by Roxie Noir
That’s the weekend, more or less. We fuck in the shower and we fuck on her couch while reruns play on her TV. She gives me a blowjob while Rocky and Bullwinkle is playing and it feels so good that I eat her out again, right there.
When I’ve come too many times in a row to do anything, I tell her to go through the toy drawer and find something she likes and just let me watch, but by the end I’m licking her while there’s a vibrator in her pussy and she’s screaming. Afterward my mouth is numb from the buzzing and Tessa pokes at my lips with her fingers and we laugh about it.
Around eight Saturday evening I raise the white flag, sprawled face-down in her bed. She’s next to me in the same position.
“I have to stop for a while,” I say. “I’m gonna start coming spinal fluid.”
She wrinkles her nose.
“Ew,” she says.
“It’s your fault,” I say.
“It’s not my fault you phrased it like that,” she says.
I just grin.
“Sex monster,” I say.
She rolls her eyes.
“I am not,” she says.
I push myself up and then smack her ass, because it’s there and I can. She yelps.
“Would the sex monster like pizza?” I ask, getting out of bed.
“You cannot call me that,” she says, over her shoulder.
I ignore that and find my phone to order a pizza, then sit on the couch. She’s covered it with a sheet, “Because, you know, fluids,” and I lean back and turn on her TV.
A few minutes later she walks out and collapses next to me, curling her legs under her and leaning her head against me. Like we’re a normal couple, or something.
I’m pretty sure we’re not, but at some point yesterday I decided to quit wondering whether she likes me likes me or not and just enjoy the weekend. We can talk about us later.
I flip through movies on her TV, and I’m scrolling past Rocky III when she puts her hand on my wrist and turns it.
“Oh,” she says. “For a second I thought you got rid of the scorpion.”
“I probably should,” I say. “I like it, though.”
“Did people really call you that?” she asks, sounding skeptical.
“They did,” I say. “El Escorpion in Spanish.”
She swallows, quiet. Her eyes are on the tattoo, and I wish I could tell what she was thinking. Then she moves her hand up my arm.
“What’s the snake?” she asks.
I shrug.
“Just a badass snake,” I say.
“The saint on your shoulder is Guadalupe, right?”
I raise my arm and kiss the Virgin of Guadalupe tattoo, Mary wearing her starry blue mantle, surrounded by a red and orange halo.
“Yup,” I say. “Is this the tattoo quiz?”
“Does everyone do this to you?” she asks. “It’s probably annoying.”
I just laugh and put the remote down, propping my feet on her coffee table.
“I usually lie,” I say.
“Are you lying now?”
“No.”
She moves her head and runs her fingers along the tattoo on my left shoulder and bicep, the mirror of Guadalupe on my right arm.
“Who’s this?”
It’s another saint, also wearing a robe with her hands in a prayer position, rosary dangling from her fingers, but she’s a skeleton.
“La Santa Muerte,” I say.
“Saint Death?” she asks, her fingers still on my arm.
“Something like that,” I say. “When I was nineteen, I told her that if I made it to twenty I’d get this tattoo. Here I am, so there she is.”
“It worked,” she says. “You’re keeping her?”
“I wouldn’t want to see what happens if I don’t,” I say, only half-teasing.
“You believe this stuff,” she says.
“I don’t not believe it.”
“Still?”
“Yeah,” I say.
Her fingers slide down my arm again and I turn my hand so my palm is facing up on my thigh. I know she’s looking at the tattoo that’s just two dates: 5/2/1984 - 4/13/2004.
Javier’s tattoo.
“That’s your brother, right?” she asks softly, her fingers at the edge of the lettering.
I look at her, surprised.
“How’d you know that?” I ask.
“You said he died when he was nineteen,” she says. “I put two and two together.”
“Oh,” I say, and look down at the tattoo. It feels strange that she’s known this whole time, like she was holding onto a piece of me I didn’t know she had.
“What was his name?” she asks, leaning her head against La Santa Muerte.
“Javier,” I say. My mouth feels sticky when I say it, because it’s a name I haven’t said to anyone in years. My mom won’t talk about him, and it’s been so long since he died that I’m not sure anyone else remembers.
“Javier,” she says. “That’s a good name.”
“He was six years older than me,” I say slowly.
I don’t know how to tell this story because I’ve never told it before, because everyone either knew already or didn’t need to know.
“Were you close?” she asks.
“I pretty much worshipped him,” I say. I’m just staring at the dates on my arm. “I’m sure it drove him crazy to have some kid tagging along all the time, but God, I thought he was so cool.”
I go quiet for a moment.
“He got shot,” I finally say. “We both did, but I got shot in the arm and he got shot in the chest, right in front of our house. Rampart 18th drive by.”
My memory of it is still vivid and sharp around the edges, like it’s made of glass. I’m walking home from school. He’s there, talking to someone. He sees me and nods.
A car squeals around the corner and the guy Javier’s talking to shouts OH, SHIT but before anyone can do anything there’s gunfire and men shouting from a car. Something hits my arm and knocks me backward and the car is gone.
