The Boy Friend

by Mika Jolie

  She draws a breath. One of her hands digs into my hair and grabs a handful, while I lick, then gently catch the pink tip between my teeth, and bite lightly.

  “So good.” Her words are music to my ears.

  After kissing, sucking, and squeezing one soft breast, I take the other tit in my mouth and give that beauty the same kind of attention. Then, my hands are on the waistband of her yoga pants, and I’m rolling them, along with her panties, past her ass, down her thighs, until I’m on my knees unlacing her boots. After removing her socks, she steps from the pants. And I come face-to-face with her snatch.

  My heart races like a nerd on his way to get the new issue of Dr. Who Space Time Continuum magazine.

  Holy. Mother. of. God.

  She’s fucking bare. Nothing turns me on more than a shaved pussy. And no, it’s not because I’m some pervert with prepubescent fantasies. When a woman is bald, or nearly bald there, it makes it easier to admire, to fuck with my tongue, and it’s just . . . naughty good.

  I run the pad of my thumb on the skin surrounding her flesh, before pressing my face against the junction of her thighs and inhaling. No trace of soap, chemicals, or other extraneous substances.

  For the record, men like a pussy to smell like a pussy. The natural aroma and flavor is the best part. Cori’s scent engulfs me and sends me into a heady trance, one that won’t end until our bodies are as close as two souls can be.

  “I want to eat you like you’ve never been eaten before.”

  She moans.

  “Is that something you want, Moonchild?”

  “Yes,” she confesses, voice low. “Fuck me with your mouth, Dean.”

  She’s a talker. A dirty talker at that. I’ve fucking hit the jackpot.

  Wildfire shoots through my veins. My heart is a train pounding down the tracks. My pulse is a racecar. I’m excited, pumped with sexual energy.

  Sliding one hand between her thighs, I drape one of her legs over my shoulder and place a kiss on the delicate spot. Her hips arch up to greet my mouth. Famished, I open her a little farther, lick a little a deeper, and groan with regret as I gently plant her leg back on the floor.

  The truth is, I can feast on Cori’s pussy all night, but fucking her with my tongue, while I’m on my knees, will blow my mind. Control is a must. Slowly, I rise to my full height, take her hand in mine, and lay her on the bed. In a few smooth, economical movements, I strip to nothing.

  Her eyes rake every hard inch of me, from my face, to my chest, to my full-on erection, before meeting my eyes.

  “Wow.” Her voice is husky. “You’re beautiful, much more than I’ve imagined.”

  Actually, she’s the beautiful one. My eyes drink in the sensuality of Cori lying on my bed. Passion-red cheeks. Perfectly swollen lips. Long, black hair tumbling over her shoulders. Dark, feral eyes. The body of a goddess. If the gods are real, then Cori is their masterpiece.

  I lower myself beside her, nip her lower lip, and then crawl south, kissing every inch as I go.

  Nudging her legs wider, I settle in and kiss her inner thighs, taking my time as I make my way to her tasty delight. When I stroke my finger over her core, she moans and arches her back. Then I spread her wider, before putting my mouth on her most sensitive spot.

  “Oh, God.” She fists a handful of my hair. Anchoring her hips , I hold her immobile as I eat her from end to end with a doggedly patient precision, until she cries out, “Oh, my God.”

  “Not God, baby. Dean,” I say, my face still buried between her thighs. She’s dripping wet. Her sweet, delicious cream coats my tongue, exciting me, making me crave more. “So fucking delicious.” Shifting gears, I capture her swollen clit in my mouth and suck as I slip two fingers inside her.

  Her hips shoot up, and strong runner’s thighs squeeze the side of my neck. “Dean.” My name trembles on her lips. “I can’t think.”

  That makes two of us.

  My fingers move faster, in time with my tongue. I want to make her lose all inhibition, to feel wild and utterly out of control. I need to drive her to the edge, even past it, enough that she hovers over the cliff, in that stomach-clenching heartbeat immediately before the free fall. “Come for me, Cori.”

  “God . . . Dean.” She writhes against my face with a groan, her fingers yanking my hair. “I’m coming.” I move my fingers faster, lick her deeper, faster, and look up, needing to watch as waves of orgasms overtake her body, gushing her juices over my tongue, down my throat.

