Tell Me More

by Janet Mullany

  His mouth touched mine, softly, tentatively. His lips were slightly rough and although I wanted to devour and be devoured I waited and let him move and press and nudge mine. He could kiss, but I knew that. I wanted greater knowledge, admission to his secret tastes and textures, to share breath and wetness. His tongue darted to my lips and he made a slight sound in his throat that made me shudder with longing for what seemed like hours, but was only the amount of time it took for his tongue to traverse my closed lips.

  He withdrew and looked at me. “Okay?”

  I nodded. I seemed to have forgotten how to speak.

  “Well, then…” And he hauled me onto his lap, me straddling him, so that I was pressed up against that glorious hardness at his crotch. He ran a thumb up and down the outside of my thigh and all the nerve endings below my waist zinged into life again.

  I moved then, touched his face and his neck and the muscular tenseness of his chest, until he caught my hands in his and reached for my lips again. This kiss was wet and greedy and clumsy, our teeth clashing, and at some point I’d guided his hands to my breasts, his touch startling even through layers of silk underwear (the practical winter kind, not the sexy stuff) and a cotton turtleneck. His mouth moved down under my ear, where he nuzzled and sucked while I squirmed in delight.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said. He removed his eyeglasses.

  “Don’t stop.” I was proud that I had managed a coherent sentence even if it was only two words.

  “I think we need to think about this.”

  “Why?” I pressed myself against his erection and wondered vaguely if I had a damp patch there. I certainly felt warm and wet and excited. I wondered if he had a damp patch at this point.

  His hands gripped my hips and moved me away. “You know I’m receptive, humbled, grateful—”

  “Oh. I thought it was an erection.”

  “Smart-ass.” He cleared his throat. “It happens when you’re around and quite often when you’re not. Nature is a wonderful thing. But we’ve still got the underlying problems—I’m your tenant. You have the remnants of a complicated love life. I’m still married although moving toward a divorce.”

  Fuck all that, let’s get naked.

  As if in response to my unspoken comment, he touched my spandex-clad crotch with an index finger and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  “So,” he said, “I think we should take things easy. Get to know each other. Go on dates. Make out sometimes. Often.”

  “You didn’t bother with all that with Kimberly.” The whine in my voice embarrassed me horribly.

  “I didn’t feel this way about Kimberly. Sure, I liked her. I still like her. But we both knew it was going to be strictly sex, for a limited time, and we weren’t going to have any sort of real intimacy. But with you, it’s different. I want this to last and I’m superstitious about it. I don’t want to screw it up.”

  “Okay. I’m not quite sure what to say. But what if we get to know each other and either you or I decide we don’t want to fuck?”

  He grinned. Without the eyeglasses he looked different, more serious, more adult. “And you think that’s likely?”

  “No.”

  “And here’s a couple more things to consider. One, purely practical, I don’t have any condoms at the moment.”

  “What?” And then the realization hit me that I didn’t, either. Jason the ever-erect had depleted my stock. “Neither do I. Okay, that’s tonight covered although I do know an all-night drugstore. But what’s the other thing?”

  He leaned back in the chair, hands behind his head. “Ah, I thought we might play a few erotic games first. I think you’d like that. Lots of fooling around and lots and lots of squishy, messy orgasms, lots of lovely damp patches for us both. Are you woman enough for it? It’s a good way of getting to know someone, and we’ll transition easily into the fucking, no shyness or clumsiness or, in my case, coming too soon.”

  “Is that a problem for you?”

  “Tonight it would be.” He said it quite easily without a trace of embarrassment. “You’ll make me go off like a fucking volcano, Jo, and quite soon if we keep this up.”

  “Hmm. Like this?” I placed my hand on the considerable bulge in his pants. He was naked underneath, I was sure, and his cock jumped against my palm.

  He closed his eyes as I trailed my fingertip over the head of his cock and down to the taut bulk of his balls. “Please don’t. I have a shitload of laundry to do already.”

  I laughed and took my hand away. “Okay, then. What next?”

  He grinned back at me and I felt warm. Warm from desire, physically warm, enthralled by his suggestion of lovely squishy orgasms, and excited as though the two of us were embarking on a new journey. Which I suppose we were.

  “So how do you feel about me?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Terrified. Elated. Curious. Affectionate.”

  “Affectionate!” He snorted. “You sure know how to boost a guy’s ego. And how the hell can you be affectionate and terrified?”

  “I don’t know. I’m scared of intimacy, of pain.”

  He shrugged. “Oh, get over yourself. It’s the human condition. We all crave intimacy, we’re all afraid of pain. Sometimes you have to take the risk.”

  “And I find you very sexy.”

  “Finally. I find you very sexy, too.” This time he trailed his fingertip from my throat to my nipple and I just about fell off his knees. “Hey,” he whispered. “Would you like to get…affectionate with me?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  He pulled me close again. “Let’s take it easy.”

  “Yeah, we don’t want to cause unnecessary laundry.” I spoke virtually into his mouth. It made this mundane statement unbearably sexy and I squirmed as his thumbs worked my nipples.

