Iron Princess (Iron Palace Book 2)
Page 23
Kellan laughs. “That is awesome.”
“But then, senior year, I had a suite that shared an actual bathroom with one other person so I got rid of the bucket. But I never felt like I needed a whole bunch of friends. I’d rather have two or three close friends that I know and trust, people I know are my actual friends and not just fair-weather friends or acquaintances who are nice to you at parties or at bars or clubs but never call you just to hang out and watch TV. What about you? You seem like Mister Popularity. You must’ve rushed a frat.”
“Nope. I didn’t pledge. I didn’t rush. Nothing. I went to one meeting and I asked about hazing because I’d heard all these stories about the crazy stuff that goes on like guys pushing pennies across campus with their nose or being kidnapped in the middle of the night in their underwear and driven out into the country and dropped off with twenty-five cents and told to be back at the frat house by sunrise.”
“In their underwear?”
“Yeah.”
“With just a quarter?”
“Yeah. For a phone call, I guess.”
“What the hell is that supposed to teach them?”
“I don’t know. Resourcefulness, maybe. Overcoming fear of being in public in your underwear. I didn’t pledge so I never found out. The squirter did, though. I remember she got accepted by three out of the four sororities she rushed and she was all crying and upset the day she had to choose only one. So, yeah, maybe it was the little abused fat kid inside me rearing his head and refusing to be subjected to that kind of stuff. But in the end, I didn’t join. I had too much to do, anyway. I had to study and train.”
“Did you play sports in college?”
“Oh God no. I sucked at football in high school so there was no way I was going to get a scholarship. No, I trained because I loved it. I trained for me, for my own enjoyment. That’s why I train to this day. I love it. I love spending hours pumping iron. It just feels good. Plus I don’t like how my body feels, and, let’s be honest, how it looks, when I don’t train. Use it or lose it.”
I’m listening to Kellan but I’m wondering what he meant when he said ‘abused fat kid’. “What did you mean when you said ‘abused fat kid’?”
“Huh?”
“A minute ago you said you didn’t join a fraternity because of all the hazing, and you guessed the abused fat kid inside you refused to be subjected to that sort of thing.”
“Oh. Um, just typical adolescent stuff, you know? Abuse at school, being bullied by other kids. That sort of thing.”
“Oh. Okay.” I get the feeling Kellan is leaving something out. But I decide not to pry. I have a dark past of my own. One I refuse to let myself think about. “So, I’ve lost track of what we were talking about. Relationships? Contraception?”
Kellan takes a deep breath and lets it out. “You were telling me about your past partners. There are still two unaccounted for.”
“Oh. Well, the third was Tommy Warcraft.”
“Who?”
I realize I haven’t yet shared this story with Kellan. Oy.
I recount how I met Tommy at a Goth club and we went out very, very briefly and how he liked getting blowjobs and how he always pushed on the back of my head while I did it. And one day, after eating way, way, way too much Taco Bell together, we were in the middle of me fellating him when he pushed on the back of my head really hard and kept doing it. I gagged several times. And then I threw up. All over his crotch. And then he got up and went to his computer and started playing Warcraft. And his first name was Tommy. And that was the last time I gave oral or was sexual with a guy in any way before I met Kellan.
“Did that really happen?”
“Hell yes it really happened. Are you kidding? It was one of the worst days of my life. Of course it happened. Having a guy push on the back of your head with both hands and ramming his dick down your throat so far you actually vomit is not something you soon forget. Unfortunately.”
“And he really got up with Taco Bell vomit all over his crotch and went to his computer and played Warcraft without showering or changing clothes or anything?”
“Yep.”
“And you just got up and left?”
“Yep.”
“And that was it? You never heard from him again and he never called to say sorry or anything?”
“Nope.”
“Wow. The guy sounds like an insensitive prick but I guess we can commend him for his commitment to his guild or his clan or whatever. So who’s number four?”
“You.”
Kellan grins his dazzling smile.
At that moment, I understand why so many women threw themselves at him. It’s kind of hard not to. Denise did; she’s my best friend and even she couldn’t resist him.
But I’m also acutely aware of the fact that I’m the girl sitting here in bed with him. Naked. His semen still inside me.
I’m the one he just said he’s in love with.
Wow.
I really don’t know how I got here, why Kellan came and started talking to me at the gym that night. But for the moment, I don’t care.
He’s here with me.
I’m here with him.
That’s all that matters.
I’m suddenly overwhelmed with love and adoration for him. My heart swells and I want to cry. I get up on my knees, letting the soft white bed sheet fall, and I curl my arms around his neck and hug him. Good and tight. Kellan rises to his knees, facing me, and curls his arms around my body. He’s so warm and soft.
I look into his eyes and the words come out before I can think to stop them, “I love you. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
We kiss, pressing our lips together for a long time.
Passion overwhelms me and I want Kellan. I want him desperately. The depth of my need and longing is as powerful as the fear and doubt and confusion I’ve allowed to creep into my mind during the last eighteen hours.
