Full Body Check

by S. E. Hall

  “No, just a freckle,” she snickers, doing her best not to squirm.

  “You ticklish here?”

  “I guess so! Brewer, stop, please!” She giggles harder, but keeps an impressive hold on her legs despite her fidgeting.

  I guess so, she said. That tells me no one else has ever asked. Noticed. Meaning… this is my freckle.

  I dip my head and kiss it, then higher, and higher still, one hand spread over her stomach to pin her writhing body to the mattress.

  With the other, I touch her, gliding a single finger straight down the middle of her pussy. She’s swollen, so wet with want, need, and… different. And not just in the way that hers is the only pussy I’ve ever stopped to examine, which is a huge telling difference in and of itself. No, Gracelyn’s body, her everything, calls to me on unexplainable, disarming as hell, ways. I can only pray she’s feeling, thinking, half of what I am… and just to make sure…

  I stand up and drag her to the end of the bed, smiling at her small squeal of surprise. “Wasn’t kidding, Gracelyn, for as long as you’re here, you’re mine,” I breathe hot against her glistening core. “You with me on that?”

  “Yes,” her moan’s a mix of frustrations — sexual, and my insistence — and not good enough for me. I insist that she mean it, so…

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, I’m with you on that.” Now her moan’s a groan, and only of frustration with me.

  “With me on what,” I flick her clit with the tip of my tongue, “exactly?” and ease two fingers inside her. “Just wanna make extra sure that we’re on the same sentence of the same page.”

  “Brewer, fucking, Hayes-”

  Oh, that’s right, I didn’t chime in on the whole “what’s your middle name” game they all played earlier. “Eugene, babe,” I lightly chuckle, more so at her pounding her cute little fists on the bed than this new game we’re playing, and add a third finger, “my middle name is Eugene.”

  “I. Don’t. Care! Eat me, fuck me, I don’t care which either, but do it right this second or I’m leaving!” She’s huffing, flushed… and doing her best to fuck herself on my hand.

  “But if I do-”

  “Brewer!”

  “Okay, damn.” I laugh, as content as I’ve been in too long — we’re on the same page. I stall for one more deep inhale of her desire then lower my head to cover her slick, shiny pussy with my mouth. Damn, she’s sweet everywhere. “Better now?

  “Much,” she mewls, shifting her hips to beg for more of my mouth.

  I happily dive right back in licking slow, then fast, sucking just shy of hard, getting off on every sexy noise she makes and how desperately she’s clinging to my forearms.

  “Oh, God, Brewer, yes, so close.” Her voice shakes, along with her thighs.

  My fingers are such a snug fit, and every time her muscles contract around them my cock jerks, wanting some of that tightness for himself. But I keep him at bay, digits stretching her, mouth savoring every drop of her building orgasm. When her breathing turns to quick shallow pants and she’s dripping down my chin, I go in for the kill, stroking the sweet spot with just the right amount of pressure and tonguing her clit in fast circles.

  “Brewer.” It’s a loud, seemingly endless wail, a white-knuckles clutch on the covers and her head thrashing from side-to-side as she comes for me, explodes for me, drowning me in her wet warmth.

  I lean back, really for the view — a sated, yet still soaring, Gracelyn — but she’s ready to again defy everything I thought I knew and knocks me sideways. Springing up off her back as though energized by electrocution rather than relaxed, she pounces like a Puma, wrapping herself around me and attacking my mouth.

  When she pulls back for air, she doesn’t wait to gather any, and pants, “Foreplay, the trophy, gold medal, Hall of Fame, all yours, but now, now you fuck me, Brewer.”

  Gracelyn’s petite, a little bitty thing, and yet, there seems to be a lot more of her right now, all over me, her hands and mouth hardly able to keep up with her crazed frenzy.

  Not that I’m complaining.

