by Lisa Ferrari
“It is hot.” Crap. He wants it; I want it; and I don’t want him mad at me. I also don’t want Nancy bitching at me when I get there and I clock in even later than I said I would.
But something comes over me.
A lust for Kellan.
I push him down on the bathroom floor, onto the big, soft grey rug. He’s still erect so I grab him and straddle him, taking him inside me.
It takes my breath away. He’s so big.
I lean back and put my hands on his knees and my feet flat on the floor. I work his rock-hard erection, sliding up and down, up and down, up and down, giving him a good show.
Kellan props himself up on his elbows to watch. His eyes are fixed on the penetration.
“You like that?” I ask. “You like watching my pussy devour your cock?”
Oh my; I don’t know what it is about being with Kellan that inspires such sexy talk. It just comes out of me.
Kellan barely nods, he’s so focused. He really likes it.
Truthfully, I do too. He’s so big and he fills me up so much, I can barely breathe. It’s like a hand inside a glove. I’m on the verge of orgasm almost from the first penetration. I have to will myself to relax a bit down there.
After a few minutes, I start to touch myself, masturbating for Kellan. I make myself come in about 30 seconds.
Kellan immediately comes at the same time. He grits his teeth and tries to keep his eyes open so he can watch me orgasm. I feel the warmth spreading inside me as he ejaculates. Wow. I could come again. But I’m so late!
“Okay, now I really gotta go. I love you.” I lean forward and kiss him on the lips.
“I love you, too.”
With that, I’m up and out of the bathroom. I dry myself, sort of, and pull on my loathsome Walmart Men’s Black Work Pants, the ones I bought because I couldn’t find any my size in the women’s department. The thick, crappy, Chinese polyester sticks to my not-all-the-way-dry skin. It takes me two extra attempts to clasp my white work bra. My tuxedo shirt sticks to my damp skin. And my socks.
Hair, eyeliner, mascara, rouge, lipstick, don’t poke myself in the eye, and try not to look like a clown.
Done. Mostly.
Within three minutes, I’m heading for the door. There’s no way I’m going to make it by 11:00. Maybe if I took the Huracan… But yeah right. I wouldn’t even ask.
“Wait!”
I turn back.
A naked Kellan is staggering toward me. His penis is still thick and full. It’s also covered with a shiny, wet mixture of our love juices. “Here.” He thrusts several of his Signature protein bars in my hands.
We look at each other and share a knowing moment about what we just did, what we just said, because we said the three words again. We haven’t said them since we were at the hotel on the beach.
Kellan grabs me and hugs me. Tight. “Hurry home. I’ll be here.”
He gives me a long, gentle kiss on my forehead.
ON MY WAY to work, I am flustered and bemused and unsettled and a bunch of other stuff I don’t have words for at the moment.
Out of desperation, I call Denise to ask her about what just happened, the way in which Kellan instantly became pouty and sullen when I said I didn’t have time for sex.
I know Kellan asked me not to share intimate details with anyone, and that most definitely, indeed specifically, includes Denise. But I’m troubled. Perhaps if I don’t give Denise any lurid details, it’ll be okay.
“Hi, Claire bear.”
I don’t have time to get into the whole ‘Claire bear’ thing, a nickname I despise.
“Is it normal for guys to get all bitchy when there isn’t time for sex?”
“Oh, he’s one of those. But yeah, it’s pretty normal. Men experience love through sex. Women experience sex through love. Most of the time. There are always exceptions, but that’s the gist of the biological imperative. Males of the species want to spread their seed far and wide. Females of the species look far and wide before they spread their legs. What happened, were you late for work?”
“Yeah.”
“And he wanted to get it on?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you end up giving it to him?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And it was great. I left him lying on the bathroom floor, covered in jizz.”
“Ooh, Claire bear, you are so bad. When did you get so nasty?” Denise giggles. “So, was he happy?”
“I think so. We both said I love you. Then he gave me protein bars.”
“Good. Giving food is a form of love. One of the love languages. Food, sex, money… I forget the others. He’s the male making sure his female has sustenance, making sure your needs are met, just the way you met his sexual needs in the bathroom. Good.”
“Then he kissed me on the forehead for a long time.”
“Aww, how sweet. Man, he really likes you.”
“You think?
“Kisses like that aren’t about sex or passion or lust. They’re kisses of endearment. And it sounds like it wasn’t even for you, it was for him. Did he ask you to stay home and not go to work?”
“Only about a dozen times. He keeps telling me to quit and come work for him.”
“He wants to be with you. That’s really nice. Potentially codependent as fuck and totally batshit-crazy possessive, but still nice. Has he ever shown up unannounced to your work?”
“Yeah, he came by in the Huracan the day after I puked at the Turtle.” (Getting drunk to sing “I Touch Myself” and then projectile vomiting in the parking lot for everyone to see was not one of my prouder moments. But Kellan did spend the night with me, taking care of me, holding my hair while I ralphed into the toilet.)
“Is that the little green one or the big silly blue one?”
“It’s not blue, it’s called Azzuro Thetis and it’s not silly. I love that car. He and I bought it together. But no, it was the green one.”