  This is how I’ve pictured her in the forbidden spots of my mind—lying on my bed in the throes of passion, fingers wound around my hair, strangled cries leaving her throat—as her body rockets with pleasure.

  When she collapses, I catch her, until I feel her limbs relax on the bed. Then I wipe my face with my hand and lie next to her. “You okay?” As much as I want to slide my hard, swollen cock into her wet pussy, I’m willing to wait if she needs more time.

  “Yeah.” Her expression indicates full-blown ecstasy. “I’ve never come that way before and so quick.”

  This news surprises me. I’m not one of those guys who ever felt the need to be a woman’s first in anything. In fact, the more experience, the better for me. But knowing that I’m Cori’s first at something . . . Well, I can’t help but feel a bit smug.

  “Have you ever had back to back orgasms?”

  Biting her lower lip, she asks, “On one night?”

  I nod.

  She’s quiet for a beat. As she seems to consider my question, her hands move over my chest and down the ridged muscles of my abs, which makes me quiver with need. Then her hand ventures south to the promised land. She palms my cock and strokes.

  I shiver, let out a low, guttural sound of appreciation, and thrust in her hand. “What’s the answer?”

  “No,” she whispers. “I’ve never had two back-to-back orgasms in one night.”

  “Then you’re in for a treat.” I grab a condom from the drawer and tear it open with my teeth. I’m rolling the rubber onto my dick, when I catch her watching me. “Help me put it on.” I take her hand and guide it, along with the condom, down my length.

  After she sheathes me, I roll over her and nestle between her thighs. “I need to be inside you.”

  “Fuck me.”

  That invisible line between us, the veil, is overthrown by the plea in her voice. Slowly, I push my way past slick, tight muscles, filling her inch by inch, until I’m snug against her, completely surrounded by her in the best possible way.

  The connection robs me of air.

  Fuck. I’m inside Cori. Deep inside her, and it feels incredible.

  Our bodies fit together as if we were made just for this, to fall into one another, to feel this natural rhythm.

  When she begins writhing under me, I let out a tortured groan. “Not yet.” Otherwise, I might blow a load right away. “You feel so fucking good.”

  “So do you.” She holds my gaze. The current of gold and amber in her eyes reminds me of a well-aged whiskey. “I’ve dreamt about us like this.”

  Electrical sparks of pleasure crackle through my body. I imagine this is what a drug user feels when abusing their drug of choice. Everything in my life falls to the wayside, and I’m only here in the moment with Cori.

  “Me, too,” I confess. Slowly, I begin pumping in and out with long, thick, smooth strokes. Weight braced on my forearms, I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s mesmerizing . . . hypnotic, sensual, erotic, and sexual.

  My heart trips and a moan of pleasure escapes my throat. Gritting my teeth, I slide almost all the way out, and then drive deep inside her.

  “Oh, Dean, do that again.”

  I obey, give her what she wants by repeating the motion, and watch her eyes threatening to roll back in her head. “Like this?”

  “Yes.” Her mouth lets out a moan of ecstasy as I thrust into her again, fucking her slowly, sensually, deeply. “Harder,” she begs. Her fingernails dig into my skin. “Faster, please.”

  “Not y
et.” Slow and steady. This time, I’m in control. I want to fuck her long, hard, hot, and dirty. I need to drive her crazy, take her to the precipice, then stop. And do it all over again, until she begs me to finish this. Even then, I won’t, not until I do every naughty thing to her, until her mind and body explode. “Look down at us.”

  She does as I instruct and watches my cock—long, thick, and hard—glistening with her sweet juices, stretching her, reaching deeper with each stroke.

  We are moving like partners in a dance that is written in our DNA. Our bodies, melding from bellies to thighs, fit together as if we are made just for this, to fall into one another, to feel this natural rhythm.

  She hisses and scrapes her nails down my back. When she looks at me, I see my own heavy-lidded expression reflecting in her eyes.

  “We look—”

  “Hot.” My voice is gruff as I continue pumping in and out of her slick, wet pussy.

  “Perfect.” She arches up, seating me even deeper inside her. The way she’s biting her lower lip is an indication I am hurting her so good.

