by Sarina Bowen
You are such a tease, I’d complained.
In the next photo, he’d stretched the sheet against his cock, and the sight of his erection made me feel wet right there at my desk in the law offices of Kaplan and Shipley.
So now I’m trapped between his door and that very same cock. Alec’s tongue is in my mouth, and his hand is unzipping my jacket.
And I’m loving it. Alec is so unapologetically sexual. Here is my dick and here’s how badly I want to give it to you.
Honesty is the sexiest thing in the world. Who knew?
My hands sneak under the hem of his flannel shirt to go exploring. His skin is soft, but his muscles are harder than I’m used to. Touching a man is a completely different sensory experience than being with a woman.
There are some people who think bisexuality is a myth, but I’m here to prove them wrong. I love the feel of a woman’s curves under my hands. But it turns out that I still enjoy bumping against Alec’s rock-hard body.
His kisses are unrelenting, and he makes no move to go into the apartment. But I’m getting impatient. I curl one leg around his, pulling him closer to my core. I slide my tongue against his and sigh. All this could be yours.
Alec’s hand reaches back to cup my ass, lifting me so I can wrap both legs around him. He seems to be testing out the idea that we could fuck right here in the hallway. But then he groans into my mouth. “I want you on my bed. Right fucking now.”
He eases me onto the floor and then picks up my duffel bag and my keys from where I’ve dropped them. He uses my copy of his key to open the door, and then nudges me inside.
I hurry through the dark apartment and into his bedroom. Alec is hot on my heels. I hear my duffel bag hit the floor somewhere nearby, and then his hands are reaching around my body. He unbuttons my blouse with quick fingers. So I unzip my pants to save time.
He jerks them down, and the fabric pools at my feet. My blouse is next—he shrugs it off my shoulders and eases it down my arms.
I wore a lacy bra just for him, but Alec isn’t going to get a look at it because it’s the next to go. He unhooks it and I shrug it off. Alec flings it across the room and then nudges me toward the bed. “Lean over,” he grunts.
Bending at the waist, I brace my forearms on the bed. I’m on fire already. Casual sex with Alec is something I never could have guessed that I wanted. With Daniela, I tried to build something with a real foundation. I wanted a life together.
But Alec and I are doing the complete opposite. We embrace the tawdriness of our hookups, and it’s really freeing. There is only one point to them—sexual gratification.
I. Love. It.
Alec nudges my legs apart with an urgency that borders on rudeness. But then he drops to his knees, and the next thing I know his mouth is right there, teasing my pussy. His tongue laps against my clit, and I let out a cry of happy surprise.
“Grab your tits,” he orders, then tongues me again.
It isn’t physically possible to do that without falling on my face, I discover. But I love Alec’s dirty mind. He’ll say anything. Do anything. He’ll put his mouth anywhere.
I rock back against his willing tongue and moan. He makes a noise of joy, like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted. It isn’t long before I’m close. My motions become erratic, and Alec backs off with a chuckle. “Lie down,” he commands.
Twist my arm. I climb onto the bed and lie back on his pillows. Take that, Daniela. She has a bumper sticker that reads, Fuck the patriarchy. Lately I’m taking this advice quite literally.
Alec smiles as he lowers himself down on my body, his shaft between my legs, teasing me. We kiss until I’m begging him with my body for relief.
“May?”
“Yeah?” I lick his neck.
“Unnngh.” He chuckles. “Hang on a sec. There’s something I need to ask you.”
“Can’t it wait?” I arch my back and rub against him like a cat in heat. Alec never shames me for the things I want in bed. Hell, he’s my cheerleader.
“You know how you told me that story about getting the STD tests and the IUD?”
“Yeah.” My voice is husky from desire, and his erection is right there. I just want it inside me.
“I got tested, too. Clean bill of health.” He catches my chin in his hand and looks down at me with serious eyes. “One of these days can we go bare?”
That gets my attention. “That’s something you want?”
