hard as I searched for his blog, my body prickling with heat. What had he said about me? I saw the right link in the search results, clicked on it, and began to read.
Want a Better Blowjob Tonight?
I thought so.
And I’m here to help.
Last night, I had quite simply the best blowjob you can possibly imagine. I’m talking the Aston Martin of blowjobs. The Stanley Cup of blowjobs. If blowjobs had a World Series, this girl was Ty Cobb, Roger Hornsby, and Joe Jackson COMBINED.
I’ll call her Cinnamon Buns. Because she looks as delicious and smells and tastes like the best one you’ve ever eaten.
This blowjob from Cinnamon Buns was clearly a gift from the heavens, and I feel strongly that the gods bestowed it upon me because they knew I would act benevolently. Thus, I share with you my experience not to inspire envy or resentment, but in the hopes that you can find a way to get your girlfriend’s eyes on this article and inspire her to blowjob brilliance as well.
In return, gentlemen, you will please follow this link to an article called 10 Ways to Get Her Off Tonight (You’re Doing It Wrong, Asshole).
OK. Let’s begin. You with me, ladies?
First, I want to commend you for reading. You’re clearly smart, sexy, and fun, which makes you the hottest woman he has ever known even before you put that gorgeous mouth on his unworthy dick. You are a goddess. (See what I’m doing here, guys?)
Now, I’m just going to come right out and say it: I’ve had a lot of blowjobs.
But this one.
This one.
As I watched Cinnamon Buns get to her knees on the floor in front of me, my dick sprang up like one of those inflatable Bozo the clown bop bags I had as a kid. I’d push it down and it would pop right back up again, ready to go.
Not that there is anything funny about my dick, of course. It is very serious. Let me rephrase.
My dick stood tall like a proud soldier ready for duty, weapons locked and loaded.
Much better.
I had a feeling before she even got started that this was going to be a blowjob of epic intensity, and I was right. Now, partly it was because of our great chemistry, and partly it was because she’s just magic, but here are five things I can’t stop thinking about today, things that you can do tonight to create a little magic of your own for your guy—just make sure he deserves it.
Take Control…Then Give it Up. Cinnamon Buns pushed me into the bedroom, shoved me down on the bed, and bossed me into a blowjob like it was for her, not me. She came at me like it was her birthday and all she wanted was a great big piece of birthday cock, and I was gonna give it to her or else. But she knows I like submissiveness too, and when I took charge, she let me.
Happy Crazy Love Boxed Set Page 37
