by A. C. Arthur
She opened her mouth to tell him again that she didn’t need the help, but didn’t want to sound ungrateful. She also didn’t want to appear needy, but she hadn’t invited Ethan here. He’d simply showed up on her doorstep. Like, he’d been showing up wherever she was since she’d been back in town. It was both annoying and confusing.
“And I also wanted to apologize to you, again.”
She sighed because the very last thing she wanted was another apology from him. After his admission that he wasn’t part of the plot that long-ago night, she’d forced herself not to think about it or him anymore. “You don’t owe me an apology, Ethan. Not another one at least.”
Pulling his hands out of his pockets, Ethan stepped forward and she forced herself not to move. It was silly, she instructed people on how to be intimate, how to have orgasms and more, she could certainly stand in front of this man without giving in to teenage panic or adult arousal—whichever one was trying to take over at the moment.
He lifted two fingers to touch her lips lightly. “My friends were wrong. All of us, as kids, were wrong for the things that were said about you and the way you were treated. I can’t take that memory or the pain away from you, but I’d like to say that I’m sorry for any part that I may have inadvertently played in the abuse.”
Ethan had never called her a name, not that she’d heard. And he was never mean to her, which was a big part of the reason why she’d fallen so fast and hard in love with him. But that was then. She had to live in the now.
“I’m fine, Ethan,” she said and moved to the screen door. “No need for any more apologies. And thanks for the offer of help. I appreciate it. But I really need to go.”
This time, she grabbed the side of the screen door to open it and was ready to step inside when she turned back to see Ethan still standing on the porch. For a moment she thought he looked confused, but that thought was squashed as he put a hand on the door above hers. He pulled the door open further so that it slipped out of her hand. She didn’t move but tilted her head a little so she could hold his gaze.
“That’s all I came here for tonight, Portia. I’m not looking for another kiss.” But his lips certainly were kissable, and the earthy scent of his cologne was tickling her senses easing her from annoyance to arousal in seconds.
“Neither am I.” She lied.
“But you will,” he told her.
His gaze dropped to her mouth before slowly easing back up to her eyes.
“You’ll ask and I’ll oblige because I know you feel what’s brewing between us.”
Portia disagreed, or at least she planned to deny for as long as possible. “There’s nothing happen—” she started to say.
He smirked, a gorgeous lifting of both sides of his mouth and quirking of his brows.
“Right,” he said condescendingly. “There’s nothing happening…tonight.”
Her response was a smirk of her own because bravado was something she’d mastered long ago. Another thing she was exceptionally good at was pleasuring herself. He was trying to put the ball in her court, make it seem like she was going to ask him for more. Well, he had no idea. She didn’t need Ethan to assuage the arousal he’d stoked in her. She wondered if he could say the same.
“You go on inside and take care of those “things” you need to do. I’ll head home now, but I’m sure we’ll be bumping into each other again soon.”
She sincerely hoped not. Because while Ethan talked about something brewing between them, Portia desperately needed to push that thought from her mind. While events beyond her control had landed her in the arena of teaching other people how to be intimate and that career had ultimately made her a millionaire, learning how to let go of her own doubts and insecurities was something she’d never been able to overcome.
“Goodnight, Ethan,” she whispered.
“Goodnight, Portia,” he replied and waited until she’d stepped into the house and closed the door.
Once it was locked behind her, Portia raced up the stairs and closed herself in her old bedroom. She dropped the bag on the floor and immediately flipped open her suitcase to find her personal vibrator. Bringing herself to release was nothing new, and now that she had a visual and the memory of Ethan’s lips and hands on her, she would hopefully be able to find a deeper level of pleasure on her own. If she couldn’t have the real thing, she could at least have this.
Ethan sat in his truck and stared down at the book he was now holding.
The Principles of Pleasure by Portia Merin
It had fallen under the rocker on the porch when she’d dropped her things. While she’d hurried to pick up each piece of paper and book, she’d forgotten this one. And now Ethan had it.
He rubbed his fingers over the soft matte cover. It was black and white with the silhouette of a seemingly naked couple, legs and arms entwined, the title written in white script letters and her name in bold red print. That night at the resort she’d said she was promoting her book, but Ethan had been too intent on staring at her mouth to pay much attention. Camy said she was an intimacy instructor. Portia was an author and a sex coach. And he was an idiot. Five years with the Secret Service and he was being less than diligent about finding out who the woman who’d been lingering in his mind the last few days really was. A woman whom he should be steering clear of if he knew what was good for him.
As far as he’d known, Portia hadn’t been into sex when they were teenagers, she hadn’t even had a boyfriend. The woman he’d seen at that hotel definitely knew how to please a man, but when he’d looked into her eyes, when he’d held her in his arms there’d been something else there, something that had nothing to do with pleasure. It was a bit of uncertainty and reservation. He’d thought it was fear initially, but after seeing her again today, he was convinced Portia wasn’t afraid of anything. So how did this sex expert, a renowned kinky sex goddess according to the quotes on the back cover of the book, still manage to tremble at his touch? Practice? Faking it? Who the hell was the real Portia Merin?