I open my mouth to him and our tongues meet. I take Kellan’s head and face in my hands and kiss him intensely, just as he does the same to me. We’re kissing and moaning and breathing.
My body reacts.
So does Kellan’s.
His erection lifts up and pushes between my legs as we kneel facing one another. Kellan sits down and pulls me onto his lap, with my legs wrapped around him.
I take him inside me.
I don’t know if there are perhaps some traces of Viagra still working in his body, but he feels divine.
He caresses my breasts, my shoulders, my back. His warm, strong hands explore my entire body. They settle on my hips and he pulls me closer, easing himself deeper inside me.
I rock my hips, sliding up and down the length of him. It feels wonderful and I want to pleasure him. I clutch fistfuls of his hair and kiss him hard.
We press our foreheads together and look down, watching the penetration.
I’m getting close. Quickly. Surprisingly so. “Oh, God, Kellan…”
“Oh, God, Claire…”
“I’m going to come.”
“Yes. Yes. Come.”
“Let’s come together. Come inside me. Come inside me, baby.”
“Oh God Claire…”
Kellan moans, his hands working my hips feverishly as I match him with my hips.
“I’m coming, Claire. I’m coming.”
I feel the heat inside me. It puts me over the edge instantly. Everything inside me tightens and I can’t breathe. My eyes close and I’m lost in it completely. All I know is Kellan’s warm body against mine, our bodies united.
At last the tension begins to ebb. I can breathe again. I feel Kellan’s warm, precious semen inside me. God, it turns me on.
“Wow,” he murmurs.
“What?”
“That was some morning sex. I think I came even harder than I did last night.”
“Me too.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Can you feel it when I come inside you
?”
“Yes.”
“What does it feel like?”
“Warm. Wet.”
“It’s not gross?”
“Gross? No, I love it. Why would it be gross?”
“Just checking. Some women are semen phobic. They’re not too fond of the joy juice.”
“I sort of was, I guess, until I met you.”
“You don’t mind having it in your mouth or swallowing it?”
“No. Why do you think I swallowed it at Denise’s and Mark’s Halloween party? Remember, in the bathroom?”
“Oh, I remember. Denise said you had semen breath.”
“She was so envious. She wanted to take Mark into the bathroom and blow him but he was already passed out in the middle of the living room floor.”
“She also said his tastes like Clorox. So, you really don’t mind having it in your mouth or on your face?”
“Not yours. Why?”
“You know who Peter North is?”
“No.”
“He’s a porn star. That’s the ultimate misnomer, by the way: porn star. Point being that I’m not a big porn guy, but he was popular when I was in high school and was discovering all this stuff. Anyway, I saw this scene where he ejaculated on a woman’s face and it was a lot. I mean, a lot. He was known for his quantity. He must’ve held it for, like, a month. Because it was a lot, even for him. When he came on this poor girl, he covered her entire face. It was insane. It almost looked fake. Except it wasn’t. And the thing is, she started to gag. It wasn’t even arousing because the whole thing was so disturbing.”
“Did she barf?”
“No. She gagged a couple times and he asked her if she was all right and she said yes and then it was pretty much over. But ever since then, I’ve been worried that my semen is… revolting or repulsive.”
“It’s not. I love it. And I love you. So don’t worry. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I kiss him to underscore my point.
It’s fascinating to learn that men are insecure about their baby batter. I always figured they were only worried about the size of their penis or how much they can bench press or how much money they make or what kind of car they drive.
But to learn that Kellan has had a longstanding concern that his stuff not be repugnant shows how considerate he is. It also explains why he takes supplements to enhance his flavor.
It makes me love him even more.
Him and his baby batter.
His joy juice. Such funny euphemisms. “Joy juice, huh?”
Kellan laughs. “Yeah. There’s so many words for it.
“Man milk.
“Wiener sauce.
“Wang paste.
“Willymilk.
“Gentleman’s relish.
“Throat yogurt.
“Nut butter.
“Penis colada.
“Trouser gravy.
“Love custard.
“Hot vanilla latte.
“Whore’s toothpaste.”
By this point he has me laughing.
I read once that laughter during or after sex is good. It’s healthy.
Kellan and I remain in our post-coital position, facing one another. He remains inside me. I love it. Oh, how I love it.
I lean against Kellan, resting my head on his shoulder. He traces his fingers lightly up and down my back. It gives me chills.
I stretch my legs but they hurt when I flex my quads. It makes me laugh. It feels good and I like it. Perhaps it’s the long talk or the morning sex or both, but I’m feeling very optimistic, and all that dumb insecurity seems very petty and far away. “What should we do today?”
Kellan grunts.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No,” he says, “my stomach hurts a little. I think it’s the pizza constipating me.”
“You need to get up?”
“No, I’m okay. What would you like to do today? Whatever you want to do, we’ll do. It’s up to you.”
“Well, we could stay here in the room and make each other orgasm all day.”
“That sounds fun.”
“Or, I have a shiny new convertible outside that I’m itching to drive. We could take a drive and see what she can do.”
“That also sounds fun.”
