GirlNextDoor

by Lyra Marlowe

Nolan nodded, smiled. “Yeah. Sure.” Then he paused. “I wonder what the hell they did with my car.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The fourth condom was gone, and John Krulak was, ever so slightly, dissatisfied.

  He wasn’t exactly sure why.

  Nolan was working the night shift, covering for Griffin. John had taken the opportunity to invite Lucy to spend the night with him, and she’d eagerly accepted. She’d brought an overnight bag, Chinese carry-out and a six-pack of Kirin beer.

  They had had dinner, good conversation and very good, very conventional sex. John had gotten everything he wanted. He had Lucy naked—a first—in his bed—another first—and all the time in the world. He’d had time to kiss her, caress her, taste her. Time to make her come repeatedly before he’d mounted her missionary style, rode her and came with her.

  Now she was warm and naked beside him, curled under a light blanket, dozing. It had been a perfect evening, complete with effortless seduction. He should be happy.

  But there was something uneasy in him, edgy, unsatisfied.

  It wasn’t the first time John had felt this way. With Tammi, the big-breasted blonde he’d pursued for weeks, it had been the same way. Before that…what was her name? Kathy, Katy? It didn’t matter. The truth was that conventional sex wasn’t making it for him anymore.

  Lucy had been different. In the alley, in the shed, in the van, she had been different enough to get him off all the way, to leave him completely satisfied. But now that John had her here, in his bed, like he wanted—like he’d thought he wanted—it wasn’t quite enough. Yet she had been perfect, willing, responsive. Which meant that his problem wasn’t with the women at all.

  He was the problem.

  Lately, John’s fantasies were better than his real sex life. Those fantasies weren’t about women at all. They were mostly about…

  Lucy stirred, came up on one elbow. “Want to try something new?”

  John was startled. “Uh, sure, but I’m not a teenager, Lucy.”

  “We’ll see how it goes.” Lucy slid out of bed and stretched, and John was reminded just how spectacular her body was. “Stay there,” she purred, and went out.

  John listened while she ran water in the bathroom, moved to the living room, and then the kitchen. The microwave beeped, and he frowned. The microwave? But the anticipation stirred in him again. Something new with Lucy? It had to be good.

  She made him feel like a teenager. In perpetual heat.

  She came back to the bedroom bearing a bottle of lotion, a washcloth and the last bottle of Kirin. “Thirsty?” she asked.

  John took the bottle and took a long drink. He nearly choked on it as she began to wipe down his cock with the washcloth. It was damp and very warm. “Relax,” she said quietly, and he did, taking another slug of beer as she carefully, gently cleaned him.

  Something more than water on the washcloth, he realized. It left behind a cool, tingly feeling, mild and pleasant. Finished, Lucy put the washcloth aside. She took the beer back, took a long drink, and put it aside too. Reaching for the lotion, she said, “Roll over.”

  John hesitated.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Lucy laughed. “I just want to touch you.”

  Intrigued, trusting, John stretched out on his stomach. Lucy pulled the top sheet and blanket all the way off the end of the bed. She placed his hands over his head, palms down, elbows bent, so that he was comfortable. Then she covered her hands with the lotion.

  She started between his shoulder blades, both hands on his spine. The lotion was very warm—that explained the microwave—and the heat seemed to soak in as her hands slid over his back. It had a spicy smell, like cinnamon, but not quite. It felt wonderful.

  Her hands were firm, strong, knowing. She lingered on his back, kneading the muscles in his shoulders before moving down each arm, caressing his palms and each individual finger, adding more lotion as she needed it. She moved to his neck, then down his spine, lingering again in the small of his back until he released the tension there. There was nothing overtly sexual about the massage, but he was growing aroused again anyhow. Her touch, her closeness and his sense that she was memorizing every inch of his body all went into his skin and gathered gently in his cock.

  So when her hands finally reached his ass, he sighed deeply, groaned as her fingers worked his muscles with slow, deep strokes. When she stroked gently down the crack of his ass, her fingers sliding past his opening, his hips came up to meet her.