“Oh, fuck yes. I can’t stop thinking about it.” He flexes his hips, stroking me with the underside of his cock, and I practically see stars. “I mean, I’m happy to be exclusive. I’d always keep you safe.”
“Sure,” I gasp. It’s an easy decision. My IUD is 99.95 percent effective. Or something. “Do it now. Hurry up, though.”
Alec lets out a happy, horny groan. His tongue finds mine, and then he pushes inside on a moan. “Oh, fuck,” he breathes. “Jesus Christ.” Alec moves his hips. As he retreats, my body clenches around him. It’s so, so good.
“Ungh,” he mumbles into my neck. “You feel amazing. So very…” The rest of the sentence is lost to another hot kiss.
His pace starts off slow. As if he’s acclimating. But just like every other time we come together, I ache for release. And tonight, Alec is aching, too. Soon he’s panting into my mouth, begging me. “Come, honey.” He’s fucking me in short, eager thrusts. “Didn’t know it could feel so good. You’re so wet. I’m not gonna last.”
I am barely listening. I’m lost in the pleasure of our joining. A month ago my breakup seemed like a disaster. But every time Alec climbs on top of me, I’m less sure. What if I had gone my whole life without anyone making me feel as sexy and carefree as I do right now? That sounds like a disaster, too.
“Fuck, May. God.” The bed is shaking and I’m clinging to him with both hands. He lets out a hot gasp and then shudders above me.
And that’s all she wrote. Hallelujah, my body sings as waves of pleasure take me under. I grip his shoulders and whimper through it.
“Yes!” he encourages me.
Alec tucks his smile against my hair as he comes down, his body sagging against mine. “Jesus. I’m jelly. You feel so good.”
“The no-condom thing works for you, huh?”
He kisses my ear. “Amazing. Been waking up hard every morning, dreaming of you.”
That is very flattering. It’s quite the hot little fling we’ve been having. “No complaints here.”
Alec is still kissing me. My neck. My jaw. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“I’m so fucking sleepy.” I say this even though I don’t really want him to stop. I cherish these moments even if I don’t like admitting it out loud.
“Are you staying over?” he asks, nuzzling me.
“If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind one bit. Just don’t fall asleep yet,” he whispers. “I brought you a strange little treat.”
“Better than the treat I just got?”
He laughs. “No. Just hang on and I’ll show you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Alec
Feeling wrecked in the best possible way, I get out of bed and shuffle toward the kitchen. May ruins me every time we’re together. And between her visits, I dream of her.
I don’t even know myself right now. It’s not like me to be obsessed.
Now she’s going to spend the night in my bed, which is something I usually try to avoid with hookups. We’ll sleep tangled up together and then make sleepy love when her alarm goes off at eight. My sheets will smell like her, and I’ll bask in it.
This girl has gotten under my skin.
The refrigerator’s bright light makes me squint, but I find what I’m looking for—three different non-alcoholic beers. I grab the bottles and a bottle opener and carry everything back to the bed.
“What’s that?” she asks with a yawn.
“A treat. I…” The cat snakes between my feet with a loud meow, and I almost jump out of my skin. The
bottles I’m carrying are briefly in peril as I sidestep the creature and then curse.
May cackles. “What’s with the cat, anyway?”
“You know my neighbor, Hamish?”
“Sure. Everybody knows Hamish.” She sits up against the headboard, pulling the quilt up to cover her fabulous chest.
“He’s still in the hospital, and his son didn’t want to take the cat.” And now I know why. That cat is the devil.
“What do you have there?” May asks.
“I had these shipped to me so you could try them. There’s a non-alcoholic porter, a lager, and a stout. Three different breweries in three different states. This shit is hard to find.”
“Wow.” Her eyes widen. “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”
I shrug that off. “Hey, I run a bar. I should know who makes the best hooch.” It’s a dodge, though. Of course I ordered these for her. Making her happy makes me happy. But my gut says she doesn’t want me to go out of my way for her. She’s a little sick of being fussed over. “Check this out.” I hand her a bottle.
