by Frankie Love
Especially if it’s really bad. If it’s filthy.
Thinking that, I let my guard down and give in to what I want. My hand slides toward him. To the inside of his thigh. His knee comes up and the car jerks. I fall forward. Almost spilling into his lap, I feel like such a klutz.
He catches me gently, keeping the brake on. I’m not small, but he catches me like I’m weightless, and he holds me as if I’m priceless. And he says, “I’m sorry, Lucy. That was clumsy of me.” And, “Are you okay?”
Yes, I’m okay, I think, as long as you count melting into a puddle and coming apart in your hands as ‘okay.’
When he pulls up in front of my building, I thank him.
I lean in and put my hand on his chest. I want to give him a long, dirty kiss. To taste his breath. Lick and suck on his tongue. Paint my body onto his.
But even though I’m still buzzing on the champagne, I know I don’t have the nerve. I give him a sweet and soft kiss on the lips. His lips are opening. But I’m already pulling back. I messed it up.
I think about asking him to see me to my door. That’s not too corny, is it? Maybe it is. I don’t even know. I never do any of this.
But tenderly, he pulls me closer. Gives me the kiss I was wanting.
Well, the nice part. The polite part. His lips are tender, shaping to mine. A little sighing moan scrapes out of my throat. It’s the nicest kiss I’ve ever had.
He starts to pull back. Fighting for some courage, I stretch toward him. My head makes tiny shakes to tell him, No. No, don’t stop. I move my lips against his.
I grip the hard contour of his chest. My other hand drops back onto his thigh. I lean into him and press hard against him. I have too much soft flesh to press with, and I know it. But I want every bit of it against him right now.
I don’t want him to think that I’m desperate. But I am. I’m desperate for him.
I’ve known him for years, but I hardly know him at all. I’ve always seen him as a big, strong protector. But there’s something of a predator about him, too. I can feel it now. Like he’s ready to devour me.
Oh, I hope he is. Because I’m ready to let him. Or to put up a fight. If that’s what he wants. Whatever he wants. He can take me any way that he likes, just so long as he wins.
He kisses me deeper. We wrap around each other. His hand on my waist pulls me to him. My mouth opens and I’m writhing in my panties. When his big hands hold and stroke my back, I arch and stretch.
He’s so sure, his confidence makes me shudder. And it reminds me of my own idiotic inexperience.
The hardness of his jaw scratches my palm. My head tips back. I stretch my throat. My lips are wet as his mouth opens. I shudder when the tip of his tongue traces the soft insides of my lips. He has such a sensitive tongue. And it’s so big. Every part of him is big.
I thought his shoulders were padded, but they’re not. He must be built like a superhero.
When we break, I’m almost lost, searching his eyes.
“Would you like to come in for coffee?” My voice is low and hoarse.
His is husky. “I don’t drink coffee at night.” Then his head shakes, like a twitch. As if he meant to say something else. It reminds me of something JoJo said once.
“Maybe come in for something else, then?”
“What?” This time he corrects himself. “Sorry. I’m not usually let out in polite company.”
“You don’t have to be polite with me.” And I tell him, “Come in for… anything you want.”
I feel slutty saying it. It makes me feel bad. But in a good way. And good, in a really bad way.
My new apartment has always seemed big, spacious, and comfortable on the verge of luxurious. Until now.
As I show Paul inside, I can’t help comparing it to the desert palace of the O’Malley’s compound. The tiled swimming pools, the gyms and saunas; I’m sure there are Vegas resorts with less facilities than the O’Malleys have at home.
Coming back here with Paul, I feel like I’m seeing my modest little apartment through his eyes. It seems low-rent, cramped and poky.
But I hope Paul isn’t here to check out the rental unit. It’s me I want him to be looking at.
Chapter Three
Paul
I feel like I’ve entered her secret world, seeing her on her home turf. The furnishings, the decor, everything is soft, bright, and rounded. It’s her. Her personality to a ‘T’—whatever that means. All the tones are pale ice cream colors. It’s got the feeling of a playhouse, but one made for a grown-up. It’s so different from the showy glitz I’m used to at home. It’s relaxed and fun.