  “Shh,” she whispered. Her hands moved lower, massaging his thighs, then his calves and finally his feet. His arousal subsided a little, and he relaxed under her hands.

  God, John thought, this feels good. It didn’t escape his notice that she was in charge again. He’d always been a leader, sexually speaking, always making the first move, always calling the plays—and almost always on top. But something about Lucy made him want to let her have her way. He trusted that her sensuality and her own passion would take them both where they wanted to go. He was learning that it could be very pleasant not to be in charge.

  Lucy worked her way back up to his back, leaned close to his ear. “Roll over, love.”

  He did so eagerly.

  She started on his face, her firm fingers tracing over his forehead, his cheeks, his chin, light over his eyes and lips, solid on his jaw. He kept his eyes closed as her hands worked lower, over his chest, rubbing his nipples only incidentally, but they were hard and sensitive now. She worked down each arm, rubbing his hands again, leaving a kiss in each palm before resuming her work on his body. John’s cock was now half-erect, awaiting her touch to bring it fully awake. But when she got there, she kept her hands off, working across his abdomen and down his thighs, barely grazing his balls. John felt his breath quicken as his anticipation grew.

  She worked down his left leg and back up, and then down his right. Then, unexpectedly, she bent and took his big toe in her mouth.

  Foot fetishes were something John had never thought he’d understand—until Lucy bit down and the thrill ran straight up to his cock, bringing it fully erect, bringing his hips up off the bed again. She grinned and released the toe with a satisfied “pop”.

  Then she knelt between his feet, looking up past his sundial erection to meet his eyes. “I love your body, John.”

  John grinned. “It loves you back.”

  She put her hands on his legs and slid up until she was kneading his thighs, her hands in the creases on each side of his scrotum. She bent and planted a warm kiss on the head of his cock. John groaned with pleasure. Her hands came up to gather lotion from his chest, then returned to cradle his balls, applied it to his shaft.

  “God,” John breathed. He would not have believed that he could want her this badly, this soon.

  The hand that had cupped his balls slid lower, tracing over the delicate flesh, finding the puckered opening. John tensed involuntarily and she stopped, just resting her fingers there. “Do you want me to stop?” she asked softly.

  John shook his head. “I don’t know. Nobody ever did that before.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I think so.”

  She made no attempt to enter him, but stroked the rim with slippery, tender fingers. “Tell me when you don’t like it.”

  There was, John thought, no chance of that.

  A single fingertip slipped inside and rubbed gently. John felt himself jerking upward, uncontrollable, his cock sliding through her other hand with every motion. If he hadn’t had her so recently, he would have come right then. As it was, she knew exactly how close he was, how much longer he could hold out.

  “I want you to like it,” she said, “because I want you to understand.”

  The finger went a fraction deeper, and John nearly screamed with pleasure. “Understand?” he gasped.

  Lucy nodded. “How it feels. Why I like it. Why I want you to fuck me there.”

  John thought for a moment his heart had stopped. He was sure he had stopped breathing. How d
id she know? “Will you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” John answered at once. “But I never have before.”

  “I’ll teach you,” Lucy promised. “We need another condom.”

  John reached for the bedside table awkwardly, trying not to dislodge either of her hands. He gave her the condom, and she slid both hands away from his body.

  “Three things,” she said quietly as she unwrapped it. “One, always use a condom and lots of lube.” She unrolled the condom expertly over his aching erection. “Two, if you’re with a woman and you want to switch back to straight sex, you need a new condom.” She swirled her hands over his abdomen, gathering the extra lotion, applying it to the outside of the condom. “Three, when you feel resistance, stop and wait until it goes away. Don’t try to push through it. It hurts. Okay?”

  “Okay,” John answered, reaching for her.

  Lucy eluded him. “Not here. Come with me.” She slid off the end of the bed and crawled over to the full-length sliding mirrored door to his closet, pulling the blanket with her.

