by Lauren Rowe
“Siempre.” Always.
He scoops my prostrate body up and throws me over his shoulder. “And now to the bedroom, my fair lady, for the main course.” He struts toward the back of the house with my head dangling down his broad back.
I stare at his muscular ass moving just below my head. “Shake it for me, baby,” I say.
He shakes his ass.
“Hawt.”
He brings me into our bedroom and lays me down tenderly on the bed, his hard-on straining for me. “Do a backbend for me, baby,” he says.
“A backbend?”
“A backbend.” His chest is rising and falling with excitement. “We’re gonna do something called The Arch.” He licks his lips. “I dreamed about it while I was gone.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll see.”
I’ve learned to follow Jonas’ lead through an almost endless exploration of sexual positions over the past two and a half years, and I’ve never once regretted it. But I’m a wet noodle right now. How the hell am I supposed to do a backbend on limbs made of pasta?
“Do what I’m telling you to do, woman,” he says. “For once in your goddamned life.” He grins. “Do a backbend on top of the bed. Chop, chop.”
“Don’t you think maybe this position, whatever it is, is a little ambitious after two huge orgasms? I think I might be done for a little while. Why don’t we do something fairly standard and get you off? You know, like normal people?”
“Bite your tongue, Orgasma. You’ve got at least one more massive climax left in you, and it’s mine.” His eyes are gleaming.
“You think?”
“I know. It’s mine. I want it.”
“Okay.” I exhale. “I’ll give it a whirl.”
“Thank you. And by the way, there’s nothing about you and me that’s normal. And I like it that way.”
I get into position. “You mean like this?” I’m in a full-blown gymnast’s backbend on the bed, my head dangling, my palms and soles flush on the bed, my back and pelvis arched up off the bed toward the ceiling.
“Well, that’s not what I meant—although, Jesus, that’s hot as fuck.” He sits back and admires me for a long moment. “Look at you, woman. Damn. I want to eat you like that before we move on to the fuckery.”
“Jesus, Jonas. No. No more eating. Time for fuckery. I’m dripping wet for you.”
He continues staring at my bent-over body, making sounds of lascivious approval, and all the while, I’m beginning to shake with the exertion. “Jonas P. Faraday!” I shout. “Fuckery! Even Orgasma the All-Powerful can’t stay like this forever.”
He laughs again. “Sorry, Orgasma. You just look so fucking hot. Hang on.” He slides his face under my raised butt and bites my ass tattoo, yet again.
I squeal.
“Just a little power-snack.” He laughs and slides back out from under me. “Okay, sorry. I got distracted. Now lower your shoulders back down onto the bed, but keep your legs, back, and butt raised up high.”
“Huh?”
He repeats his request and physically guides my body into position. “Like this. There you go.”
“Okay?”
“Perfect. That’s it. Oh, man, you’re so fucking hot.” He leans in and rubs his beard squarely onto my crotch. “You turn me on, woman!”
“Jonas. Seriously. I can’t stay like this.”
“Sorry. Okay. Put your arms out to the sides to stabilize yourself.”
“Stabilize myself? What the heck are you gonna do to me?”
He kneels on the bed, right between my legs, so that his penis levels off with my raised pelvis. “You’re about to find out.” He slides a finger inside me to find his target and then, without further ado, enters me, pulling my pelvis into him as he does.
“Oh, wow, yeah,” I say, my body instantly rocking into Jonas’ in rhythmic gyrations. “Wow, this does feel good. I’m a fan.”
“It’s sort of like The Butterfly,” he says, “but with one important difference—an added bonus.”
He begins guiding my body into slow, sexy movement with his. “You like this?”
“So good.”
We continue moving together for several minutes, and my body begins to ripple and flutter.
“What’s the added bonus?” I say, my pleasure beginning to spike.
One side of his mouth rides up like he’s got a big secret. He licks his lips. “Get ready to howl like a monkey, baby,” he says.