Being in her space makes me feel giddy, and she’s playful. Twirling. Sparkling.
All the times I’ve fantasized about her, and now I’m really here. She bounces like she’s proud of her apartment. I can see she wants to show it off to me. She can hardly keep still.
When my eyes stop on the flowers from last week, I feel guilty and uncomfortable. The top hat basket is so prominent on her bookshelf. I should take pleasure from seeing it here, seeing how much she appreciates the flowers. I should tell her that I’ve been her mystery man for years.
I can’t, though. Not yet. It’s too scary to think that she might see it as creepy. And, seeing the flowers in with the rest of her things, I can see the cost of them must be about a week’s wages for her. I want to help her in more ways. She deserves the best of everything.
That’s the rub. I want her so much, but she deserves the best of men to care for her. And that is definitely not me.
She tugs on my arm. “Let me show you around. Give you the tour.” She says, “Everything in here is girly. Especially me. So if you don’t like girly…”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to grab my attention.”
“I am.” Her smile makes my heart pound.
I follow her through the apartment, and I tell her, “Anytime you want my attention, you just have to raise a finger.” Her eyebrows rise. I move closer, fixing her eyes with mine. “And I like girly.”
“Do you like curves? Because I have plenty of those too…”
“Especially your curves,” I tell her. “I like your curves so much, it’s probably a crime.”
She makes a crinkly smile. “This dress hides a multitude of sins.”
“Really? I want to see all that you’re hiding. I want your curves and I want all of your sins.”
She presses her lips together. Draws them between her teeth. Her hands clasp at her throat and her elbows squeeze in front of her breasts.
“But a man like McQueen would probably be nearer your mark,” I say, not trusting this moment, scared Lucy is going to back away as soon as I get close.
JoJo’s husband is a Vegas dancer. A people person and a charmer in ways I’ve never been.
Lucy glances down at her feet. “No. McQueen is great. But he’s not my type of man.”
“Oh?” I cock my head to one side. “What’s your type, then?”
Then she takes a little step toward me. “Quieter.” Her eyes flick up to mine. “Dependable.” She tugs on the lapel of my suit coat. “I like a man who’s attentive. Remembers birthdays. Things like that.”
“Birthdays like yours?”
She shrugs. Her smile is so fucking adorable. And her gorgeous tits are heaving. So close. “I guess I couldn’t love a man who didn’t remember my birthday.”
“Does it change, or is it the eighteenth of April every year?”
Like the snap of a spring, she jumps into my arms. Fastens her lips on mine for a deep, perfect kiss. Presses herself against me. Hungry. Hot. Her arms wrap around my neck.
I could stay in this kiss forever. Nothing matters more than the feeling of her waist in my hands. Her breasts pressed against me. The grip of her thighs. I stroke her face and I love the warm silkiness of her cheek.
Her bright eyes look innocently into mine. “Am I going to have to fight you off, Paul?”
“Do you wan
t to fight me off?”
“Only if I can be sure that I’ll lose the fight.”
“What do you think?”
She sighs, “You’re very big.” Her breathy voice as she says that makes me even bigger. Her eyes widen as she notices. “Oh, my. You are big.”
“So,” I cup her face in my hand, “will you fight me off?”
“Only if you want me to.”
“Try.”
She’s dropping out of my arms, turning to run, but I catch her waist straight away. “You were running to the bedroom.”
“In case you caught me.” Her lips part and her voice lowers. “I thought I would be safest if I was somewhere… soft.”
I pull her to me. Her legs wrap around my waist again.
How can I tell her that I’m a virgin without ruining the moment? The most pumped, testosterone-shooting studs must have cornered her. At parties, at work. Everywhere. She must have been fucked senseless by quarterbacks, military men, firefighters. I have no idea. How can I measure up?
With her ankles scissored at my back, the scent from between her soft breasts inflaming my nostrils, and her pouty lips parting in front of my face, this is not the time to declare weakness.
