by J. J. Murray
I like to have my ears nibbled. “Do you see me making sand angels?”
“Actually, yes,” Dylan said. “Am I making them with you?”
I hope so. “Yes. You have to brush the sand off me when I’m done.” She reached behind her and held his arms, turning into and wrapping her legs around him as far as the futon would allow. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him. “I will have sand in so many intimate places.”
He placed his hands in the small of her back. “I will sunburn badly at your beach house.”
She kissed his chin. “I will take care of you. We will plant aloe all around the house.” She kissed his neck. “I wouldn’t let you out of the house very often anyway,” she whispered.
Dylan’s lips met hers, and his hands slipped under her jeans, his hands so hot that Hope could feel heat on her derriere.
Oh, yes. Keep squeezing. Pull me closer to you. What’s this growing under me? Oh, that’s a nice rhythm and your tongue is as hot as your hands—but hey!
Why isn’t this feeling good?
I’m grinding on my grindsman, and nothing is happening where it definitely should be happening!
Hope grabbed Dylan’s hands and held them in front of her. “Dylan, I have to tell you one more thing I’ve noticed about my body, just now as a matter of fact, and you’re probably not going to like it. When you were working me back there, and you worked it very well, by the way, I should have felt something, you know? After eight years, I should have screamed and squeaked like that clarinetist, right? But I didn’t. I wanted to. I tried to. You felt so . . . ready. You feel ready. It’s definitely not you. It’s me. Your hands are huge and hot, your body feels so very nice, and I should be juteux, mouillé, at least a little moite. This is so embarrassing.”
Dylan smiled. “I’m assuming those words have something to do with . . . wetness?”
Hope nodded. “Right. I wasn’t juicy, wet, or even moist. I’m aride as a bone.” She felt more tears coming. Oh, sure. I’m wet in my head and not in my pants. I have messed up my body so badly. “My mind is on, Dylan. You are making a river in my mind, a real waterfall, but my body is like a desert. My hormones are so messed up because I haven’t been eating. My brain says, ‘Go, go, go!’ and ‘Tear his clothes off!’ ”
“I like your brain,” Dylan whispered. “It agrees with my brain.”
“Thank you,” Hope said, “but while my brain wants you in the worst way, my body says, ‘What was that?’ ” Hope sighed. And now, to complete my embarrassment. “I’ve even tried . . . le fait de masturber, and nothing happens.”
Dylan’s mouth became a little O. “You’ve tried . . . oh. Oh. I have to say this. While it’s awful that nothing happens when you . . . do that, it’s exciting to know that you do . . . do that.” He shifted his weight under her. “It is exciting me very much right now to think of you doing that.”
I feel his excitement. Wow. “Don’t you . . . do that?”
Dylan’s face flushed. “Well, yes.”
“And don’t you . . . finish the job?” Hope asked.
He looked away. “Yes.”
“Every time?” Hope asked.
He laughed. “Yes, and you’re the first person I’ve ever admitted this to.” He sighed. “Is there anything we can’t talk about?”
“I hope not,” Hope said. “How often do you do it?”
Dylan laughed louder. “It’s not as if I keep count. Enough. That’s all I’ll say.”
Hope ran her fingers though his silky hair. “I used to . . . try all the time, but once nothing happened for a while, I gave up.”
“It must be awful for you.”
Hope sighed deeply. “It’s not really awful. It’s mostly frustrating. I know if I gain back the weight I’ve lost, I’ll be ready to get juicy again. I read every study on anorexia in black women, and there aren’t many studies, mainly because the world sees anorexia as a white women’s disease. One study said less than one percent of black women worldwide had any type of eating disorder and no study reported any black woman having anorexia for her lifetime.”
“So there’s hope for Hope,” Dylan said. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, please let me know.”
She held him close. “You already have. You already are.” That mound of flesh below me that I’m riding on does a world of good for my sexual self-esteem. “I wish I wasn’t telling all this to you after such a perfect evening.”