“Yeah, he’s nuts.”
“He’s not nuts. It was nice. He was out driving around and decided to stop by since I was on break. He even took Chris for a ride.”
“So he says. He probably followed you to work and sat there in the parking lot for four hours waiting for you like a complete psycho. Mine! She’s mine!”
“Thanks, Denise. You always know how to serve me a delicious piece of cake and then spoon a big fat dollop of crap right on top of it.”
I know Denise is joking. I try not to let it bother me that there could be a teeny, tiny ounce of truth to what she said. But Kellan is definitely NOT a psycho-stalker type. And even if he were, who cares? He’d be my stalker.
THAT EVENING, I drive toward Kellan’s around 6:30. The wedding was quaint, nobody really danced, perhaps because it was a day wedding and people tend to feel foolish dancing during the day. And then they gathered up their centerpieces (red roses in big silver vases that were gorgeous) and leftover wedding favors (little bags of pink and blue M&Ms with the names of the bride and groom on them) and everybody left.
As I drive, I think about the morning weirdness; I wonder if things will be weird tonight, too. What Denise said made sense; I can understand Kellan feeling a bit frustrated because I was late for work and we were halfway to doing it when I initially said no. I wasn’t happy about it either. But he did get kinda weird about it.
When I pull up, any thoughts of weirdness vanish. Kellan is in the driveway washing the shiny green Huracan.
He’s shirtless.
His upper body shines with perspiration.
His chest.
His shoulders.
The separation between his muscle groups is pronounced.
And his abs.
Oh! I want to lick beads of sweat off them.
He is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. Ever.
I get butterflies.
Kellan’s only garment of clothing is a pair of ragged, cut-off denim shorts that are a wee snug. And…is he going commando in them? I swear I
can see the outline of him through the denim.
All of a sudden I want it.
I want to squeeze it and suck it and slap myself in the face with it like they do in porn videos online. That’s always seemed kinda dumb and demeaning and pointless, but I think I finally understand the raw desire behind it. Imagining doing it with Kellan seems hot.
I get out and we kiss hello. A nice kiss. Not a lot of tongue, but a lot of everything else.
Kellan explains that he’s giving the Huracan a proper wash after being at the track yesterday. It’s not good to let bug guts sit on the paint because they’re acidic and can damage it.
That’s more than I ever wanted to know about dead bugs, but I’m glad he told me. My car looks like it was painted in dead bugs. Pitiful.
He suggests I should wash my car more often.
I pick up the garden hose and point the yellow plastic spray nozzle at him and suggest he mind his own business.
Kellan eyes the yellow nozzle. “You wouldn’t.”
“Those Daisy Dukes would look even sexier if they were wet.”
“These are not Daisy Dukes, they’re Candiani and I got them in Milan and they were very expensive and don’t you dare.”
Candy cane or not, I let him have it. Full stream, right in the crotch. And the chest.
He turns sideways and comes toward me.
I drop the hose and run for it.
Kellan picks up the blue plastic bucket of sudsy water and chases me.
I run through the house and out to the pool. “You’re not really going to throw a bucket of gross, dirty water on me, are you?”
He sets it down and slowly comes closer. “No. But I will make you go swimming in your clothes.”
“What?”
He grabs me quick as a cat, picks me up, and jumps into the pool with me in his arms.
We come up laughing. I want to be indignant but I’m having too much fun. But it’s a good thing I tossed my purse and phone on the sectional as I fled through the house.
We start kissing.
Then we start peeling off each other’s clothes. His little denim shorts come right off. He is indeed going commando. My clothes are more involved, but soon we’re totally naked, skinny dipping. There’s still some daylight and it’s so hot to be swimming naked when it isn’t night time yet.
“This is so hot,” I tell him. I wind up fellating him while he sits on the edge of the pool. The cement is still warm from the afternoon sun. I squeeze and suck and pump his cock, really working it, massaging and kneading it, making it bigger and bigger and bigger. I suck it and pull on it, and slap it against my lips and face. I can’t get enough of it.
Kellan reclines on his elbows, his feet dangling in the pool. He watches as I spend some quality time with his penis. He’s breathing heavily and grunting, especially when I work the head.
After about 20 minutes, I decide to finish him off. I squeeze the shaft tightly and suck on the head, jerking him up and down really fast. “Come in my mouth.”
“It is so hot when you say that,” he gasps.
About a minute later, he erupts in my mouth.
I swallow every warm, sweet drop. “It tastes…fruity. And kinda spicy. Like…some kind of tropical fruit flavor with nutmeg. Oh, I know: pumpkin pie.”
“It’s a supplement I take.”
“What does it do?”
“It’s supposed to make your sperm healthy and your semen taste good.”
“It works.”
“That’s good to know.”
“No one has ever told you that before?”
“You’re the first one to taste it since I’ve started using it.”
I like this. I like experiencing things with Kellan that are firsts for both of us. “Good.”
Kellan leads me to the Jacuzzi, where the water is much warmer. He has me sit on the edge. He makes a show of spreading my legs. He then kisses his way from my knee to my inner thigh and finally to my vagina. I’m so wet. My head nearly explodes when Kellan puts his tongue inside me.
