The Importance of Being Alice

by Katie MacAlister

  “Which tells you that he didn’t truly care for you, not in the way you deserve.”

  I was standing so close to him, I could see the little flecks of black in his eyes. I stared at them, wondering how a man could have such dense, thick black eyelashes, all other thoughts but those of a purely carnal nature leaving my mind. “I am not attracted to you,” I said savagely.

  He cocked one eyebrow. “No? Your pupils are dilating. Your breath is ragged. Your breasts”—his gaze dropped down to the front of my gauze shirt—“appear to be of another mind.”

  “I’m hurt and devastated and traumatized,” I reminded him, biting back a moan when he swept his thumb across the pulse point in my neck.

  “Your pulse is rapid. All classic signs of physical attraction.”

  “Yeah? Well, so are you,” I said, sliding my hand slowly down his chest. It was as if there were no cloth between us, the heat of him almost singeing my hand. “I can feel your heart beating like crazy, and your eyes are all spotty, and if you had boobs, I bet they’d be demanding that they place themselves in my hands just like mine are insisting that they’re going to be very, very pissed if I don’t walk them straight into your hands. And possibly mouth.” I thought for a moment. “Definitely mouth. So if I’m attracted to you—wholly against my will, I’d like to point out, being the injured party in a monumental breakup—then you are, as well. Worse, you’re all dilated pupils, heavy breathing, hard little nipple nubs for me, a person who is on the rebound, and we all know how easy rebound pickups are.”

  He looked a little puzzled. “Did you just call yourself easy?”

  “Perhaps, but if I did, it’s because your cologne is befuddling my mind, and I can’t think straight with my boobs clamoring at me, and your mouth right there in front of me, and dear god, man, do you have a fever? Your chest is so hot.”

  He clamped a hand over where I was now simply stroking the deliciously hard bulges and valleys of his chest terrain. “If you don’t stop referring to your breasts and the smell of a warm, freckled woman, not to mention driving me insane with your fingers on my nipples, then I will be forced to take defensive action.”

  “Really?” I tipped my head, smiling smugly because I could do it without incurring a headache. “What defensive act did you have in mind?”

  “I will kiss you,” he said, his voice seeming to thrum inside me. It was a deep voice, and the way he enunciated each letter made me want to leap on him. “I will kiss you until you are giddy, and your breasts are sated.”

  “My breasts are notoriously hard to please,” I said haughtily, attempting to look down my nose at him. It’s not easy when the person receiving such a look is many inches taller than you. “It’s going to take more than a few smooches to put them into overdrive.”

  “Are you saying I couldn’t please you sexually?” His eyes widened, and I smirked to myself that his pupils were huge in them. The man was clearly just as aroused as I was. I didn’t even have to glance down at his zipper to see that.

  Of course, on that thought, I had to look. And Elliott caught me at it.

  “I am not responsible for my penis’s reaction,” he said quickly, in the same haughty tone I used on him, only his was much more effective.

  “Was that an insult?” I asked, outraged.

  “No more so than your statement regarding your breast satisfaction.”

  “You are so toast, buster,” I said, and boldly placed my hand on his crotch. He sucked in an inordinate amount of air, and twitched behind his zipper.

  “So, it’s going to be like that, is it?” His beautiful voice seemed to have lost some of its polish, but that fact went right out of my head when he placed both hands on my breasts.

  I moaned slightly, the warmth of his palms seeping into my flesh, and heading straight for my lady parts, where it settled deep within. Before I could react to his move, he rubbed both thumbs over my respective nipples, making my knees want to buckle.

  “That is not fair,” I said in a husky voice that I was a bit shocked to find belonged to me. “I’m not using my thumbs. I’m just holding you. Well, part of you. You appear to be quite . . . long.”

  “Not unnecessarily so. I will grant you the right to use your thumb if you so desire. In the interests of fairness.”