For a second there’s total silence, so much silence it’s heavy and eerie even though my arm is on fire, and then I hear Javier gasp, a loud, ragged, wrong sound. I look over and his hands are both pawing at his chest, an astonished look on his face.
It takes him a couple minutes to die, and all I can do is cry and shout no.
I tell it all to Tessa, the first time I’ve ever told it all to anyone.
“Jesus,” she whispers.
“I’m older now than he ever was,” I say. “It’s still weird that to think that I can do something he didn’t do first. In another year I’ll have lived longer without him than I did with him.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she laces her fingers through mine and squeezes my hand.
“I’m glad you made it out,” she says.
“Me too,” I answer, and kiss her on the top of her head.
I fight the overwhelming urge to say something silly, like because now I’m here with you.
After a moment I speak up again.
“You ever seen The Rock?” I ask.
“Is that the one about Alcatraz?” she asks.
“Hell yes,” I say, and hit play.
We’re still holding hands. We hold hands until the pizza guy comes and Tessa scrambles to put on her robe and answer the door, and then we eat pizza.
We miss the end of the movie because we’re fucking on the couch.
38
Tessa
I still haven’t talked to him by late Sunday afternoon. I mean, we’ve talked, we just haven’t talked about us. We’ve been talking almost nonstop when we’re not fucking.
It turns out Alex is smarter and funnier than I gave him credit for. He’s still stubborn as hell and pigheaded to boot, but even though we almost get into a fight over what kind of delivery to get he’s always interesting.
We both take showers, separately for once, and while he’s in there I take a minute to clean the pizza boxes and takeout containers from my a
partment. I even light some candles, even though I have a feeling that this place will smell like sex for at least a month straight.
Finally, I sigh and hear the water in the shower shut off. My stomach clenches as I put dishes into the dishwasher.
We are going to have The Talk, and we’re going to do it right now.
The bathroom door opens, and Alex walks into the bedroom, probably getting his clothes. My mind is a blur, all the wheels spinning too fast, not helped by the completely outrageous amount of sex we’ve had this weekend.
This was fun but we need to discuss what’s going on here, I practice to myself.
Ugh, that sounds like I’m scolding a child for something. I wish I’d done this yesterday, or Friday, because now it’s hanging over my head.
Alex walks into the kitchen, still totally naked. I guess he wasn’t getting his clothes.
“Cleaning up already?” he asks, coming over to me.
“I’m going to work tomorrow,” I say, sliding the top shelf of the dishwasher closed.
He leans forward and kisses the top of my head.
Not a thing fuckbuddies do, I think.
“Me too,” he says. “I don’t think I’d survive another day of you, tiger.”
“Poor thing,” I tease. “You’ve had a rough weekend.”
Open your mouth and start talking to him, I think, but then I realize he’s got both hands behind his back and a shit-eating grin on his face.
I narrow my eyes.
“What?” I ask.
My body responds before he even says anything. I think it’s a Pavlovian response. After this weekend I’m just conditioned to get wet any time he makes that face.
“You want to find out?” he says.
“It’s why I asked,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.
“You’re gonna have to work for it,” he warns.
“I’m probably not that curious.”
“It’ll be worth your while,” he says.
“I need more information,” I say, pretending like I’m not sure if I want to do this or not. “How worth my while?”
“Oh, I think you’re gonna like this, tiger,” he says, his voice going raspy. He takes a step toward me.
“I can be the judge of that,” I say. I don’t budge, even though I agree with him.
“You can start by getting back in bed,” he says.
I just tilt my head to one side and look at him, and he licks his lips. I’m molten already, heat rising through my body like it’s ninety degrees in here.
“Tessa,” he says. “I swear to God I’ll just carry you in there. You know I can do it.”
I reach out one finger and slide it down his chest, getting wetter by the second.
“Just because you want something, you can’t just—”
He doesn’t wait for more. He just picks me up, and I yelp.
“I fucking told you,” he says.
Whatever he had behind his back is still closed tight in his fist, but I don’t have much time to think about it before he tosses me onto the bed and then he’s on top of me, his body hard against mine.
It’s all I can do not to moan.
“You held out on me,” he says, his eyes glinting. “You held out on me this entire time, you kinky minx.”
“If that was holding out, I’m almost afraid to see what full disclosure’s like,” I murmur.
His cock brushes against my lower belly and I wrap my thighs around his. I think I’d have to turn myself inside to give him any more of me after this weekend.
Good job having that talk, the back part of my brain thinks, but the horny part shuts it up pretty quick.
He props one arm on an elbow and holds up something shiny and metal, slightly conical with a flare at one end.
I suddenly remember that I bought a butt plug about a year ago, and despite everything I can feel myself turn bright red as I look at it.
Alex just laughs.
“This is what embarrasses you?” he teases, rolling it between his fingers. “I’d have used this days ago if I knew you wanted it, tiger. I could tell you were a freak from the second I laid eyes on you.”