She’s been in enough of my dreams and fantasies. I’ll bring some of those to life for her the best I can. And I’ll try to make up for my ignorance by paying attention to her. I know I’m going to fuck it all up, I’m bound to. But I’ll make sure I only fuck it up for me.
For her, I’m going to make it perfect.
Her eyes widen. They roll back as I plant my lips on hers.
Our bodies move together, twisting, pressing. Her lips shape themselves to mine. The tip of her tongue is at the edge of her mouth, waiting for mine. I feel like we share a breath, like we’re one being. A single animal. Hot, raw with need.
Her legs crossed behind my back pull me closer. Her hips rub against mine. The wet heat of her pussy scrapes on my abs. The silky smoothness inside her thighs makes me pump. My cock fills and hardens, and I feel her heat on my crown.
She sighs with a rasping moan as we pull our mouths apart.
Her eyes are moist. “I’ve never gone this far with a man before.” She wets her lips. “Tell you the truth, I’ve never been with a man at all. Only boys. But we never went any further than kissing. Sometimes second base.”
I can’t believe it. She’s a virgin. My Lucy. She really can be my Lucy, and all mine. It makes me regret even more that I don’t have any experience to give her. If I was nervous before, I’m twice as nervous now. Maybe I see a way to clear the air, at least.
Something as important as my own virginity isn’t a thing I can hold back from her. Not before I take hers. She needs to be able to trust me. And she deserves it, too. She deserves a better man than me. But now, now that I know, I would happily kill or die before I would let that happen.
She’s going to be mine. And I’ll do everything in my power to make up for the bad man that I’m giving her, for the beautiful, innocent girl that she is.
I tell her, “I’m never certain what any of the bases are.”
“Of course not. You’re a guy. And you’re smoking hot. You probably set the ballpark on fire, smoking straight past all the bases and sliding into home plate when you were still in short pants.”
“No. That’s what I’m telling you, Lucy. I’ve never been to any bases at all. Hell, I’ve hardly even kissed a girl. Well, not like I meant it.”
“Did you mean it when you kissed me?”
“Oh, yes,” I groan. “I’ve never been more serious about anything. Not in the whole of my life.” I hold her tight. Close. I want to eat her up.
She shifts her weight in my arms. “I don’t know if I should believe you.”
I kiss her again. It’s harder to hold back now. Like she’s told me to prove something. I am so ready to prove it to her. I worry if she’s strong enough to take it, though.
Chapter Four
Lucy
A sigh streams out of me and our lips press together again. We’re still unsure at first. Testing. His lips are firm. Warm and surprisingly smooth. My body feels weightless. Suspended. His is hot and firm. Hard and strong.
For a moment, we’re still, like both of us are waiting for a signal. His chest swells and my grip on his arm tightens. He pulls me closer.
We both sigh as our mouths open. His tongue slips in against mine. My body comes to life in his arms and he presses harder against me. I crush my breasts against him. My little buds scrape the inside of my bra, sore and needy.
The insides of my thighs tingle. I’m so hot it makes me squirm. He hardens in the front of his pants. Feeling him thicken makes me woozy.
As we part, his breath is hot on my throat. I pull him back. His lips fasten on my neck. I wriggle and squirm as his mouth moves down. Holding me up with just one hand, he reaches for my breast. Inside, I’m pounding hot. I want to be out of my clothes. Naked in his arms. But I don’t want him to see me, frumpy and flabby as I am.
Maybe this is why people turn out the lights. Or do they? Is that another myth, a tale to keep us in the dark, literally? His fingers open the buttons on the front of my dress. His breath makes my tits quiver. My nipples are already hard, needy, eager.
He caresses my breast with his hand and I let out a groaning sigh of want.
“Which base is this?” he chuckles.
I whimper. “Give me a chance to catch my breath, then I’ll tell you.”
“Okay.” He puts me down on the bed. “Let me tell you something first.”