  I started laughing then, mostly because of his deadpan delivery, but also because I had a sudden image of what we looked like standing there arguing while holding each other’s erogenous zones. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Very much so.”

  “I will be happy to oblige upon one condition.”

  I rubbed my thumb along the part of him that was beneath my hand. “That I use my thumb.”

  His eyes crossed for a few seconds, and he seemed to be having difficulty breathing. “No. I want no recriminations that I am taking advantage of your rebound status. If I kiss you, it’s because you want me to do so, and not because you are seeking to assuage your feelings of hurt and betrayal.”

  I thought about that for a moment. Was I guilty of seeking attention to soothe my bruised ego? Or was it Elliott that stirred me so? And if it was the latter, what did it say about my relationship with Patrick?

  “You were right,” I said slowly, not wanting to admit the truth even to myself. “I think I have been more upset about the result of the breakup than the breakup itself.”

  He took his hands off my breasts (which instantly demanded they return), and slid them around my waist, pulling me forward against him. I had to release his crotch to do so, but my hands were happy enough to slide around to his back where they found more muscles to caress.

  “I’m sorry if I was poking my nose into something you wish to keep private.”

  I said nothing, just looked into his eyes for a few seconds, then brushed my mouth against his. “I hope this doesn’t make me a tramp, but there’s just something about you that makes me want to do all sorts of extremely illicit things to you.”

  “Thank the lord,” he said with a sigh, and kissed me, really kissed me, not just a little peck, or even an openmouthed snog, but a full-bodied kiss, the kind where every inch of him worked along with the kiss until it overwhelmed me and left me feeling boneless, and very, very aroused.

  “Elliott,” I said, my lady parts tingling for all they were worth.

  “Yes,” he said, pulling my shirt off me, stopping to add, “There’s no rebound in this?”

  “None whatsoever. This has nothing to do with Patrick, and everything to do with needing your flesh applied directly to my flesh this very instant,” I answered, quickly unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt. He shucked his shoes. I peeled off my retro plaid Capri pants, shoes, socks, and, after a moment’s hesitation and regret that I hadn’t stuck with the Zumba class, underwear and bra. By that time, he was naked, as well, and without any amount of awkward standing around assessing the other person’s body, we toppled into the nearest bed (mine).

  “I suppose we should be adult about this,” I said, writhing when his mouth closed around one needy nipple. “Oh dear god, yes, do that thing with your tongue again.”

  His tongue swirled. My body hummed.

  “What was I saying? Oh yes, adult. Responsible. All that crap. Do the other one, Elliott, it’s getting jealous.” He obliged by swirling his tongue over my other nipple, making my fingers dig deep into his shoulder muscles.

  “You taste like honey,” he said, looking up from my breasts.

  “Is that good? Do you like honey? What kind of honey? The kind that’s put on wounds that won’t heal, or honey from happy and contented bees? Please god, tell me it’s the happy bee honey!”

  “It is. Very happy bees. Bees that are so happy they’re about to burst into show tunes. You smell like flowers, and you taste like honey, and your skin is so soft I want to lick it.”

 
“Far be it from me to stop you—wait!” I remembered what it was that I had been about to say when my breasts distracted me. “I’ve had my shot last month, so I’m fine so far as birth control goes, but we don’t really know that much about each other, and—”

  “I have no diseases, social or otherwise,” he interrupted, leaning down to rub his cheeks between my boobs.

  My toes curled into the sheets. “Neither do I. Great. So we’re good to go?”

  “Roger, as you Yanks say, wilco and out.”

  “Well, I’d rather in, because, frankly, if my lady parts tingle any harder, they might just go up in flames, and I can’t tell you how painful that’s going to be.”

  He squinted up at me. “You are making jokes during sex?”

  “We’re not having sex. We’re having foreplay.”

  His hand slid down my belly, one finger curling into me. I almost came off the bed at the sensation of it. “My finger is inside of you. I think this qualifies as sex.”