Up ’til now, Jonas has been supporting my raised pelvis with both of his hands, but now he brings one of his hands up to my clit and begins massaging me—while suddenly deepening his thrusts. Wowzers. Holy Now This Is The Way To Make a Baby, Batman! There’s no way to describe how good this feels. Within a minute, I’m shrieking uncontrollably and breaking out into a cold sweat, every hair standing at attention.
“Too much,” I say.
But Jonas only increases the depth and intensity of his thrusts along with the movement of his fingers on my clit.
I let out a loud shriek as my legs collapse. I fall onto the bed, succumbing to yet another powerful orgasm, this one consuming my entire body. “No more,” I gasp when my body has finished shuddering. “I’m done.” Sweat is pouring down my back. I wipe my brow and my hand comes back soaked.
Jonas’ eyes are on fire. “Right before your orgasm, did you feel like you had to pee?” His erection looks ready to go off like a bottle rocket.
I nod.
“Was there an uncomfortable pressure, almost like discomfort?”
I nod again. “I had to pull back. I’m sorry. It was too much.”
He exhales with excitement. “Okay, when you feel that again, I want you to push through it next time. You understand? You have to persist through the discomfort, and push out with all your might like you’re trying to pee.”
I shake my head. “No. You don’t understand. I couldn’t push out right then if I tried. It’s too intense. No way.”
“No, baby. You have to train yourself to push through. If you can just overcome the sense of discomfort in that moment, there’s gonna be exponential pleasure on the other side of it—a new kind of pleasure you haven’t experienced yet. Like, something totally mind blowing. You just have to force yourself to react against instinct.”
“Love, I’m not willing to pee all over the bed, no matter what you say.”
He grins. “You’re not gonna pee. You’re gonna squirt. All over me. And then I’m gonna lick it up.”
I grimace.
He laughs. “But let’s just say you did pee. So what? If I could get you off so hard you lost control of your bodily functions, then I’d be a fucking god. It’s a no-lose situation.”
I crinkle my nose. “That’s gross.”
“There’s nothing gross about it. Nothing’s off limits when it comes to your body and your pleasure. Don’t you understand that?” He’s suddenly animated. “Getting you past your hang-ups, delivering you unto the next level of pleasure, each new phase of your development as Orgasma the All-Powerful, that’s what I live for, baby. You’re my work of art. My magnum opus.” He shudders.
“You really, really love this, don’t you?”
“I live for it.”
I exhale. “Okay. I’ll try. No promises, but I’ll try.”
“Sex takes training, just like any other physical activity. Train your muscles. Train your mind. And then your body will start to respond in new ways.” He bites my nipple, obviously getting highly aroused again.
I can’t help but grimace. “I’m really... not sure I can deliver what you’re aiming for. I’m not even sure I want to.” I crinkle my nose again.
He touches my cheek and kisses me. “There’s nothing you could ever do that would faze me. Nothing at all.”
I exhale.
“Just leave it to me. Your job isn’t to think when I’m fucking you. It’s to feel amazing and surrender completely to the pleasure.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know if I can
let go in the way you’re describing. When I get to a certain point, it feels so good, it starts to kind of hurt and I have to pull back. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“You can do it. Commit to it. The body doesn’t have magic buttons like some sort of vending machine. It takes training, devotion, and a commitment to fearlessness.” He crawls next to me on the bed, his erection nudging into my thigh, and strokes my hair. “When we first started together, your first orgasms were only clitoral, remember? For like six months, I think. Remember?”
I nod.
“And over time, with lots and lots of training, we got your G-spot working for you and you started to have vaginal orgasms, too. Remember? That didn’t happen naturally for you; we had to work at it. We had to engage your G-spot and bring it to life and persist through your discomfort. And then your entire body became engaged. And trained. And now you fucking own your G-spot.”
His face is on fire. Seriously, this is clearly his favorite thing. And, I must admit, when he finally figured out how to stimulate that strange spot inside me just right, when I finally let go enough to let vaginal orgasms overtake me, especially during intercourse itself, it was a complete game-changer. Like nothing I’d ever imagined before—ten times more pleasurable and powerful than clitoral orgasms.