While I’m popping the top off the porter, she reads another label. “This one’s from Washington State.”
“That one is supposed to be great. Let’s have a taste test. Ladies first.” I hand her the open porter.
She sniffs the top. “Good aroma.” Then she lifts it to her kiss-bitten lips and takes a sip. “Hey!” May smiles. “That mops up the floor with Corker’s.”
“Yeah?” Her smile lights me up as much as the sex did. Okay, that’s a lie. Nothing could top the sex we just had. But still. It’s a really nice smile.
May smacks her lips and takes another sip. “It’s smooth. Nice beer flavor. The mouthfeel isn’t as harsh as the grocery store stuff.”
I sputter with laughter. “You sound like a beer snob.”
“Snobby cider is the family business. Here. Try this.”
She offers the bottle, and I take a sip. I see what she means about the texture. The flavor is still not nearly as amazing as the award-winning beers in my life, but it’s really not bad. “You’re right. It’s good. Let’s compare it to another one.”
May is already opening the lager. She takes a sniff and then a swig. “Okay, also not bad. But I think this might be harder to pull off. An IPL relies on that alcohol tang, you know? And even though this is tasty, I miss the real thing.” She hands it over.
“Yeah,” I say after a taste. “This one gets voted off the island.”
“It’s not terrible,” she hedges.
“We have one more to try, though.” I open the stout from Virginia and give it a taste. “Pretty great. Kinda similar to the porter.”
“Let’s see.” May sips from the bottle and agrees with me.
We sit back against my pillows and pass our favorite two beers back and forth. It’s nice. Things are always so easy between us.
“You know,” she says, “some people in AA don’t think alcoholics should drink NA beer.”
“Why?” I take a hasty look at the label. The beer is less than a half percent alcohol by volume. “You’d have to drink more than ten of these to equal a beer, right? Is there any way to get a buzz off this?”
She shakes her head with a smile. “It’s not that. They say it’s a crutch. Like you’re not doing the real work of staying strong if you drink it.”
That sounds like bullshit. “This isn’t my area of expertise. But if you took up running or chewing gum or knitting instead, is that bad, too? I’m not buying that argument.”
“I’m not buying it either,” she says. “I think it counts whenever I’m staying away from the hard stuff. Not that it’s easy.”
“Still?” I’d assumed she was doing great. She seems like someone who’s in control.
May’s face clouds over. “There’s a reason I don’t talk about AA with you. It’s not sexy.”
“Well…” I am in over my head here. “I think everything you do is sexy. So why not tell me? You go to those meetings, right? What’s that like?”
She tugs the sheet up over her delicious breasts, as if shielding herself from the topic. “It’s important to my recovery, to be near people who absolutely get it. But it’s not exactly a party.”
“Lots of heartbreak?” I guess. I know alcoholism can tear families apart.
“Sometimes I feel like a poser at AA,” May says. She takes a sip and then leans her head on my shoulder. “Everyone in there has lost more than I have.”
“But that’s a good thing, right? You don’t want to change places.”
“No. Of course not. I just mean that women who were sexually abused at age seven have more of a right to their coping mechanisms than I do. Like—they have better justification for their pain.”
“Nah,” I argue. “Nobody gets to decide that for you.”
She traces a shape on my chest with one finger. “I know I’m supposed to feel that way about it. It just seems true sometimes. I have a nice family and plenty of opportunity. I just learned to numb myself with booze instead of turning to them for help.”
“Wait. When did you learn to numb yourself with booze?” I ask her. We never talk about this. I don’t want to push, yet I care about her and I’m curious.
“Sophomore year of college is when my dad died. I didn’t handle it very well. Then junior year Lark went away for a semester abroad, and there wasn’t anyone I had to look in the eye at the end of the day. I was super lonely. I found a boyfriend who liked to be in charge…” She lifts her head off my shoulder. “But not in a fun way,” she adds.