When he realized he was still sitting in front of her house, Ethan started the engine and pulled away. He’d tossed the book onto the passenger seat but couldn’t help glancing at it every time he stopped at a red light. He also couldn’t avoid thinking about what it might say.
Pulling into the parking lot beside The Lofts, he put his truck in park and again stared at that book. His phone vibrated from his pocket and he pulled it out to stare at the screen.
Meeting tomorrow morning at eight.
Del loved meetings. He took his job as manager of the bar very seriously and thus treated it like a course in college instead of the fun business venture they’d proposed. They were hosting a fraternity party on Friday night, which is probably what the meeting was about. Ethan would have to make sure the staff was well versed in the underage drinking laws in Providence. City council members had squawked about them agreeing to host a frat party at a bar, but Ethan and the guys figured it made more sense to let the group of young men into the bar to have their get together—where the staff could strictly monitor any underage drinking—than to let them have the party at the frat house where liquor could be brought in easily without any supervision. Each of the guys remembered well what it was like to be young with the urge to do any and everything adults told them not to do.
That should’ve been enough to take his mind off Portia, but it wasn’t. He grabbed the book and climbed out of the truck. He entered through the side door with the key card that was only assigned to leaseholders and made his way to the steps. His unit was on the second floor at the far end of the hall, as far away from the other six tenants living in the building as possible. Noah was a former Hollywood stuntman. He’d inherited this building from his grandfather who’d won it in a poker game. The building stood vacant until Noah’s return to town a little over a year ago. He hadn’t wanted to sell, so Ethan suggested he turn it into loft apartments and make a profit. In exchange for the idea and his help in renovating the place, Etha
n became the first leaseholder. Noah had a unit on the first floor near the management office.
Ethan entered his home, locked the door, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and went to his room. He set the beer on his nightstand and switched on the lamp. Then, he sat on the bed and held that book in his hands. He wasn’t going to read a book. Not that he hadn’t in the past, but it wasn’t one of his preferred hobbies. The Yankees and the Orioles were playing tonight, and he’d bet Lance on the winner. He also had some supply order slips to input into the accounting system Rock insisted they all learn how to navigate. He could take a shower and fix something to eat. The club sandwich he’d had a few hours ago at the bar wasn’t enough to hold his appetite. Or he could watch a movie, possibly something on Netflix.
Ethan didn’t have to read this book.
But he did.
He took off his shoes and lay back on his bed, reading page after page, until his curiosity and the arousal churning inside him forced him to reach for his phone. He’d gotten her number from a friend he used to work with and no it wasn’t ethical. But Ethan was no longer bound by the sacred oath taken upon admission to the Secret Service, nor did he give a damn about the lack of ethics of anyone in that organization. Not after what happened a year ago.
He dialed Portia’s number and waited for her to answer. The moment she did, he spoke because Ethan could no longer hold back his questions.
“Chapter 5, Part 1 reads: What you say is just as important as what you do. Is that correct, Portia?” he asked and waiting anxiously for her response.
“Ethan?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “You missed one of your books on the porch. I’ve been reading it and I have questions. In the back there’s an email address and a post office box for questions to be sent, but I figured I’d just call.”
“How’d you get my number?” She didn’t sound as irritated as he figured she could’ve, so that was a good sign.
He thought about lying, but then figured what was the point? Lies always led to trouble anyway.
“One of my former colleagues in D.C. helped me out on that front,” he replied.
She didn’t respond.
“I apologize if you feel that’s intrusive and mostly out of line,” he continued. “You’re probably right if that’s what you’re thinking. But I wanted a way to communicate with you. I wasn’t sure I’d actually use it, until now.”
She still didn’t speak.
He could hear her breathing. She was trying to remain neutral, professional maybe. Probably preparing to tell him it was just a book and not to call her again. Damn, he prayed he was wrong about the latter. More than anything, he wanted an answer from her. A real, satisfying answer.
“Yes,” she replied finally, her voice a breathy whisper that made his dick sit up and take notice.
“So we could talk on this phone and it would draw us closer to one another. It would make us feel as if we were long lost lovers, coming back together again.”
She cleared her throat. “Words have power. That’s the meaning of Chapter 5. In the instance of intimacy, they have the power to break down mental and sometimes physical barriers between a couple. They also have the power to provide each participant with the steps necessary to find their mutual pleasure.”
Her voice sounded so husky and sexy, he almost groaned. Words had power alright. Everything she’d just said was in her book. They were words that she’d typed and an editor had read and approved. Yet they were also making his body heat, his muscles tense and yes, his dick grow harder.
“So what I say from this point on could lead us both to pleasure?”
She didn’t immediately respond.
“When I kissed you the other night, I couldn’t help but think of how sweet your lips tasted,” he told her. “Are your other lips as sweet? If I suck on them, will you come in my mouth?”
Her breathing was audibly faster and so was his. His dick was so hard now it pressed painfully against the zipper of his pants. Not even wanting to relive that pain he’d experienced at the hotel; he yanked the zipper down. Reaching into the slit of his boxers, he freed his aching dick, wrapping his fingers around its girth.