“I’m glad you’re comfortable enough to share it with me,” Dylan said. “Especially about le fait de masturber. I will not be able to sleep tonight or for many nights thinking about that.”
“I just want you to know that I do work down there,” Hope said. “Just not tonight.”
Dylan bit his lip. “I can imagine you working down there. In fact, I imagine you work very well.”
“I do,” Hope said softly. “I have orgasmes quite easily.”
“How easily?” Dylan asked.
“Well, if the wind blows just right . . .”
“Really?”
Hope nodded. “I’m usually really sensitive down there. It doesn’t take much to set me off.”
Dylan smiled. “This is very good to know.”
Hope bounced her forehead on Dylan’s chest. “But that’s what makes all this so frustrating. I know I have a hair-trigger down there. I want it to work so badly!” She leaned back. “The first time I didn’t have an orgasme when I was . . .” I have never said this word to anyone in my life. “When I was masturbating—and believe me, I tried for hours—I wept. Once I finished weeping, I went online to see what was wrong with me and found out I had all the symptoms of menopause and something called sexual anorexia. I went immediately to The Islands and ordered a ton of food. I ate and ate . . . and still nothing happened. I have screwed up my body so badly by not eating that I’m afraid my plumbing can’t work until I’m eating regularly and eating right again, and that might take months, even years.” Here come the tears again. “I’m so sorry, Dylan. I do want to respond to you whenever you touch me.”
He kissed her tenderly. “And I will continue to touch you until you do. My fingers can’t help touching you. They want to touch you all over right now.” He slid his hands to her waist. “I plan on putting some meat on your bones.”
Hope laughed.
“That didn’t come out the way I intended it to. Of course, saying ‘Hope, I want to fatten you up’ isn’t that much better. Also saying I want you to gain lots of weight so you can have hair-trigger orgasmes . . .” He smiled and squeezed her hips. “The French know how to make sexual words more sexual, don’t they? Orgasme. Have you gained any weight this week?”
“I should have,” Hope said. “I don’t know for sure. I don’t have a scale.”
“I will get you a scale,” Dylan said. “How far off was I when I tried to guess your weight?”
“About twenty pounds off, maybe more,” Hope said. “I haven’t eaten breakfast regularly since . . . since Odell stood at that door.”
“I have a cure for that,” Dylan said. “We serve breakfast at Kinderstuff. When you hand me my coffee, I can hand you a couple pieces of toast and jam every weekday as you go by.”
“As long as you kiss me, too.”
“Coffee, toast, jam, and a kiss,” Dylan said. “An excellent way to start the day.”
“The best.” She moved his hands back to her derriere. “I don’t want you to get frustrated sexually. I want you to feel pleasure.”
Dylan pulled her closer. “Even if you don’t? That’s not fair. Don’t worry about me, Hope. I’ll be fine. Really. Kissing and hugging and holding hands are about all I thought I could handle anyway. Believe me. I can wait, and I can’t wait, you know?”
Hope draped her arms around his neck. I have found a good, unselfish man. “What if I don’t let you wait?”
He blinked. “I will not stop you.”
“Good.” Hope laughed. “I can’t believe our first kiss was in the back of a cab.”<
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“It’s not a kiss I will ever forget,” Dylan said. “You seemed calmer afterwards.”
“I was. Some. I was still nervous about where we might end up at the end of the date. I was nervous how you’d react when I didn’t react.”
“There is no rush. In fact, that calms me down even more.” He rubbed her back. “I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to please you.”
This bulge under me says otherwise. “Really?”
“It’s been a long time,” Dylan said. “If we were making love right now, I would be trying for a full-length movie, but my body would most likely give you a coming attraction.”
Hope laughed so loudly that Whack leaped off the bed and hid under the kitchen table. “That’s . . . nasty!”
“Are you sure you’re not an American woman in disguise?” Dylan asked.
“I am an American woman,” Hope said. “I’m just extremely hyphenated. Am I really that . . . sexy?”
“Yes. I am constantly aroused around you. I try not to stare at any part of you for too long. I wore underwear three sizes too small tonight to keep myself in check.”