  She knelt on the blanket, facing the mirror, her beautiful ass toward him. John knelt behind her, his erection poking her already. He was wildly excited, and yet a little worried. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Absolutely.” Then she added, “Go slow.” She reached back to guide him with one hand, bending forward and supporting her weight with the other. The head of his cock pressed against her opening, but John still hesitated. She was so tight, not yielding at all to the gentle push he gave, and he did not, did not, did not want to hurt her.

  She pushed back against him, hard, forcing the head of his cock inside her. “Not that slow,” she gasped. She put her other hand on the floor and pushed against him again.

  It was all John could do to hold still. He couldn’t believe how tight her ass was, how different this felt—and how good. He didn’t care about anything but the incredible sensations that centered on his cock and radiated to every nerve of his body. It was like being held in a fist, like nothing he’d ever felt.

  She moved again, pushing him deeper. His hands tightened on her hips, drawing her closer still but remembering to go slow. Slowly, slowly—and then he was all the way in.

  Lucy straightened up, so that her back was against John’s chest. His hands slid around her, finding her breasts, her stomach, her waist. He began to move against her, carefully, finding the rhythm in her motion, growing familiar in responding to her.

  Amazed at how tight she remained, and how high the friction was, he knew he wouldn’t last long.

  Her hair was there, her neck, her sweet shoulders, and he nuzzled and nipped her like a stallion covering a mare. She twisted to kiss him, meeting his mouth for one searing moment before she turned back. Her arms came up and back, around his head, drawing him closer still.

  “John,” she whispered as the speed of his thrusts increased, “open your eyes.”

  Startled, he did, meeting her eyes in the mirror. The picture was rawly sexual, exquisite. Her body, from the knees up, naked and frankly displayed as a sexual object, her legs spread, her breasts upturned, nipples erect, her arms up to fully reveal them, her head back. All around her, the outline of his body, his darker, stronger legs between hers, his arms around her, his hand covering one breast. Their bodies shimmered with sweat and lotion. They were one body in the mirror, joined together, moving together, faster and stronger toward climax.

  It was too perfect, and John closed his eyes again.

  But the image had imprinted on his brain, how her whole body was open, available to his touch. He cupped one breast, his thumb rubbing the hard nipple. The other hand went lower, between her legs. She was hot and wet, and quivered at his touch. John pulled her tighter against him, thrusting faster still, on the very brink.

  Lucy cried out as her orgasm began. John opened his eyes and watched her. Her whole body went tense, stretched, reaching for it, and then she shook everywhere, muscles contracting and relaxing in waves of spasms that drew irresistibly at his tightly bound cock.

  But it was the look on her face, the absolute joy, surrender, pleasure that was almost pain, and knowing that he had gotten her there, that put him over the top. He closed his eyes, threw back his head and uttered a cry of his own.

  *

  A long, long time passed. John had carried Lucy back to the bed and they lay there, twined around each other, not sleeping, not talking, skin to skin and completely satisfied.

  Finally, Lucy spoke, very quietly. “I should go.”

  “Please stay,” John answered. Any other night, any other woman, he would have been holding the door for her already. Once they spent the night, they tended to start thinking relationship. But though he would have liked to keep this one, he knew he wouldn’t. One night, maybe two, and she’d been gone. He wanted the night. “Please. I want to wake up with you.”

  She rolled over, stretched like a cat and curled against him again. “Okay.”

  A while later, John said, “You should call Nolan.”

  “Mmm,” she purred. “He knows where I am.”

  *

  John woke to the rather pleasant feeling that someone was watching him. He opened his eyes and found Lucy awake, propped up on one elbow, gazing at him. She was unabashedly naked, her nipples for once soft and relaxed. Her hair was rumpled, and a mouth-sized spot on her neck was turning into a bruise.

  His cock was hard—morning wood, they called it back in high school—and she was staring at his erection as if it were breakfast.

  “Good morning,” he managed thickly. He could tell without looking at the clock that it was ridiculously early.

  “Hi.”

  “Been awake long?”

