by Noelle Adams
She had banged the headboard against the wall a few times, and her face was almost covered with her hair. But as she rode out her orgasm, her eyes finally flew open. She gazed down at him with wild, naked satisfaction. Incongruously gasped, “Fuck, yeah, Caleb.”
And that was what did it.
Before he could even recognize what the sudden, aching pressure in his groin signified, he had ground himself against the mattress one too many times. Felt a rush of pleasure cresting over as he came too. Hard. In his pants.
It was over before he realized it was starting. He had muffled his roar of release, since his mouth was still poised to sooth her as she came down.
She hadn’t seemed to notice his embarrassment. There were tears streaming down her face, and she shuddered helplessly, her hips still twitching up now and then.
Caleb gave her some final gentle strokes with his fingers until he felt her relax enough around him. Then he removed his face and his hand and pulled himself up—stiff, and uncomfortable, and messy, and shaking almost as much as Marissa was.
He had originally thought bringing her to her first orgasm might be some kind of ego boost, but he didn’t think this had helped his ego.
He felt weak and overwhelmed and like he was drowning in her.
Crawling up until he was beside her, he reached over and grabbed a tissue to wipe his wet face. “All right?” he asked, his voice thin and stretched.
“Is that a joke?” She clutched at his shirt and slumped over on top of him, smiling. “So that’s what all the fuss is about.”
He stroked her back and pulled her more tightly into his embrace. “So I guess that means you liked it.”
“Maybe a little.” She sniffed and wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks. “Is your nose supposed to run when you have an orgasm?”
Her humor left him feeling a lot more like himself. Chuckling, Caleb reached over and grabbed a couple of tissues for her. She mopped at her face and then curled back into him.
“I’m really glad you were here,” she said, after a minute in which her body had grown totally pliant against him. “And I’m glad we didn’t use the vibrator. Thank you for helping me. And thank you for being so patient."
He smiled and watched her in the flickering candlelight. “You're welcome. But I wanted to help for my own selfish reasons. I keep telling you that I'm willing to wait for as long as you need.”
“You still might have to wait a little more. The orgasm doesn’t mean that sex is now going to be miraculously fixed for me.”
“I know, but maybe it was a big step in the right direction.”
Grinning, she kissed his jaw. “A very big step. At the risk of feeding your inordinate pride, it was absolutely amazing. I feel like I got to have a first orgasm worthy of a fantasy.”
He returned her kiss, his lips hitting her cheekbone since he was too befuddled to aim with any accuracy. “It was pretty good for me too.”
After a moment, Marissa suddenly went tense. “Oh, poor Caleb. I was so distracted that I didn’t even think about you.” She pulled herself up until she was looking down at him. “Let me do you now, Caleb. I want to. Please?”
He shook his head. He knew it had been too easy. “No need.”
Her hand had been fumbling down at his crotch, but she jerked it away when she realized he was no longer erect. “Oh. But I know you were before. Was it so tedious getting me off that you...lost your excitement?”
Caleb let out a bark of laughter and pulled her back into his arms. “Don’t be ridiculous. It was the most erotic experience of my life. In fact, I got a little…too excited.”
It took only a moment for this to register with her. “Oh.” Then her eyes lit up. “Oh,” she said again, this time drawing the word out. She rubbed her chest against his. “Did you really come in your pants?”
He grunted.
“Poor Caleb. You have had a hard time, haven’t you?” she said soothingly, caressing his face. “Don’t worry. Next time I’ll take much better care of you. I promise.”
Caleb got a little excited again at the thought, but was too drowsy to let it take over. Decided the scent of jasmine and vanilla might be his favorite in the world. Well, second only to the scent of Marissa’s arousal.
“I’m exhausted,” she informed him after a minute.
“Me too.” He felt like he'd been through a battle—but at least it had been a battle in which he'd been victorious. They'd been victorious.
“Well, we should both rest up. Because, you know, pretty soon, I’m going to want to do that again.”
Seventeen
“You’re just too conservative.”
Marissa sat across the desk from Dr. Sawyer, her least favorite professor, and felt a hot wave overwhelm her, the way she always felt when someone criticized her or implied she wasn’t what she should be. “I’m not conservative at all,” she said, pleased that her voice sounded calm. “In fact—”
“I don’t mean politically. I mean intellectually. The paper is solid. It’s beautifully written and your translation is perfect—better than I’ve seen from a student in years. But your ideas are…”
“Are what?” she demanded with another surge of heated mortification and resentment. After the huge emotional and physical victory she’d had the night before, she’d somehow thought everything in her life would get better.
This wasn’t better.
“They’re too safe. They’re boring. You just don’t take any risks.”
“What kinds of risks should I be taking in a paper like this?”