He proceeds to work his magic.
I climax twice. The first one happens within a few minutes because I am so turned on from having pleasured him. I’m ready to stop but he’s not. He continues eating me, devouring me, sucking and licking and making love to me with his long tongue. He swirls it around inside me while he massages my clitoris with his fingers. I come again, even harder. I never knew, or in a million-billion years would have suspected, that I am multiorgasmic.
Just one of the many new discoveries I’ve made with Kellan.
We spend the rest of the evening relaxing in the spa. We watch the sky darken to night and the stars come out. Kellan points out several constellations and I say that I see them but I’m not sure I do.
When we get hungry, he goes inside and whips us up a feast of two ready-meals and two protein shakes, beef with broccoli topped with a sweet, sugar-free glaze. It reminds me of Panda Express, except the meat is far better.
I mess around on my phone, looking at tweets and Instagram posts, mostly of Kellan’s account and all the pictures he put up from the track yesterday. It’s mostly just the cars, though. None of the kids. When I ask him why, he says he doesn’t do it for recognition.
It makes me love him even more.
Kellan reads from Prisoner of Azkaban. He’s nearly done with it. I hope he moves on to Goblet, which is my favorite.
We float naked in the spa. It’s amazing how long we can go without speaking. Yet it’s okay. It’s not awkward. I don’t feel like he’s waiting for me to speak. We’re content simply being together.
Out of the blue, Kellan says, “This is how Sunday nights should be.”
I wholeheartedly agree.
Chapter 7
THE NEXT FEW weeks are wonderful.
We spend nearly every day together. And definitely every night.
We do cardio in the morning.
We lift weights in the afternoon.
We make love at night.
And in the morning.
And in the afternoon.
In bed.
In the shower.
In the home gym.
In the spa.
On the sectional.
On the bathroom counter.
We even make love on the diving board one evening. We’re in the pool swimming naked one night around 11:00, after I’ve just gotten home from work and Kellan has been on the computer all day Skyping with online training clients, earning more money because he wants to pay off the new Aventador in three years instead of ten. He comments that he’s always wanted to make love on the diving board.
Without giving myself time to overthink it, I grab him by the hand and lead him up the steps out of the pool and around the deck to the diving board. I step up onto it and pull him with me. Kellan sits on the springy end over the water, with his legs dangling, and somehow I manage to sit in his lap. He guides himself inside me.
My breath catches as he fills me. Wow. Wow wow wow.
Kellan wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, rocking me gently, so he moves inside me.
Within a few minutes, we’re bouncing like crazy, up and down, up and down on the end of the diving board. The springiness is an interesting addition.
I squeeze fistfuls of Kellan’s hair and push my tongue into his mouth as far as I can. I can’t get enough of him.
I know he really likes it when I do that because he grunts and groans deep in his throat. A couple of minutes later, he’s getting close. I bounce up and down harder, determined to ride him better than he’s ever been ridden before in his entire life.
We fall off the diving board and into the pool.
I manage to take a deep breath before we go under.
The next thing I know, Kellan is treading water, with one arm still curled around my waist. He swims to the nearest step, stands up out of the water, sits on the edge of the pool, and resumes making love.
He bites my neck and begins sucking.
> Chills go through my entire body and I am lost in it once more.
Several long, heavenly minutes later, he’s starting to come.
I hold tight to his hair so I can keep my tongue in his mouth.
Our eyes are open and we’re staring at one another.
He comes inside me.
His erection gets so hard. I actually feel the pulsations, followed by the warmth, and then things get very slippery down there, even more than they already were.
That does it for me.
Feeling his semen lubricating us and staring into his eyes and watching his face and hearing him grunt and breathe heavily while he comes sends me over the edge. I clamp down around him and now it’s my turn to try to keep my eyes open, to breathe heavily and grunt while we maintain eye contact.
At last our mouths separate and we gasp for air.
I press my forehead to his.
We hold each other as we come down, enjoying the ecstasy.
I’m not certain how long we sit there, but it’s long enough that I start to shiver a bit. Kellan carries me while I straddle him. He’s still inside me. He lowers us slowly into the hot, bubbling water of the Jacuzzi. The underwater LEDs make the water glow with purple and red light.
Kellan floats in the water, with me in his lap, wrapped in his arms.
It’s a perfect conclusion to our day.
THE DAYS CONTINUE to tick by, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been.
We eat and train and make love.
And do laundry. Lots and lots of laundry, constantly washing our workout clothes. Kellan says not to let them sit in the laundry basket or they’ll get stinky and will never get unstinky, no matter how many times we wash them.
We wash a lot of dishes, too. Mostly shaker cups. Kellan has about a dozen of them. We do our best to wash them immediately after use, and not to let them accumulate in the kitchen sink and on the kitchen counter and in the car and in our gym bag. I forget a dirty shaker in my car one day and it rolls onto the floor and under my seat. I find it four days later. When I open it, the stench just about knocks me over. It nearly singes my nose hairs. I won’t do that again.