  “Long enough,” she answered. “Can I have that?”

  John groaned. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? I really need a shower.”

  “Perfect,” she agreed, and joined him.

  *

  “Now?” she murmured against his mouth.

  They stood chest to chest under the hot shower, the last of the soap lather drifting away. They had washed each other’s hair and then each other’s bodies, jostling back and forth under the steaming spray, rubbing against each other, and John was fully aroused.

  He was also aware that the condoms were beside the bed, two impossible rooms away. Lucy had both hands on his rigid organ now, and her tongue darting around his ear. “No… condom,” he managed to gasp.

  “Not a problem,” she promised, and dropped to her knees.

  John tensed as she moved her hands to his hips, but she made no sudden assault. Instead, she licked him very gently, first his thigh, then his cock, from base to tip. She cupped his balls in both hands, kneading gently, licking, tasting. He groaned as his knees went weak, nearly lost his balance.

  “Lean back,” Lucy said. “Put your shoulders on the wall.”

  John did, and it helped some. She slid her hands down to his ankles and moved his feet one at a time to her sides, his knees on either side of her waist, braced and relatively stable. “Better?” she asked. John nodded, and she took the head of his cock in her mouth.

  She took her time, playing with him, fingers and tongue and shower spray and teeth—sharp, hard, but careful. John was sure she wouldn’t hurt him. He threw his head back and closed his eyes. The sensations mounted. The heat, the water, the mouth on his cock, the fingers on his balls, on his ass, were incredible.

  He could get used to waking up like this.

  Her fingers stroked the lower curve of his ass, tickling a little. Then she changed directions and stoked up and down. John tensed a little as she neared his opening, and she slowed. When he relaxed, she resumed, her fingertips touching him now, stroking very gently.

  Her mouth was still on his cock. She took him deep, then released him. Nibbling the tip, she licked harder, faster and rolled the head around her tongue.

  One of her hands was busy elsewhere, each finger spread to cup and tease his balls. Then, one finger
of her other hand probed a little deeper into his opening, a tiny intrusion. He squeezed against it, and she paused, caressing. It sent fire up his spine and down his cock.

  She looked up at him, the water washing over her face like rain. “Do you want me to stop there?” She rotated her fingertip.

  “No,” John answered with certainty, trying to make himself relax those muscles. He had dreamed about this, fantasized even. His dream lover hadn’t been her though. “Don’t stop.”

  The finger went deeper, one knuckle, then two before he tensed again. She waited, wiggling gently, sucking his cock lovingly, until he was ready for more. Then, just as slowly, she added another finger.

  John felt his eyes roll back. It was too much, too many sensations, too good. He wasn’t just going to come, he was going to explode. It could only be better if…

  “Tell me who you want me to be,” Lucy said unexpectedly.

  John’s eyes snapped open and he blinked, trying to focus.

  “I can be,” she plunged her mouth over his entire cock, then sucked hard as she drew off, “any mouth you want.” She took the tip and let her teeth hold it while her tongue lapped up a drop of liquid. “Any mouth. Any fingers.” More forcefully than before, she added a third finger. “Any cock in your ass. Who do you want, John?”

  Again the mouth and the fingers pushed and retreated. “I can be anyone. Tell me who you want.”

  John threw his head back again, unable to look at her. He slipped into the fantasy for one perfect moment, almost gave in, but then fought it off. He couldn’t. Not with her, not with…

  He grabbed her hair over her ears. Her mouth took his thrusts now, obeying the rhythm his hands and hips gave her, deep, long thrusts. Her one hand squeezed his balls firmly with each thrust, and her other hand, her fingers now deep in his ass, also thrust in matching rhythm. John was almost sure he would die now as they went faster and faster, harder and deeper, fucking and being fucked in perfect synchronization.

  Then, the fantasy got too close to reality and he wanted it, wanted it, wanted it…

  He came hard, deep in her throat, his fingers laced in her hair, his ass grabbing at her fingers. He came, screaming the name from the heart of his fantasy.