Dr. Sawyer was in his forties, with rumpled hair and a perpetually unshaven face. His glasses needed cleaning, and at the moment she wanted to scratch his eyes out. “If I could tell you that, then it wouldn’t be a risk. You’ve done fine. A B is a good grade.”
“It’s not the grade I want, and I don’t know how to improve if you won’t tell me what I did wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. You just didn’t do anything impressive.”
She clenched her jaw and looked down at her hands, which were pressing into her thighs. They looked pale against the denim of her jeans. The essay she’d spent endless hours working on lay haphazardly on his desk, where he’d tossed it. “Okay,” she said at last, reaching for the paper. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
“Anytime.” He waited until she’d reached the doorway before he added, “You’ve got to stop writing toward some imaginary perfect structure in your mind. Just write what you believe to be true.”
She was so annoyed by this vague, unhelpful piece of advice that she was shaking as she thanked him again and left the office.
She’d always done well in school. If she had a slip up, then she figured out what was wrong and worked extra hard to repair the damage. She’d never been criticized to her face before—not so bluntly, without any attempt to soften it.
She was angry and humiliated both, and she didn’t like the feeling.
Her first instinct was to call Caleb, but she didn’t want to always go whining to him. So she headed home and worked out for an hour instead, powering through the elliptical trainer so hard she was drenched and exhausted afterwards.
Caleb was coming over for dinner that evening, so she showered and changed into something cute, even though she felt more like pulling on sweats or pajamas.
She’d bought ingredients to make an Indian recipe, so she worked on that in the time she had remaining until he arrived. But she was tired and distracted, and she messed up the spices, so she had to throw out her entire main course and start from scratch.
She was on the verge of tears, putting the pita bread in the oven to toast, when she heard Caleb let himself in the front door.
He was smiling as he came into the kitchen, and he looked laidback and masculine in jeans and a black t-shirt.
“What do you have?” she asked. He carried what looked like a bakery box.
He offered it to her with a grin.
She lifted
the lid and gave a silly squeak at the sight of the huge red velvet cupcake with thick cream cheese icing. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”
Despite her bad day, she was touched by the gesture, that he’d wanted to acknowledge the incredibly sensual experience they’d shared the night before.
“I happened to pass the bakery. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’m just running late with dinner.” She kissed him quickly, but couldn’t linger without ruining her second dish on the stove. She gave him a beer and went back to check her pot, while he sat on a stool at the kitchen counter.
He asked her casually about her day, and she made small talk as she worked on the meal. She didn’t tell him about her conversation with Dr. Sawyer, and then she stopped talking altogether so she could focus on getting the elaborate mix of spices right this time.
She was just letting out a sigh of relief for getting through that hurdle successfully when Caleb asked, “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Why are you asking me that?”
“Because I know you. Remember? And you’re making this dinner like there are lives at stake in getting it right. Something obviously happened to upset you.”
She was touched, yet again, by the slightly impatient demand and felt emotion burning in her eyes.
Then she smelled a different kind of burning.
“Damn it!” she exclaimed, grabbing a hot pad and yanking the burning pita bread out of the oven. She dropped the baking sheet in the sink with a loud clatter. “Damn it!”
The bread was ruined.
She almost burned her fingers pulling it off the baking sheet and tossing it in the garbage. Embarrassed that she was so emotional, she kept her face turned away from Caleb.
She was being ridiculous. Nothing that happened today was a big deal, so she shouldn’t keep acting like it was.
Caleb got up from the stool and approached her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pushing his front against her back as she busily scrubbed at the pan. His touch was tender but his voice definitely wasn’t as he said, “If you don’t tell me what’s going on right now—”
“It’s nothing. It’s stupid. I just had a bad day. It’s no big deal.”
“Then there’s no reason not to tell me.”
“I don’t like to whine over stupid things.”
“If you have reason to whine, even about stupid things, then I want to know what they are.”
She sighed and gave up, turning around so she faced him. She told him briefly about her conversation with Dr. Sawyer.
He was frowning when she finished. “I’ve told you all long that the man is an ass.”
“I know. He is.” She felt a little better at his frown. He always came to her defense, just like she did to his.
“But I think, in this case, he might be right.”
She gasped in shock, astounded at the unexpected turnaround. “What?”
“Not that he’s not an ass. Of course, he is. But you do always work toward some imaginary ideal in your mind because you think that’s what others expect of you.”
“What’s wrong with that? There’s nothing wrong with trying to be the best you can be.”
“I know. But it’s more than that with you. It’s like you have to be perfect. All the time.”
She tried not to stiffen defensively. “I do not.”
“Yeah, you do. It’s like you have to meet some impossible standard in order to…”
“In order to what?”
“In order to take care of the rest of the world.”
She felt the pain of the words in her chest, her throat, her stomach. Not because Caleb was saying it but because she was afraid he was right.
She remembered very well how it had felt as a child—that pressure to do everything exactly right so her mother, her world, wouldn’t slip away.