  I take us down to the bed and move us, as one, up the mattress. I’m gonna need room. “Gracelyn,” I mumble in her mouth, latched tight to mine, “Baby, look at me.” I make to pull away, but she shakes her head and holds fast to my hair… and opens her eyes. “You sure?” She nods. “Bare?” And again, the confirmation, and prospect, thumping in my chest. Gripping my impossibly hard, painfully patient cock, I find her scorching center, dipping just the tip inside her. This time I break free from her, not about to miss this, and look down. Pulling out and encasing still just the tip, back in — over and over — her moans blend with my strained groans… and yet, I continue my own amazing torture. “Fuck, Gracelyn, you feel so damn good. So warm. Tight. Wet. That’s it, baby, get my cock nice and slick.”

  Ah, my woman likes a dirty mouth, the hot rush she coats me with her tell.

  I slowly push in further but freeze, my eyes darting up to her face when her almost inaudible hiss pierces my ears. “Damn, I’m sorry. I’d never hurt you.” Brown eyes as big as ever, they smile at me, through the kept tears, guilt stabbing me in the gut.

  “I know, and you’re not… not too bad.” She exhales, rubbing both hands up my arms. “Just give me a sec to adjust.”

  “Grac-”

  “No way, no more of that.” She wraps her legs around me, digging in her heels. “We are not veering off again; stay right where you are, or so help me…” Taking a few breaths, in and out, her body goes lax under me, and her tight smile softens. “Come down here and kiss me, Brewer.”

  “Any damn time you want.” I wink, my smile now returned too, and I lean in to kiss her downy lips, bracing my forearms and weight on either side of her head. Our mouths meld together, tongues tangle, and when she uses her heels to silently urge me on, I once more begin to gently glide in and out of her, a little at a time. Nothing, no one has ever felt like this — natural, instinctual, meant to be — and not gonna lie, it scares the hell out of me. She fits beneath me perfectly, soft where I’m hard, small where I’m big, and giving back twice what she takes.

  She digs her heels into me again and pushes her hips up, begging for more, deeper, faster, or maybe all of the above. “I’m good now,” she breathes into my mouth, “ready. Give it to me, Brewer.”

  Well, damn. I’ve tried controlling myself, mindful to take great care with her, but when a woman like Gracelyn, a shy spark, a gorgeous goddess splayed beneath you, asks you to fuck her… you fuck her.

  I interlace our fingers and push her arms above her head, then lay more of my weight, my body, on hers, and bury all of my cock in her with one smooth drive. She winces, but quickly recovers and matches my passion, clamping around my entire length in a way that has me swearing I see stars. She’s so damn tight, there’s no part of me not scorched by her heat.

  I take back one of my hands to seek out her clit and dance it in circles with my thumb, sucking her tongue deep in my mouth, and angling my hips to tap her G-spot with every thrust. “Gracelyn, baby, you close?” I grunt, picking up speed. “You feel so goddamn good, so fucking silky on my cock, not sure how much more I can take.”

  Her answer is a breathy, repetitive chant that wakes the primal beast inside me. “Uh huh, uh huh, uhhh…” Her little body starts to quake, her pussy starts to pulsate, and my head lolls back on my shoulders as that beast roars and I come, hard and long, with her, inside her, claiming her.

  Never mind. I thought I knew why one-night stands had always perplexed me, seemed like a bad idea, perhaps even impossible, but now, laying here, still catching my breath, mere minutes post-sex with Brewer… now I truly understand.

  I was not cut out for random, blink-of-an-eye trysts, and if I ever stood a chance of conforming, I picked the wrong guy for the trials.

  If only a one-night stand, Brewer’s “sweet talk” should be scripted, designed for the sole purpose of getting in my panties, right? Then why did Brewer Hayes mean
every single word he said to me?

  If only a hook-up, he shouldn’t consider, or care about, my thoughts, feelings, and multiple satisfaction, correct? So, again, why was Brewer honed in on everything from my slightest hesitations to how slow or fast I blinked?

  And most of all, the burning question — why, if this was just supposed to be a one-and-done, physical indulgence — did Brewer look at me, look into me, through me, rather than just eye me up and down with scandalous intention… simply surveying the goods?”

  I’m not imagining all the… more. I don’t know how I know, without so much as a hint of doubt, but I do. I’m positive. There. Was. More.