  “No, it’s just very, very good foreplay. Oh, dear god, two fingers? Really? Holy crapballs, that’s good. To the left, please. Nnrng!”

  “Your nnrng pleases me,” he said with a wholly male, extremely smug smile as his fingers danced a seductive dance. My hips bucked, my hands clutched at the sheets of my bed (unmade, because I am basically a slob), and I swear my eyes all but rolled back in my head. “But I think we can do better than that. Shall we try for a foowah?”

  “What’s a foowah?” I panted, trying desperately to keep from falling over the edge into Orgasmland.

  “It’s the sound I make when someone pleasures me to the limit of my tolerance. Can you foowah for me, Alice?”

  “I will if you let me get my hands on you,” I said, desperately trying to reach that part of him that caused the foowahing.

  He moved just enough that he was out of my reach. “No, I believe we will focus on you this time.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair, although I’m hardly in a position to complain.”

  “Indeed you are not. Later, perhaps, if you are very good, I will allow you to pleasure me in ways that have me nnrnging, but until then, we are striving for a full-fledged foowah.”

  His thumb brushed sensitive flesh, and that was all she wrote. So to speak. “Foowah!” I shouted, my intimate muscles spasming around him. “Oh, holy hell, foowah and then some! Foowah squared! My god, Elliott, where did you learn to do that? You haven’t been to those kinky German sex dungeons, have you?”

  “Actually, I have, just once, and no, I did not particularly enjoy myself. I prefer my women willing and not tied down.”

  It took a few minutes for me to come down off the orgasmic high, but when I did, I couldn’t help but ask, “Wow, you really went to one of those places? I’ve always wondered what they were like. I mean, you see shots of them in porn—not that I’ve watched porn, although Patrick loved some weird studio out of Lithuania, and was always trying to get me to watch it with him—I wonder if that’s why he dumped me?—but I’ve always wondered if they were as wicked as they looked. Was your place as wicked as it looked?”

  “Do you always talk this much during sex?” Elliott asked, licking a path up my belly to the valley between my breasts.

  “I’m afraid I do. Is that a turnoff for you? If it is, I can try to be quieter, but honestly, I’ve found that people who don’t like me for who I am really aren’t my problem.”

  “It’s not a turnoff; I simply didn’t know if you are nervous, and chatting because of that, or if you are normally this vocal. As a matter of fact, I agree with you about other people’s perceptions. They usually don’t concern me. Do you like it when I do this?”

  He gently took my nipple between his teeth. It wasn’t a hard bite, and I had to admit, the sensation fired up my already steaming-hot blood. “Oh, yes! You’re very gentle, aren’t you? Do they do this sort of thing in the German sex clubs?”

  He stopped molesting my breast to look up at me. “Do you happen to wish to visit one of those establishments, but don’t want to suggest it?”

  “I can’t help it. I was raised Lutheran. Lutherans never go to German sexy-time clubs.” I waved a hand in the air. “Was I that obvious?”

  “No. I am simply that perceptive.” He looked down at my breast for a moment, then slid his gaze lower to my hips and belly. “I will make a deal with you. If you allow me to choose the restaurant in which we shall dine, I will accompany you to one of the clubs your Lutheran heart so desires to see.”

  “Deal,” I said, stroking my hand down his chest, pausing just long enough to gently tweak one of his nipples. “So long as you don’t leave me in the hands of some leather-clad dominatrix who has a whip and one of those benches they bend you over and do wicked things to you.”

  The look he gave me could have steamed clams. “Oh, we will have the bench, have no doubt about that. The whip is optional, but the bench? Yes, my sweet little Alice. That is one Wonderland you will most definitely remember visiting.”

  “Oooh,” I said, my legs moving restlessly next to his. “I like that glint in your eye. Elliott?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are we done with foreplay? Because my engine is more than warmed up, and I think I may go out of my mind if you don’t continue.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” he mumbled as he nuzzled my neck. “Do you prefer to be on the top or bottom?”