She leaned her head down, her forehead pressed against his chest.
He wrapped both arms around her. “Marissa?”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.
“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You know I’m on your side. I’m always going to be on your side.”
She could tell he was worried—that he thought he’d said too much. “I know,” she said hoarsely. “I’m thinking.”
She wasn’t really thinking. She was trying to process, and it was painful and disorienting.
Finally, she was able to look up at him, and she softened at the sight of his worried expression. “I just love you,” she said, a little shaky.
His face relaxed into a fond smile. “I love you too. And I’ll be happy to go beat up your ass of a professor if you really want me too.”
She couldn’t help it. She burst into laughter and pulled him into a hug until she remembered the remains of her meal.
Most of it turned out fine, and they ate it at the kitchen counter, followed by the cupcake.
She felt a lot better—about almost everything. And she was also starting to picture herself telling Caleb what she’d never been able to tell him before.
She couldn’t take responsibility for everything. She couldn’t be perfect enough to take care of the world all the time.
So maybe it was time to stop trying.
***
Marissa was attempting to work up the courage to tell him when they moved to the couch after dinner, but she hadn’t quite gotten up the will before they started making out pretty heavily.
After that, she decided confessions could wait until a more opportune time.
She was hoping for another orgasm this evening, after all. But first she was planning to give one to Caleb.
So after a long stretch of kissing and petting, when she felt his hand dip into the waistband of her jeans, she shook off enough of her dazed arousal to push away his hand. “Not yet,” she said, as firmly as she could, when he gave a grunt of disappointment. “You first today.”
“You don't owe me anything, Marissa.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to. But, just so you know, even though you went down on me yesterday, I think I better take it slower with you. Is it okay if it’s still just my hands for today?”
His eyes glinted—with humor, she thought. "Definitely. We don't want to push our luck and end up having to start over."
“Don't even say that. We're doing pretty good, I think. And now it's my turn to indulge you. So you have to sit there like a good boy and enjoy it.”
Pushing him back, she knelt beside him on the couch. Chuckling, he did as she instructed, but he was still watching her intently.
Marissa was kind of nervous about this, but she made sure not to let it show. She actually had a good time taking off his shirt. His chest was gorgeous, rippling with well-toned muscles and masculine with a scattering of coarse hair, and she kissed a line up it as she pushed up his t-shirt. When she pulled it off completely, she ran her hands up and down the lean planes of his abdomen.
He made a soft sound of pleasure in his throat, and Marissa kissed him deeply again, sinking her tongue into his mouth to stroke and twirl.
As soon as she pulled away, she had to move on to the scary part—the part that still had unpleasant connotations her history she couldn’t quite forget.
Her whole body was now flushed, and she breathed erratically. And she had to be so careful because his eyes never shifted away from her face.
So she sucked in a deep breath and moved her hands to the button on his jeans. One of her hands drifted down to brush over the hard bulge she could see beneath the denim. He moaned faintly at her touch, and Marissa felt immediately more confident. She could please him. She was pleasing him. Even if she wasn’t very good at this, he still wanted her to touch him.
He loved her. She loved him.
And she didn’t have to be perfect.
She could do this.
She undid the button and then slid the zipper down, focusing on her task rather than on his intense face. She pu
shed away the fabric of his jeans and then his underwear. Pulled out his erection.
Felt her heart thud in faint disappointment when she didn’t find it particularly stunning.
Like every other erect penis she’d ever seen, Caleb’s looked uncouth and rather bizarre—like it didn’t quite belong on a human body. Penises just weren’t aesthetically pleasing.
But she didn’t reveal any reaction as she brushed her fingers up and down his hard length. Finally glanced back up to meet his eyes.
He was still observing her cautiously, as if he wasn’t quite convinced she was ready for this, but underneath that worry she recognized some real need and insecurity.
He wanted her. And wanted her to want him. So she could destroy him now, if she admitted that she didn’t like this most intimate part of himself. She’d put him through the wringer already, and he hadn't buckled yet, but in this he was so much more vulnerable.
Marissa wasn’t about to destroy him that way.
She leaned forward and took his lower lip between her teeth, still holding him gently in both of her hands. “Very, very nice,” she said huskily. “Why did I wait so long to see it?”
She smiled at him with nothing but affection in her face, in her heart.
He smiled back wryly. “Are you planning to do anything with it now that you’ve unwrapped it?”
Marissa giggled, adjusting her position until her shoulder was leaning against the back of the couch and her chest was pressed up against his side. He agreeably lifted his arm to the back of the sofa to give her more room. Laying her cheek against his shoulder, she looked back down toward his lap.
Felt strange when she saw her small fingers around him.
“I don’t think I’ll be very good at this,” she warned him, as she lightly moved her fingers.
Caleb hissed. Shifted the arm that was draped above her. “Baby, it’s going to be good for me no matter how you do it.”