I swallow and look off to the side, even as his lips are on my collarbone, because that’s not the embarrassing thing.
“What is it?” he asks.
I take a deep breath.
“I wasn’t lying when we met and I was drunk,” I say.
He raises his eyebrows.
“About being a prude?” he asks.
I nod, still not looking at him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment.
“You’re kidding,” he finally says.
I swallow and then look him in the eye.
“I’m not,” I say, my stomach twisting into knots. “I had a couple boyfriends and I always thought sex was okay but nothing to get all that excited about, until...”
I stop.
Until you growled in my ear on the dance floor, I think. Until I told you I liked nice men and you laughed at me.
“Until this,” I say weakly. “The toys are all new.”
There’s a light in his blue eyes that’s new, and he smiles slowly.
“So the freaky, filthy, insanely sexy get-inside-me-right-now Tessa is just for me,” he says.
“So far, at least,” I say, just because I hate to give in to him.
He just laughs, and I feel strangely vulnerable, like now he knows about the hold he has on me.
I don’t ask how many girls he’s said the same things to, how many women he’s told fit him like a glove, because I don’t want to be jealous.
I can’t be jealous.
“Unbelievable,” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “Just fucking unbelievable. When I saw you in that dress I thought you were walking sex.”
I snort, but my pussy throbs. The butt plug is still in his hand, and I look at it.
“Even when I nearly face-planted going for champagne?” I ask.
He opens the drawer, grabs a bottle of lube, and squeezes some into his hand.
“Even then,” he says, smearing the lube on the plug.
God help me, watching him do it gets me excited. I used the plug a couple times by myself, searching for something that would do it for me like he did, but it was never better than just fine. It’s probably been eight months since I used it.
“And even more now,” he says. He kisses the space between my breasts, his face tickling me.
“Because now I know that you’re walking sex.”
He kisses me right above the belly button, then below it, and spreads my thighs far apart so I’m wide open and completely exposed to him, his in a way I’ve never been anyone else’s.
“And I’m never gonna get enough of you, Tessa.”
He slides his tongue over my clit and I sigh as he licks me slow, his tongue circling me, teasing me as if I weren’t already wet and ready and desperately horny, but he takes his time driving me crazy.
His tongue has to be sore, I think. He flattens it and drags it over my clit and I moan, grabbing one pillow in my fist. I’m already panting for breath, and I know we’re barely getting started.
“I love how wet you are for me,” he says, and slides his tongue between my lips, fucking me with it slowly before sliding it back out. “And I love it when you lose control and give in to it.”
He licks me again, and then I feel something hard and slippery right on my back hole. He moves it back and forth, sliding it along the sensitive bud, and I gasp.
Lick. Slide. Lick.
“Put it in,” I moan, because I can’t take this any longer. I feel like a black hole of desire and all I want is for him to fill me in any way he can.
“Relax, tiger,” he says, his breath hot on my pussy, and I try.
There’s pressure on my hole and I hold my breath. It’s not a big plug by any stretch of the imagination, but right now it feels huge as he’s slowly pushing it inside me, his tongue steadily licking me.
The sensation of being stretched
and licked at the same time is strange and intoxicating all at once, and it feels like something I’d never imagined. I feel like I’m being invaded, like I’ve given myself over to Alex completely.
I moan again as I stretch, and then suddenly it slides in another inch with no warning and I yelp at the sudden, strange feeling of fullness.
“It’s in?” I gasp.
“It’s in,” he says between licks. “You like having something in your ass while I lick you?”
He flattens his tongue again and it’s like there’s an electricity line running between my clit and the plug inside me.
“Oh, fuck,” I moan. “Fuck yes I do.”
He chuckles and licks harder and faster, and between that and the plug it’s not long before I’m about to explode, moaning into a pillow.
“Make me come,” I say, my toes already curling. “Make me come, Alex.”
He flattens his tongue and drags it over me one more time and stars explode in front of my eyes. I gasp his name, over and over as my whole body jolts, the plug sending shivers up my spine while he keeps licking me until I’m so spent that I push him away and he crawls over me, his cock like iron.
Alex kisses me with a ferocity that makes me groan, my own taste on his mouth, his tongue on mine like he wants to be inside me every way he can be.
“You’re my filthy sex tiger,” he says into my ear when he pulls away.
“I’m a nice girl,” I whisper, and he laughs.
“You’re my fuck goddess,” he says. “And it only makes me harder when you argue with me.”
“Like I don’t know that,” I say.
I wrap my legs around him and reach down for his cock, and it moves the plug inside me, sending a shiver down my back and straight to my clit. I bite my lip and moan, but then he grabs my wrist and takes it away.
“Turn over,” he says, but he just does it for me, rolling me over ny the hips like I’m a rag doll.
Now we’re looking at each other in the mirror and he spreads my knees again. He pulls my hips up toward him and grabs a pillow, putting it under my hips. I’m face-down, plugged ass up, spread and wide and ready and just offering myself to him.
He grabs my ass in both hands and then runs them over my back.