“Answer me, Portia. I want to hear your powerful words. Tell me how I can find my pleasure.”
His voice had grown deeper, huskier and seemed loud in the solace of his dimly lit bedroom. Was he really on this phone talking sex to this woman he hadn’t seen since they were teenagers? And what exactly did he expect her to do? Answer him? Have phone sex with him? He probably needed a good stiff drink instead of a stiff dick in his hands and a hot woman on the other end of this phone.
He’d begun stroking his cock, starting at the base and moving slowly upward until his thumb and finger ran over the sensitive head. She was still breathing heavily and Ethan needed to hear her voice as much as he needed to release the climax that had been building since he’d watched her giving that blow job demonstration.
“I’m wet,” she replied in the barest of whispers.
If he’d blinked, he may not have heard her, but he had, and he figured it would take less than sixty seconds and a few more words from her to have him making a mess in his hand.
6
“I’m wet and I ache at the thought of your mouth on me there,” Portia said and then clapped a hand over her mouth.
What the hell was she doing? She had no idea where the words had come from but recognized them for truth.
She was sitting in the center of the bed in her childhood bedroom, legs crossed with a magazine spread out in front of her. After Ethan left a while ago, she hadn’t been in the mood to clean. Her mind—and body—had been too wound up from seeing him again. So instead, she’d taken a shower with her trusty vibrator and afterwards—feeling mildly relaxed—fixed a half sandwich and grabbed a can of soda. The television was on, but she was paying no attention to whatever show that was playing.
When her phone rang, she’d picked it up and answered even though she hadn’t recognized the number, but because of the Virginia area code, thought it could’ve been the construction foreman or someone from the realtor’s office. Never in a million years would she have guessed it could be Ethan.
“Yes,” he insisted on a gruff sigh. “I want you nice and wet. Tell me more about being inside of you,” he said, his voice a deep timbre that made her feel as if he were lying right here next to her. “How does it make you feel? ‘Cause damn, I already know how it’s making me feel.”
It was making her nervous. This entire conversation, the fact that he obviously had a copy of her book and was reading it, and was now initiating phone sex with her, all made Portia jittery as hell. On the one hand, her fingers gripped the phone tightly. On the other, they shook slowly as she forced herself to pull her hand away from her mouth.
“What are you doing?” She had to concentrate to keep a slow and deliberate tone.
That’s how it worked for her. Whenever she felt overwhelmed or as if she might be losing control, it took a concerted effort to bring herself back to normalcy—or at least her level of normal. She hadn’t felt like this in a while, so she had to tick off every action in her mind to be sure she was gaining the balance she needed. It wasn’t easy being Portia Merin.
He sounded as if he were taking a deep breath and then releasing it slowly and loudly.
“I’m reading this book that you wrote and trying not to come in my hand as I match the sound of your voice with the words on the page,” he told her.
A vision of Ethan laying on a bed, hard dick in his hand, jerking off to her book…and her voice, sent a quick bolt of lust through her system. It landed like a bullseye between her legs, where her pussy now pulsated.
“They’re just words,” she said after licking her very dry lips.
“Words that have power,” he continued.
He was correct. They could continue to say words that related to a passionate sexual experience and each of them would continue to grow aroused. Or, for Ethan, he
could most likely go without the words. In a research paper she’d read while writing her book, Portia learned that male desire could be considered a “solitary affair”. Meaning that, Ethan’s single-minded pursuit of sexual arousal could exist independent of a relationship. So she could hang up this phone and Ethan would most likely continue with his train of sexual thoughts and masturbate until he achieved orgasm. That’s how the male body worked.
The female body on the other hand, or rather, Portia’s body, was a different story entirely. There had been no words in research papers or textbooks to describe the type of sex life she’d adopted over the years. The one where she didn’t really need words. Or a partner. When she felt edgy or in need of release, Portia found that release alone. She had a variety of vibrators, dildos, and massage tools to help achieve a satisfying outcome. No words, no videos, and no man.
While circumstances beyond her control precipitated her personal sexual situation, confidence and courage had propelled her success in the very field that made her so nervous she now felt a little nauseous.
“Portia? Are you still there?”
“Yes!” she replied overenthusiastically. “I’m here. But Ethan I should tell you that you’re just reading a book. It’s designed to help coach men and women through finding intimacy with each other. It’s not an ah…not meant to, I mean, it’s not supposed to…”
“Just tell me how you feel,” he interrupted her. “I want to hear you say how you feel when I tell you how hard I am from thinking about kissing you.”
That pulsating started again between her legs, building intensely until Portia used her free hand to press a fist there. She had to uncurl her legs and squeeze her thighs tightly for the sensations to subside.
“I don’t…I mean, I can’t,” she began but didn’t quite know how to explain her predicament. Or if she even should. This was really none of Ethan’s business. It was no one’s business for that matter.
“When I watched your demonstration at the hotel, I wanted your mouth on my dick just like that. You had me so aroused I couldn’t wait to get you alone so I could ask if I could be your next test subject. And then I kissed you…now I want you, Portia.”