  A rough groan leaves my throat. My mouth crushes hers, kissing her hard, and I ram into her as our bodies move together. When I feel her walls clench around my cock, I hold her head between my hands and hold her gaze. “I need to remember this.”

  “Forever,” she whispers.

  There’s a vulnerability in her voice. It makes my heart rattle on a seismic scale. “Forever, Coriander. Forever.”

  “Dean.” My name trembles out of her lips.

  Her pussy is tight around me, getting hotter, more juicy. Needing to catalog this moment, I straighten my arms on either side of her head so I can watch the pleasure that flickers across her face, how I’m impacting her. Every movement, every desperate little whimper she makes, gives my heart an instant jolt. The joy of knowing I make her feel things that she craves and wants is . . . magical.

  Our bodies are slapping together, over and over, hard and quick. I’m caught between the intoxication of the climax and extending a moment I never want to end. “Cori,” I mutter her name, quickly losing all self-control. “I can’t hold back anymore.”

  But then she cries my name as the pleasure takes her, muscles squeezing me in erotic, sensual waves as she skitters over the cliff.

  I thrust faster, harsher, expanding her walls with brutal strength and urgency, until I growl out, “Oh, fuck,” and unravel, coming with her, face-to-face, my eyes holding hers through the most intense orgasm of my life.

  My arms collapse, and my full weight falls on her, breath ragged, muscles trembling, hearts pounding against each other.

  I’m not sure for how long I stay with her, on top of her, buried deep, leaving no part of us untouched, cocooned in her arms. I am immersed in fields of sensation and feeling. It is pure, sumptuous, delicious, exhilarating freedom. When I finally steady my breathing, I shift my weight to my arms, she opens her eyes and gazes at me, and I can’t look away.

  Cori appears soft under me, feminine, trusting.

  She has never been more beautiful.

  Something in my heart shifts. But I don’t dwell on it. With my free hand, I brush damp hair away from her face and place a kiss on her lips.

  “Wow,” she whispers on a smile. “That was—”

  “Incredibly perfect.”

  “Blur the lines between friends by knocking boots.”

  WHEN I FINALLY PEEL MYSELF away from Cori, and roll off the bed, I feel as if I’m missing a limb. Usually, after sex, I want to eat, urinate, go home, and sleep. Not with Cori. I want to prolong the connection as long as possible.

  “Be right back.” On my feet, I take one more glance of Cori on my bed. In her blissed-out, post-coital state, she looks mellow and rumpled, like a sated goddess. My heart skips a beat, and I feel a silly smile spread over my face. I’ve never been this excited about sleeping with a woman . . . giddy with joy, and the butterflies . . . forget the butterflies, the whole damn zoo is trampling inside me. “Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful?”

  She rolls on her stomach, her tight ass in full view for me to admire. “Yes.” Her lips curve up. “But I don’t mind hearing it again.”

  I lean in and give her a kiss then whisper, “You’re fucking stunning.” I disappear into the bathroom, and after discarding the condom, I wet a wash cloth with warm water. Re-entering the bedroom, I move straight to Cori’s side of the bed, and when I try to wipe her clean, she puts a gentle hand over mine.

  “I’ll do it.” With a smile, she takes the towel from my hand.

  In the past, after sex, the woman always disappeared into the bathroom and did her business. Afterward I’d do mine. The exchange never bothered me before. Yet, as I watch Cori cleaning herself, gingerly wiping away any evidence of us, this feeling of longing settles in my chest.

  For some unknown reason, I’m a tad disappointed. Not sure why. There’s a level of intimacy when a man cleans a woman after sex, something I’ve never done before. Once again, I remind myself, this is Cori. What we shared goes beyond the physical act. We are friends. Emotionally, we are connected on some kind of level. Of course, it’s normal for me to want to share more with her.

  Not wanting to dwell on it, I focus my attention elsewhere. Aside from the Yin-Yang framed poster hanging over my bed—a gift from Cori—the walls are bare. My bedroom is large, simple, uncluttered, and classically decorated with limited décor—black headboard, white sheets and comforter, dark charcoal walls.