  And damn me and my fanciful mind, romantic spirit, and mushy heart, all in for a long blue spell I fear, but… it was all reciprocated. Whatever he was feeling, why he veered from the plan… I was right there with him.

  “You hungry?” he murmurs, rolling over to wrap his arms around me and nuzzle his face in my neck. Still right there with him.

  “No,” I snicker, too light a sound for my heavy thoughts. “Told you before, I’m never gonna be hungry every few hours, big boy, but you must be starving by now.”

  “I could eat, but I’ll wait ‘til you’re hungry, no biggie. Are you thirsty?”

  I decide to hand him a plausible “out,” saving us both any more awkward limbo. “Yeah, something to drink sounds good, thanks. And while you’re getting that, make yourself something to eat, for God’s sake,” I force another laugh, “that’ll give me time to, um, gather myself, and my stuff. I can call an Uber, no sense in you getting back out this late.”

  He bites at my neck, cinches his arms tighter around me, and growls, with a calm force, that erases the “out” I thought it was time for and has me wondering, maybe wishing, all over again. “You turned the fucking page, I see. Well, Miss Bolton, you better turn it right the fuck back, right the fuck now.”

  I guess I suck at this even worse than I thought, beyond confused now. I have absolutely no idea I guess on where it is we “stand,” and I’m far from fool enough to assume any further, so I play along, for the much-needed sake of clarification. “What?”

  His turn to laugh, he climbs on top of me and pins my arms above my head. “You know exactly what, Gracelyn. Same. Page. Get back on it with me.”

  “Brewer,” I roll my eyes, away from his, “you can’t just keep me. That was, that was just testosterone talk, and insane. I’m not Rapunzel, and this isn’t a fairy tale. Besides, why prolong the inevitable?”

  “And what is that? The inevitable? I don’t give a shit what Rapunzel is.”

  “Well, you most certainly should! Rapunzel is a wonderful story, with an invaluable lesson; The Gift of the Magi in children’s form, to catch their attention. In fact-”

  “Gracelyn?” He grins, the most beautiful of devils.

  “What, rude?” It is — interrupting.

  “Quit changing the subject; especially so damn far off subject.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “You can tear off on a tangent like no other, woman. And don’t get me wrong, it’s cute as hell; I could listen all day, but not right now. Right now, we need to talk about our story, and get it straight.”

  How badly I want to sigh, ‘whatever you say, Brewer,’ in whimsy, lashes fluttering, and bend to his will — over anything he wants — but I’m scared. Terrified. Because I wasn’t expecting more. Wasn’t prepared for us to have a story. He blindsided me, changed the rules in the middle of the game, and now… now I truly fear the fallout, and the lonely ache of memory I know will come along with it.

  He’ll go back to the flashing lights, loud music, and even louder cheers of being a hockey star — a different woman every game, every city — and I’ll go back to an empty life and empty apartment. I’m gonna need to get a new cat.

  But I knew what I was getting into… actually, no, no I did not! He threw in a bunch of extra! Extraordinary.

  “Hey, no frowning.” His lips brush mine. “Talk it out, babe, out loud, where I can hear you. And help.”

  “You sure?” I cock a brow, the only warning he’s gonna get.

  “Absolutely; why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Oh, I don’t know… because no man ever really wants to hear the inner, finite workings of a woman’s mind? And, because, well… I’m a little pissed off at you, Brewer Hayes!” There, two warnings, I’m cleared of any guilt.

  “Why?” He laughs another kiss to my lips. “What’d I do?”

  “Let me sit up first and I’d be happy to tell you.”

  “If you must.” He pouts, playfully rolling off and to the side of me. “You’re fucking adorable when you’re pissy, but I’m not so sure I’m gonna like what you have to say if I can’t naked-plank ya while you say it.”

  I giggle at that, somewhat from nerves, but mostly because it’s funny, and sit up, hugging on the comforter to cover myself. “You made me like you, Brewer. I do, I like you. You. The person. And that wasn’t part of the deal.”

  I probably should’ve prepared some before speaking. Then again, maybe not, because my slight embarrassment and not-really-mad anger is more than worth his breathtaking reaction.