“You did?”
“I should have.” He looked down. “You are still arousing me.”
“I thought it was the futon,” Hope said. “Just kidding. I feel you.” She ground her hips into him. “I like how you feel, and it makes me feel happy to know that I can arouse you.” She stopped grinding. “But it makes me feel sad that I am not aroused.”
He kissed her, sucking gently on her lower lip. “In time.”
Wow. My lower lip is quivering. “What arouses you most about me?”
“Everything I see works on me, especially your eyes.” He pushed some hair back from her face. “I love your eyes.”
“What else?”
“When we were in the office, and you were in front of me swaying back and forth . . . Not fair. I love your . . .” He shook his head. “There has to be a better word for this part of a woman’s anatomy. There are so many words, and none of them sound very nice. Booty. Ass. Money-maker.”
“Money-maker?” Hope said. “You like my money-maker?”
“Yes, I love your buns, your cheeks, your fanny, your heinie, your sexy derriere. From now on, I will refer to your behind as your sexy derriere.” He moved his hands up her shirt and popped another button. “And right now you have delicious dark skin asking me to kiss and touch it.” He drifted a finger from her chin to her breastbone. “Do you mind if I do?”
He doesn’t have to ask. “Let me make it easier for you.” She extricated her legs from behind him, turned, and sat her sexy derriere squarely onto his lap, wiggling once and leaning back on his chest. “Just don’t cut yourself on my sharp bones.”
Dylan unbuttoned the rest of Hope’s shirt.
Hope watched his hot hands move down her sides to her thighs where he squeezed them forcefully. He then slid his hands slowly up her hips to her stomach, where his fingers gently pressed her skin. She moved her locks to the side and exposed her neck, and Dylan kissed it, his fingers slipping under her belt line.
“You’re teasing me,” Hope whispered. “I like to be teased.”
Dylan’s fingers explored lower, sliding under the elastic band of her underwear, moving back and forth over her soft hair.
“That’s nice,” she whispered.
She felt his hands move up her stomach to her bra, lightly brushing it before squeezing tenderly, her nipples rising to the occasion.
“Do you feel anything, Hope?” he whispered.
She opened her eyes and watched his fingers tracing the fabric around her nipples. “Normally I’d be close to orgasm,” Hope whispered, sighing. “I do feel peace, though. It’s nice to be touched again.”
He worked his tongue around her ear as his hands moved down to her stomach. “Your skin is so soft and warm.”
“Your tongue is so hot,” she whispered.
“You have the flattest stomach on earth,” he whispered. “I could put a level on it and the bubble would be perfectly centered. A marble would stay perfectly balanced.”
“That’s not my stomach,” Hope whispered. “You’re feeling the other side of my backbone.”
“Your backbone has a belly button?” Dylan said, tracing her navel with a finger.
“I’m a stick figure girl,” Hope said.
“Do you mind if I strum you a little?” Dylan asked.
She reached up behind her with both arms, latching them behind his neck. “You’re supposed to be the guitar, and I’m supposed to strum you. You’re supposed to be tap-tapping my djembe.” She arched her back and closed her eyes. “Oh, I suppose you can strum me.”
Hope felt Dylan’s hands moving up and down her body, caressing her breasts, teasing her nipples, digging and exploring under her belt line, thrusting into her pockets.
“How does this feel?” Dylan whispered.
“Like heaven,” Hope said. “It feels like heaven.” But I know I’d enjoy it more if we were under the covers of my bed. She let go of his neck and sat up. “Let’s get more horizontal.”
Hope stood, took Dylan’s hand, and led him to the bed. She removed her boots but not her socks, and loosened her belt, her pants dropping to the floor. She stepped out of her pants and slid under her covers. She was about to take off her glasses when she realized something. I want to see this man’s body.
Dylan removed his boots and socks.
“Sexy,” Hope said.
He turned away from her to unzip his pants.
“Hey,” Hope said. “What kind of a show is this? All I see is a sexy derriere.”
Dylan turned only his head. “I’m still . . . you know.”