  When I feel the weight of the mattress shift under us, and her thighs brushing against mine, my gaze follows Cori. She’s on her feet, gathering her clothes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going home.” Her voice is very matter of fact, no hint of remorse or regret.

  I glance at the window. The soft snow is still falling. “It’s snowing out.” Lamest excuse ever. It’s not like there’s a blizzard outside. Additionally, Cori drives a badass Jeep. The kind with tires that can handle a freaking tsunami.

  She picks up her bra, analyzes the black lacy material for a long moment before meeting my stare. “You don’t do sleepovers.”

  My eyes stay on her breasts for a minute, fascinated by the movement of her adjusting her tits behind the lacy material before clasping the back.

  It’s true; I’ve never spent the night at a woman’s house. Going away with someone for a weekend at a hotel is one thing, sleeping at their house or mine is a definite no—too intimate. But I don’t want Coriander to leave. If anything, I want to make love to her again and again, until we’re both exhausted, then I want to hold her in my arms and fall asleep together.

  “Some rules are meant to be broken.”

  In her naked glory, she turns in a slow circle, clearly looking for the rest of her clothes, until she finds her panties and slides them on. My eyes follow the whole act, and I must say, it’s a fucking turn on.

  “I can’t be your downfall,” she says, not looking at me.

  To my surprise, the idea of something greater between us makes me feel high as a kite. A dizzying effect for a guy who prides himself on being the perpetual bachelor. “What’s wrong with you being my downfall?”

  Her shoulders tense. She stops and looks at me for a long beat, then shakes her head. “Dean, I don’t want us to have any regrets.”

  “How can I regret something that feels so right?”

  Her silence sends impending doom to my gut. “Cori,” I say, my voice low and controlled. “Do you regret what happened?”

  Her gaze flies to my face. She opens her mouth, then closes it to bite her lower lip in what could be indecision or excitement. Obviously, I’m hoping for the latter.

  “No.”

  Her answer makes my heart nearly pound out of my chest. I roll off the bed to my feet and close the space between us. Cupping the sides of her head, I thread my fingers into her hair and stroke her cheeks with my thumbs. “I want to make love to you again, rough and dirty, sweet and tender.” I kiss her hand
, needing her to understand that, whatever is happening to me, between us, is much more than sex. And although I have no idea how to process it at the moment, I don’t want to let her go. “I don’t want you to leave.” Not now. Possibly not ever.

  Silence clings to the room, making my blood as cold as the winter air. I can feel the need and hunger rolling through her, but there’s hesitation in her eyes. As my friend, she knows my ways. In passing, I’ve shared stories about how the need for women to cuddle after sex is the last thing a man wants. She knows I don’t ever bring a woman to my house, that I’m not ready to settle down.

  Why should she be any different?

  I can see the doubt creeping its way across her gorgeous face.

  “Coriander, this will sound a bit cliché.” I take her hand in mine, holding her stare. “Nothing about you is like any other woman.” Exhaling, I force myself to ask the most important question. “Was one time enough for you?”

  “Not even close,” she says with a smile.

  Her admission sends my mind in a pure sexual frenzy. I take her hand and wrap it around my erection. The worry in her gaze turns into a spark of excitement. Her palm clasps around my dick and begins stroking up and down my length.

  “What about you, Dean. Was one time enough?” She’s back to the sexy, teasing Cori.

  “Not even close.” The words barely leave my mouth when I pull her into me. Within seconds, we are kissing again, our hands moving over each other, exploring, familiarizing.

  Her lips move to my neck, down to my chest. “My turn for control.”

  My body vibrates with pleasure. I pull back and meet her gaze. “How much control do you want?”

  “Full control.” Her lips twitch with naughtiness. “I want to taste you.”

  “Coriander,” I grunt, because I have a pretty good guess what she means by those words. Something tells me, the minute her lips are on my dick, I’ll explode.

  She leans into me. Quickly, we are tangled in a kissing, touching war, until we tumble on the bed, side by side, mouths fused together.

  Slowly, she works her way down my body. Her breath is hot on my chest as she kisses and licks everything along the way—nipples, abdomen, and continues farther south over the narrow, happy trail, letting me know exactly where she is going with those lips, but not necessarily racing to get there.