  “I don’t care,” I said on a gasp, pulling him down on top of me. Just the feel of all that warm, solid flesh made me feel as if my skin were alight.

  “Bottom, then.” He slid into me, making my intimate muscles give a cheer of happiness and embrace the welcome intruder.

  “Wow, you are . . . Oh, yes, that is a really nice move. . . . You are a lot more robust than I thought you were. Not that I’m saying you were inadequate in any way.”

  “It’s all in the technique, or so I’ve been told,” he panted against my shoulder. “Would you mind doing that again?”

  “What, this?” I tightened all my inner muscles around him.

  “Oh, Christ. Don’t do that again or it will be all over for me.”

  “This, then?” I dragged my fingernails softly down his back. I had been careful to be gentle the first time, since some men didn’t care for the sensation, but evidently Elliott really did, because his back arched, and his hips thrust forward, and I saw stars for a second time.

  “Nnrng!” I gasped, wrapping my legs around his hips and giving myself up to the unprecedented second orgasm.

  “Foowah,” he corrected, and gave in to his own climax.

  “I can’t believe,” I said some minutes later when I had the brain function and coordination to use my mouth again, “that I had two orgasms. I’ve never been multiorgasmic. Usually, it’s just bang! One, and I’m done for the night.” I squinted at the hair resting against my cheek, Elliott still being clasped in my arms. “You must have learned things at your previous visit to the German sexland. Secret things.”

  “Am I too heavy for you?” he panted into my shoulder.

  I stroked my hand down his damp back, to the lovely muscles of his butt. He had a very nice butt, with those little swoopy indentations on either side that bespoke a man who had a regular exercise regime. That or fabulous butt genes. “Not in the least. You might be a big man who eats like a horse, but I’m no frail, delicate flower.”

  He reared back to give me an outraged look. “You said you were not going to make any further references to the quantity of food needed to give me energy to perform secret German sexual techniques.”

  I giggled, and kissed the tip of his nose, swatting his butt when he rolled off me. “Sorry. Since there’s not enough room in the shower for two, and we’re both too messy to go out without one, do you want to go first, or shall I?”

  He collapsed onto his own bed, waving an airy hand. “You go first. I m
ust recover from your voracious sexual demands. I hope there’s time for me to consume a side of beef or the like before we must tour the Dom.”

  I giggled again, and took a fast shower, focusing my attention on just how wonderful a lover Elliott was, and shying away from the fact that I had just jumped into bed with a man I’d known for two days.

  I did not once think about Patrick.

  Chapter 6

  Diary of Alice Wood

  More of Day One (version three)

  Elliott’s voice echoed in a suitably dramatic manner. “I believe the cathedral is best tackled in the following manner: first we will explore its history, then view the important artworks and discuss the various points of architecture, and following that, we can descend to the lower levels to explore the history of the crypt, after which those people who do not mind heights can ascend the viewing platform, which has an excellent view of the Rhine. The platform has five hundred and nine steps, so be warned. And now, a few dimensions to get us started. The external length is one hundred forty-five meters—that’s about four hundred seventy-five feet for you, Alice—and it’s eighty-six meters wide, or two hundred eighty-three feet. The cathedral was begun in 1248 in order to house the relics of Three Kings, which had been pillaged from the Basilica of Saint Eustorgio, in Milan, and was still undergoing work two hundred years later. In fact, one could say that it wasn’t really completed until the Victorians got their hands on it.”

  “Fascinating,” Deidre said, clinging to Elliott’s arm and simpering in a manner that made my hand itch to yank her hair. Or smack the smug look off her face; either option appealed to me at that moment.

  “Sod that. I’m not going to have all the joy stripped from the experience by a recitation of facts and figures. Besides, this is one of the most visited tourist sites in Germany—Dahl and I shall be conducting some research, if you want us,” Anthony said, and, with Dahl, wandered off down the nave, no doubt intending to snag unwary visitors and question them about their experiences.