Hope smiled. “Oh? You still have une énorme érection?”
Dylan shook his head. “Yes, and now that you’ve said that, it’s bigger.”
“Turn around, turn around,” Hope said. Let me see what I’ve been missing.
Dylan turned to face her, letting his jeans slide down his legs.
“C’est la plus grande érection que je voyais jamai! Cette chose est énorme!” That thing is huge. Length and girth. His poor underwear!
He stepped out of his pants. “I hope what you said is a good thing.”
Hope bit her lip and nodded. “C’est la plus grande.”
“My shirt, too?” Dylan asked.
Hope nodded.
Dylan removed his shirt.
“Je vois des muscles, une caisse lisse, et un estomac ride,” Hope said. I am going to explore this man. She put her glasses on the nightstand. “Get into this bed right now so I can give you the translation.”
Dylan slid next to her, and Hope rolled on top of him, kissing and caressing his chest. “Une caisse lisse, a smooth chest,” she whispered. She moved down to his stomach and kissed it. “Estomac ride, a flat stomach.”
She kissed her way back to his lips, feeling his bulge firmly between her legs. “This is not going to sound like a compliment, but it really is.”
“Okay.”
“You’re really big, Dylan, maybe too big for me now,” she said. “I mean, wow.” She eased back and bounced her sexy derriere against it. “Seriously.” She thrust back more forcefully. “You could hold me in the air with that thing.”
Dylan gripped Hope’s hair. “If you keep doing that . . .”
“Doing what?” Uh, take that. Oh, I’m going to bruise.
“If you don’t stop, I’ll . . .”
“You’ll what?” If I back up my sexy derriere and hold it there a little longer, he might . . .
Dylan threw his head back into the pillow. “Hope, I am very close . . .”
She reached behind her and gave a single squeeze.
This was the first time Hope had ever heard Dylan Healy curse.
Hope’s neighbors probably heard it.
People still waiting for their take-out orders from The Islands probably heard it.
Hope smiled as she continued to bump her sexy derriere against h
im.
He pulled her face to his and kissed her, sucking her tongue deep into his mouth. When his spasms subsided, he turned her over. “It’s my turn,” he breathed.
“You can try,” Hope said.
“I will enjoy the challenge,” he said, and he pulled the covers over his head and disappeared.
Okay, body, we have a hot man kissing, tasting, and feeling on us. I know it’s been a long time, but try to remember what to do. Think wet thoughts, think juicy thoughts . . .
She felt his long hair tickling her ribs as he kissed and sucked on each nipple before trailing his tongue to her stomach, where he lingered for several minutes, his hands removing her underwear and feeling on her calves, thighs, and sexy derriere.
Come on, body, work! He should be driving you wild by now!
She felt his nose moving through her pubic hair and his tongue finding the right spot. She reached under the covers and grabbed his hair.
“S’il vous plaît, le corps, soyez excités!” Hope whispered. “Je veux faire l’amour à cet homme!”
Dylan quickly popped his head out of the covers. “What was that?”
“I thought if I spoke French I might warm up quicker,” Hope said.
“What were you saying?” Dylan asked, his fingers kneading her sexy derriere.
“I was yelling at my body to get excited because I want to make love to you.” She tried to focus on his eyes, but his face was a fuzzy blur.
“Did it work?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she said.
“It worked on me,” Dylan said. “Until I brushed against one of your feet.”
“Was my foot that cold?”
The fuzzy face nodded. “The iceberg that sank the Titanic was warmer. Antarctica is balmy compared to your toes. The Yukon is positively tropical—”
Hope laughed. “I get the picture.”
“I am really enjoying your body.” He kissed both nipples. “Do you mind if I continue my enjoyment?”
“Not at all.” I may be a little crazy, but I’m not that crazy.
“And, feel free to . . . talk sexy.”
Hope felt a long, hot, wet tongue sliding between her breasts, past her stomach, to the place that used to work. Put that big tongue—Oh, yes, that’s the place, now work it, keep working it . . .