“He was controlling?” I set the beer bottle on the table and give her my full attention.
“You could say that.” Her voice is flat. “He hit me when I didn’t agree with him.”
“Aggh.” I make a noise of dismay. Who the fuck could hit May Shipley? That’s like kicking a puppy. “Please tell me he’s out of your life.” I’ve made a fist with one hand, as if I could punch the guy right now.
“Hell, yes. Haven’t seen him since graduation. He moved to California last I heard.”
Good riddance. But now I’m struggling with the mental image of May cowering from some asshole. So I haul her onto my body where at least I know she’s okay.
“I really didn’t start drinking until that semester when Lark was gone. I was lonely and he liked to tell me all the ways I was inadequate. Getting drunk made my life feel easier. And he used to treat me better when I was drunk than when I was sober.”
And now my blood is boiling.
“Then he graduated, and it saved me from him. He got a job in another city and broke up with me. So it’s not like I woke up one day too smart for his bullshit. It just fixed itself. But by then I’d figured out how nice it was to feel numb. So I kept drinking senior year.”
“What did Lark think?” I wonder why nobody noticed May’s problem.
“Well…” She hesitates. “It was college. There was always lots of drinking. Lark would get drunk with me. But her motivation was different. She was just blowing off steam. I drank even on the nights I was home alone. I hid it from her.”
“Mmm.” I stroke her hair and say nothing, because I don’t really know what that feels like. I enjoy craft beers, but I don’t need any to get through the day.
She settles a cheek against my skin and sighs. “Sorry. Long story.”
“I like hearing your stories. Does anyone else in your family struggle with alcohol?”
“No. They don’t get it. And the funny thing is that I don’t get them, either. How can they not care very much about drinking when I crave it?”
“Do you still?”
May makes a face. “I really don’t like telling you all my flaws, okay? You do a good job of pretending I’m a happy, fun person.”
“You are, though.” I skim a hand over her apple-tree tattoo. “We always have fun.”
May’s face says she doesn’t believe me.
The cat bumps something under the bed, and I startle. Then I hear
a loud meow. “Jesus. I keep forgetting he’s here.”
“Is Hamish going to be okay?”
I stroke her hair again before answering. “I hope so. He has to be. He’s retiring. It’s really not fair to get so sick before you retire.” But the truth is that he looked like shit when I saw him last. “There’s been some complication from his surgery, so he’s at a nursing home. He didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t need to pry. I just visit to bring him muffins.”
“Muffins?”
“Yeah—he likes lemon poppy. And he asked me to keep Bukowski a while. He said, ‘I know how much you like pussy, Alec.’”
May laughs on my chest.
“But his own son wouldn’t take in the cat. That’s some bullshit right there.” I’m feeling sleepy now. “Are we going to drink the third one or should I pour it out?”
“I’m done.” She yawns. “You can have regular beer when I’m here, you know. I’m not going to freak out and grab it out of your hands.”
“There’s plenty of beer in my life already.”
“You don’t have to go out of your way.”
She always says that. But I’m starting to realize how much I like going out of my way for her.
My phone vibrates with a text on the bedside table. I try to ignore it, but it vibrates again. “Sorry,” I say. “I gotta check this. Smitty hasn’t been the most reliable employee lately.”
“Still? That sucks.”
It totally does. And when I check the text, I do see Smitty’s name. But there’s also a pile of messages from Chelsea.
Smitty’s text says, Chelsea is down here looking for you.
Oh, man. I had a feeling she would come around tonight. That’s why I changed the combination on the door downstairs.
She says she sees your truck in the lot but you’re not answering your texts.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
I told her you weren’t feeling so great and probably went to sleep.
Thanks, I reply.
“Problem?” May asks.
“Nah, it’s cool.” I force myself to put the phone down.
“Everybody wants a piece of you,” she says.