“Remember that pressure you felt when we first started going for G-spot orgasms—how much mental shit you had to work though to get there? How you used to pull back at first?”
I nod. He’s right.
“But you did it. And then remember the first time you got both clit and G-spot working for you all at once?”
I nod again.
“Like a drug, right?”
“Like the best drug known to mankind.”
“So, trust me again, baby. We’re at a new crossroads. It’s time for another new frontier.”
I exhale. “Okay. I’ll try.”
He strokes my hair. “You’re my Mount Everest. I just want to climb you—all the way to the tippy top. And I want you to climb you.”
I bite my lip.
“But that’s for next time, okay? And the time after that. We’ll keep at it as long as it takes. No worries. No pressure, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Right now, I want you to lie down on your back. I’m gonna make love to you and show you how much I love—what the fuck?” His attention has been suddenly diverted. He’s looking across the room at a small table—at the cute way I arranged to tell Jonas I want to make a baby. The metaphor I arranged for my metaphor-loving man.
He motions to the table. “Really?” He laughs. “Oh my God. You are such a weirdo.”
I look at the table and burst out laughing. Yeah, it’s kind of weird, now that I’m looking at it through his eyes. I’d intended it to be funny. Memorable. Cute. But, yeah, it’s kinda weird.
“Sarah, you’re batshit crazy. Seriously.”
“‘No great genius has ever existed without some touch of madness,’” I say.
“You’re gonna quote Aristotle to justify that?” He points. “What the fuck is that exactly? A bowl full of hard-boiled eggs, a fishbowl full of... what the fuck are those things?”
“Tadpoles.”
“Tadpoles? And what’s that other thing?”
“Pink and blue marshmallow chicks. Peeps.”
He looks at me like I’m an escaped mental patient.
I laugh. “Get it? Egg plus sperm equals baby chicks,” I say. “It’s a metaphor.” I wink broadly.
He touches his fingertips to his forehead like he’s suddenly got a horrible headache. “Because everyone knows the biggest aphrodisiacs in the world are hard-boiled eggs, pollywogs, and marshmallows. Oh my God. I’m married to a total fucking lunatic.”
I laugh. “Oh, please. You are so much crazier than I am.”
“That’s what I’ve been led to believe by you and Josh and all my therapists all these years—but I just realized you guys are all totally full of shit. I’m totally sane compared to you.”
I giggle. “It’s a grand gesture, baby. I know how much you love your grand gestures and metaphors.”
“Baby, I love cool metaphors. Intelligent metaphors. Poetic metaphors. Not lame-ass, bizarre metaphors.”
“It’s not lame. It’s funny. Maybe a little bit quirky.” I flip my hair. “But mostly adorable. You know, kinda Julia-Roberts-ish.”
He doesn’t react whatsoever.
“Yes? No? What?”
He shakes his head.
“What? What are you thinking? You’re leaving me hanging here.”
He can’t suppress his huge grin anymore. He kisses me on the forehead like I’m a puppy and then takes my face in his hands. “I’m thinking I love you more than life itself. I’m thinking I’ve got a raging boner. And I’m thinking that, in the future, you should leave the grand gestures and metaphors to me, weirdo.”
“Well, jeez.” I twist my mouth. “It seemed like a really cute idea in my head.”
We both burst out laughing.
“God, I love you, Sarah.” He kisses me.
“Well, that’s good. Because you’re about to make a baby with me. Are you still game now that you’ve seen my metaphor?”
“Fuck yeah.” He laughs. “As it turns out, I’ve got a boiled-egg-tadpole-marshmallow-chick fetish. I should have told you before now, but I was just too embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed to tell me? Your beautiful intake agent? Oh, I’ve read about much weirder fetishes than pollywogs and marshmallow chicks, baby. There was this one guy who wanted to make women ‘surrender’ so he could ‘become God.’” I roll my eyes. “What a cocky-asshole-motherfucker that guy was. “
He grins.