“I wish I didn’t have to work tomorrow.”
“So don’t.”
“What?”
“Call your boss and tell her you need another couple of days to decompose like George Costanza during the Summer of George.”
It hadn’t occurred to me to ask for more time off. “You think I should?”
“Of course I think you should, but it doesn’t matter what I think. It’s your call. Can you afford it? Missing a couple shifts won’t make you unable to pay your rent, will it?”
“No, I have enough.”
“At the risk of being a bad influence, I absolutely think you should.” Kellan grunts again and wrinkles his nose as he rubs his stomach.
I slide off of him, sadly, and grab my phone off the TV stand, then get back into the big white fluffy bed. “I hope she won’t get mad or freak out or anything.”
“All she can say is no. No big deal.”
I dial Nancy’s cell. I think my ass is sweating.
She answers on the second ring. “Hi, Claire.”
“Hi, Nancy. Are you busy?”
“No, not really. Just returning calls and emails to prospects.”
“Anything promising?”
“Yeah, I got a call from a very nice man who said he got my number from you on an airplane. It’s a big wedding for five hundred but I don’t know if we have enough chairs. Maintenance is checking and I’m waiting for the board to approve buying more if it’s in the budget. Or we’ll just rent them. And I need to see if Chris can handle it.”
“Chris?”
“Yeah, Hoyt left early so Chris is officially Head Chef.”
“Wow.”
“Yep. So thank you for the referral. It’s a good one. What’s up?”
“You’re welcome. Um, well, I’m in San Diego with Kellan.”
“And you want more time off?”
“How did you know?”
“If I were holed-up in a swanky San Diego hotel room with Mister Universe, I wouldn’t want to come back to work, either.”
My phone pings as a text arrives, but I don’t read it yet.
“Is it okay?” I ask. “I know I’m on the schedule for tomorrow and Wednesday, and we have the big annual fashion show Thursday.”
“Yes, it’s fine.”
“Are you sure? I feel bad calling and flaking on you like this.”
“Claire, it’s fine. Bruce and Terry are both bugging me for more hours so I’ll give each of them one of your shifts.”
“Are you sure it’s okay?”
“Yes, it’s fine, Claire. You need this. Stay with Kellan. Have fun. Get laid. Get it while the getting is good. Get it while you can.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. I simply mean that you’re young and you deserve some you-know-what. Just have fun. But be back for Thursday’s fashion show. We’ll need you for that for sure. Okay? Eleven a.m.”
We conclude the call and hang up. What did she mean about getting it while I can? Does she think this thing with Kellan is temporary?
Doesn’t matter.
I’m going to do what Kellan said and ignore all that stuff.
I turn to Kellan. “She said yes.”
“Great.”
“I need to be back in town Wednesday night, though. I have to be at work at eleven on Thursday.”
“That gives us all day today, tonight, all day tomorrow and tomorrow night, and then we can take our time driving home Wednesday. You can put some smiles on that sexy new sports car.”
“Smiles?”
“Miles.”
“Oh. You said ‘smiles’.”
“I did? Well, those, too.” He grunts again. “Must be my stomach. Be right back.”
“You okay?” I call.
“It feels like I’m shitting a knife!” he calls back in a high-pitched, uncanny Amy Poehler impression.
Baby Mama. Good one.
I check my phone; the text is from Denise.
Whuddup, girl?
You choke to death
on K-Man’s
can of Pringles dick
yet?
Lord. Talk about vulgar and intrusive. A can of Pringles. Honestly.
I hear the toilet flush.
Then Kellan’s voice, frantic and loud, “Oh God, no no no no no no!”
It’s quiet.
The sink runs and Kellan comes out, drying his hands on a white hotel towel.
“That was close.”
“What?”
“It almost overflowed. See, that’s one of the reasons I stopped eating wheat and flour-based junk. It turns into sludge and it hurts going through me. Coming out, too. That doesn’t happen with protein and veggies and fruit.”
Kellan returns to bed. “Was that Denise wondering if you’re alive?”
“How’d you know?”
“Intuition.”
I show him the text message.
Kellan laughs, perhaps harder than I’ve ever heard him laugh.
“A can of Pringles? Who does she think I am? The Rock?”
“Is the Rock really that big?”
“I don’t know. Probably not that big. Shaquille O’Neal might be.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. He’s seven feet tall and wears a size twenty-three shoe.”
I take Kellan’s lovely, delectable, perfect penis in my fist and give it a squeeze and a tug.
“Oh, God…” he gasps. “Um… before all my blood drains out of my big head and goes into my little head, did we decide what we’re going to do today? Because I have an idea.”
“What idea?” I ask, and then begin sucking the head of his penis.
“Uh… um…”
I continue sucking and licking and stroking and squeezing while I wait for him to answer.
Four or five minutes later, I’m still waiting.
I sit up. “What idea?”
Kellan’s eyes finally look up from his penis, which is now thoroughly engorged despite his previous orgasm a short while ago. “What?”
“You said you had an idea.” I take him in my mouth and resume the stalwart fellating.