Already I miss being in his hands, having him hold me like I belonged to him. Being in his power. I’m feeling like all the strands of my life have come together at a cliff edge. This is the tipping point for my heart, my dreams, my body. My V-card.
The V-card doesn’t mean much, except I never found anyone worth giving it up for. Paul’s and my maybe-imaginary mystery man’s are the only spikes I’d ever consider pinning my butterfly on. And Paul is here.
He’s red-hot, pumped up, and he’s got muscles on his muscles. It really could happen. Up until the moment he sees what’s under my party dress. Then I know he’ll remember the phone number of a dancer or a model or some gorgeous actress.
That’s the great thing and the terrible thing about Las Vegas. This town is full of so much talent. Everywhere you look, you can find somebody gorgeous, somebody brilliant. It’s exciting. But it means a regular cake-loving girl like me has no chance to compete.
He says, “I’m a virgin, too.”
Well, that’s not what I thought he was going to say.
“Paul…” I can’t help jumping up to kiss him again. Each time has been better than the last. And each time I have felt hotter. Bolder. Needed more.
“You are so sweet.” The look in his eye is anything but sweet. And he has the body of a killer.
I whisper, “I know it can’t be true.” I kiss him again, but I’m knocked over by him saying that. “Really, that is so nice of you.”
“It’s not nice of me,” he says, his voice low. “It’s true. I swear.”
“Can I really believe you?”
“Always, Lucy.” The look in his eyes flashes through me like an electric shock. He holds my hand. “I will never tell you anything but the truth.”
“I believe you, Paul. I’m not even sure why, but I do trust you.”
I move to stand, but he seizes me. Kisses me so hard I’m burning. His hand is on my thigh. I move back, further up on the bed. I feel my eyebrows tilt up and I reach for him. He watches my thighs as they spread apart.
Kneeling before me, his fingers find me. I’m so wet it’s obscene. His finger traces between my lips. I’m on my back, but my body jolts as he presses up, pushing the wet fabric of my panties against my aching, swollen folds.
My eyes plead into his as his strong hand firmly drives upward, making me buzz and quake. My hand stretches out to reach for him. He won’t be deflected, though. His lip curls and his eyes
glint.
I see his mouth headed straight for me. I shudder as he looks in my eyes and licks his lips. He shoves my panties aside.
I gasp and cry out, “Paul!” and his mouth takes me, my knees falling open.
His tongue is long and thick, and so strong. First he probes, nosing up between my fluttering walls, then he shoves in and lengthens inside me, exploring all my secret places. Making me shake when he touches me in places I hardly even know myself.
All the time his lips play with my clit and my hood. And his hands squeeze my breasts and my thighs. I gasp and moan as he tenderly nudges and prods at my ass. Sensitively, he finds my rhythms. He knows when to be soft to make me gasp. And he feels when to be rough, the time to be forceful and relentless.
His tongue and his fingers thrill and chase and tease me up to quivering, trembling plateaus. Then he holds me in suspense, waiting for the perfect moment, when I’m most open and exposed. And he drills me with his fingers, sucks and kisses me, and he keeps on as I gush and clench and shout and clamp his head in my thighs, drag my nails through his hair and push my pussy as hard as I can against his mouth.
The last detonation leaves me shaking and quivering. He keeps a hand on me as he comes up with a kiss and he holds me tenderly.
I search his eyes, amazed. “How can you do that to me?”
Even in my drowsy, disconnected state, my body knows what it wants. I pull him close and run my hands down his shirt. Down to the hot ridge in the front of his pants.
I know I need him. It takes all the determination I have to get out of bed.
I tell him, “I’ll just be a moment,” and the kiss we share pulls at me, deep down inside. Makes it even harder to part from him. My knees are shaky as I dash to my little bathroom. Inside, I drop all of my clothes to the floor. Without letting my eyes go to the mirror, I grab my silky robe and pull it tight around me.
Hurrying back into the bedroom, I snap off the light.
I run straight into him. He’s standing. He’s huge. And he’s naked.