“Okay.” I exhale. “Baby-making time, then?”
“Fuck yeah. Baby-making time.”
“Coolio Iglesias.”
He laughs. “Get on your back.”
“Just a sec. Tell your boner to hang on. I’ve got a song cued up.”
“Make it Radioactive by Imagine Dragons. Because this boner is radioactive, baby. It’s nuclear.”
“No, I’ve got something else. Something perfect.”
“Well, hurry up. This boner wants to bone.”
“I’m hurrying. Hold onto your socks. Or onto your boner, I guess.”
I turn to glance at him and the cocky bastard is holding onto his boner like a fire hose, grinning at me.
“Your hands are making me jealous,” I say.
“Good.” He strokes himself. “So hurry up already.”
“Genius cannot be hurried.”
“No hip-hop,” he barks. “I will not make a baby to hip-hop. I don’t care how smoking hot you are—or how many pollywogs and marshmallows you tempt me with.”
“Duh, Jonas. I want you to ejaculate. Not throw up.” I continue scrolling through the songs on my laptop, looking for the song I’ve been dying to play for him—the song I’ve been listening to nonstop while he’s been gone. I find the song. “Okay. Ready, big boy?”
He nods.
“I Knew I Loved You” by Savage Garden fills the room and all humor instantly evaporates between us.
“I don’t know this one,” he says softly. He listens for a long minute. “I love it.”
“Listen close, love.” My heart is beating out of my chest. Giving musical valentines to Jonas is one of my all-time favorite things to do. And right now feels like the most momentous musical valentine I’ve ever given him.
He sits quietly, listening.
I crawl back onto the bed and spread myself out, waiting for him.
Every word of this song belongs to Jonas and me, and listening to this song while looking at his muscled, hard, naked body is doing amazing things to me.
After a moment, he climbs over to me and begins gently tracing the curve of my hip with his fingertips. “Thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome.”
His fingers glide gently over my hipbone. “We’re really gonna do this?”
I nod. “Yup.”
He kisses my OAP tattoo. “I’ve never had unprotected sex before.” He kisses my hipbone. “I’ve always thought a fate worse than death was getting myself tied for eternity to some woman I didn’t give a shit about.”
I bite my lip. My crotch is suddenly pounding mercilessly.
“And now, here I am, wishing I had more than one eternity to be tied to you.”
My heart leaps. “There you go again. Have you sent that résumé to Hallmark yet, baby?”
“It’s on my to-do list.” He touches between my legs.
“I love you so much, Jonas.”
“I love you, baby.” His hard-on twitches. His eyes are smoldering. He rests my calves on his shoulders and mounts me, collapsing my thighs into my chest as he leans into me. “I was born to love you, Sarah Faraday,” he says, burrowing deep inside me.
I touch his face, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion and pleasure all at once.
“My sweet Jonas,” I breathe. “Todo mi mundo.”
Chapter 23
Jonas
I stroke Sarah’s unconscious face, trying to think of something new to tell her. I look around at the monitors next to her hospital bed for inspiration, but I’ve got nothing. “Let’s see, baby. Hmm. What should we talk about now?”
The song playing on my computer is “Sky Full of Stars” by Coldplay. It’s the same song I’ve been listening to on a near-constant loop for the past four days, ever since I forced myself to stop listening to that Death Cab for Cutie song about following Sarah into the dark. It’s the song that inspired me to run out to a tattoo parlor two days ago, just when I was about to lose my fucking mind. It’s the song I want to be playing when Sarah finally wakes up and smiles at me. If ever. The doctor says Sarah could bounce back at any time, or, on the other hand, not bounce back at all. Either way, I haven’t dared turn the music off. Or leave her side.
At some point soon, though, I’m going to lose it. I can feel it. If not emotionally, then physically. I’ve never been so sleep-deprived in all my life. I can’t think straight anymore. And my body is sore and stiff and aching. But fuck me if I’m going to lie down on a cot at the exact instant Sarah opens her eyes, looking for my face.