  His smile takes every muscle in his face and could shame the brightest of stars, but what’s most striking… is its authenticity. Brewer Hayes, the rich, famous, NHL superstar isn’t smirking — coy, smug, sure of himself, or anything of the likes — he’s, just smiling. Just him. Just happy… With his thoughtful stare steady, and his voice only one step above a hoarse whisper, he seals my fate.

  “Forget what I said before; really like what you have to say, naked-plank or not. Quick check, though, you still gonna like me if I now heave out ‘Thank God’ in relief?”

  “Depends,” it doesn’t, “are you relieved that I like you or that’s all I’m mad at you about?”

  “Both.”

  “Then yes.” The twinkle in my tone rivals the one in his eyes. “Which sucks, right?”

  “Um, no, not right. Wrong. Very, very wrong. I’m happy as hell, Gracelyn. I thought I was stranded on what-the-fuck-is-happening-island alone.” He scoots closer, hauling me against him with a single, deft move of one big, arm. Why do you think it sucks?”

  “Because,” I sigh, “I’m leaving soon, going home, hundreds of miles away. Me back to my life, there, you back to your life, here. We weren’t supposed to even entertain ideas of a Part Two… and look at us. You know where we went wrong, don’t you? We shouldn’t have talked. Big no-no,” I tsk while he laughs. “Should’ve left the raunchy song playing.”

  He pulls me on top of him and buries both hands in my hair, holding my face right above his. “Should’ve acted like my house impressed you then.”

  “You should’ve called me Gracie, like everyone else,” I whisper, falling fast.

  “Should’ve pretended to be a huge hockey fan, a groupie even,” he groans in my mouth, then devours it.

  I’ll worry about my worries later, but in this moment — his lips strong, tongue wild, and dick hard — I turn off everything except instinct and reach down to take him in hand, lifting up just enough to guide him inside me.

  “That’s it.” I don’t recognize my own voice, graveled with delirium. “Sit on that cock, baby.” I follow her gaze, down, and watch, with her, as my dick disappears inside her hot little pussy. “So. Damn. Good,” I groan and squeeze her hips, my own bucking off the mattress, dick hungry for deeper.

  And as if knowing where the best view is, my eyes drift upward to her face, to her eyes, lazy and already glazed, waiting on mine. Staring at me with wonder, about what, I don’t know, she craftily, breathlessly, seeks her answer. “Alexa, play the most played song.”

  “Playing, “Tribulation, stripped version,” by Matt Maeson,” Alexa outs me. Great fucking song, though, I don’t care what anybody — Lance — says.

  And, Gracelyn… my clever, curious, insightful little minx, is in for an eye-opener. I have no idea where she’s been hiding, where she came from, who sent her to
me, or if I passed her test she just posed, but she passed mine. Goddamn, did she ever… in a blaze of cosmic irony.

  “Ever heard this song?” A note of victory weights my groan as I roll us over, burying her perfect body beneath me and driving inside her; deep, hard, fast… out of control. Out of my mind.

  “No,” she gasps, grabbing my arms for anchor, “but I like it. A lot.”

  “Me too. And now I know why.”

  ‘As far as your dark brown eyes can see…’ The lyrics speak for me.

  Gracelyn has big, beautiful brown eyes. One of the very first things I noticed about her.

  ‘I think I’m better on my own, but I got so lost in you…’

  Is she listening? Does she hear it, realize, that she unknowingly, yet serendipitously, beckoned our story to play, as I get lost in her, physically and metaphorically? That her little plan beautifully backfired?

  “Brewer, what… God, Brewer…” She stares into my eyes as she moans, admits, and surrenders all in the same long breath.

  “Right here, baby. Right. The. Fuck. Here,” I take her rough, as deep and hard as I can, yet not near enough of either, driven by something, some unknown force, bigger than me. “Fuck, Gracelyn,” I pound deliriously, fingers flying to her clit and working just as wildly, “come for me, baby. Now. Fuck, now, Gra-, come, all over my cock,” I beg, roaring like a beast and flooding her perfect pussy as it milks me dry.

  Three Weeks Later