  “No genital contact,” he said in a prim sort of way that sounded as though he were dictating a rather inhibited sex manual.

  “But your hand on my ass is allowed?”

  “Absolutely.” And he pulled me forward. The chair creaked.

  And oh, God, the man could kiss and do amazing things through my layers of clothing with his fingertips. “Patrick, I’m hot.”

  “Yeah.” He tipped his head back and smiled at me. “You are hot.”

  “Not like that. I have to take off a layer.”

  “Okay. Do it slowly.”

  I pulled the turtleneck over my head—as usual, the neck got stuck on my head and I had to fight my way out. “Sexy enough for you?” I asked when I emerged.

  “I’ll take what I can get. Better?” He stared at my nipples poking through the silk undershirt.

  He ducked his head to one nipple and sucked hard, sending more zings to my clit, which was becoming particularly well-acquainted with that delicious hard bulge in his pants. “Nice?” he asked.

  “Don’t stop. Do the other one. Please.” I rubbed myself against him. “You’ll make me come.”

  He muttered something and mouthed the other nipple while that clever forefinger played around my crotch, tickling me through the taut spandex. I gripped his shoulders. No condoms. It was a disaster. No it wasn’t. It was—

  He kissed me hard, his tongue thrusting into my mouth, his hands squeezing my breasts, as I came. That I couldn’t cry out or make any sort of sound made the moment sexier, more intimate, more intense. And then he drew his head away and gave a sound that was halfway between a moan and a laugh.

  “More laundry,” he said with great cheerfulness. “And how was that for you?”

  “Nice,” I said. “Oh, God, it was nice.”

  “Let’s have another cup of tea.” He pushed me off and reached for his eyeglasses, and sure enough, there was a large wet patch on the crotch of his pants, and the bulk of his cock had decreased somewhat.

  I was surprised, but not offended, by his forthrightness. It seemed he was someone who was energized by sex, and he whistled as he plugged his kettle in again. I stood and put my arms around him, resting my head beneath his ch
in, and he held me, without words, making tea one-handed, careful to keep the boiling water away from me.

  “Most men collapse after sex,” I said.

  “Ha, that was just an orgasm. One I have to thank you for, it’s true, but if we’d been fucking, well, I’d be comatose for days among the broken furniture and the wrecked carpet.” He poked his cup with a teaspoon, his arms still around me. “But I’m not averse to a bit of a cuddle after. Let’s go out on a date Saturday night. I have a project I have to finish and I expect you’re working tomorrow, although you’re most welcome to come fool around after. I’ll be awake.” He stopped messing with his mug of tea and looked at me. “God, I can’t believe this. That we’ve dry-humped each other like teenagers and we’re planning to go out on a date like adults. Come on, Jo, speak to me. You’re awful quiet.”

  “I’m happy. I’m amazed. I didn’t expect…”

  “My amazing technique?”

  “You talk too much.” I placed my finger on his mouth.

  19

  HE WAS UNDER THE SAME ROOF, MORE OR LESS, and it drove me crazy, but at the same time I loved the craziness and the longing. I couldn’t wait to get home from work the next night. Patrick led me to the kitchen, claiming I should eat, but the pot of pasta suffered as we found excuses to rub up against each other and kiss.

  “Jesus Christ!” Patrick dropped the pan into the sink and turned the faucet on, disappearing behind a cloud of steam. He emerged, drying his eyeglasses on his shirttail. “You’re a menace. We could have burned the house down.”

  “I am? You’re the one who wanted to cook me something.”

  “You need to maintain your strength after slaving over that hot board in the studio.” He bent to rummage in a cabinet. “Oh, get your hands off my arse, woman.”

  “You have a great arse.”

  “So do you, and I intend to get up it as soon as we begin to have sex. Unless of course we develop burned-food fetishes. Tuna?”

  “A tuna fetish?” I moved my hands over his ass.

  “A tuna sandwich.”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  He straightened, a can of tuna in one hand, and turned to face me. “Let’s go away somewhere for our first screw.”

  “You’re such a romantic. What’s wrong with my bed? Or yours, for that matter?”

  “I want it to be special.”

  He looked so incredibly sincere I didn’t want to say how girly that sounded; besides which, his erection, pressing against my hip, wasn’t at all girly, and was distracting me.

  “How does that fit into your idea of easing into real sex?” I thought fondly of that remarkable appendage easing into me. “Forget the tuna. I’ll have a banana.”

  “Excellent.” Patrick propped himself on the kitchen table, a wide grin on his face.

  “I love bananas.” I caressed the banana in a lewd sort of way. “Love, love, love.”

  He cleared his throat.

  “I bought some condoms today,” I continued. I peeled the first strip down with infinite care. “Ooh, this is such a big, firm one.”

  “I bought some, too.” His voice sounded a little tight.

  “But of course it doesn’t mean we’re actually going to use them. Not yet.” I continued my slow peel. “Mmm. I wonder if I can get the whole thing in my mouth?”

  Patrick darted forward and took the banana from me, pressing me against the counter. “Fuck it, let’s go to bed. Let’s do something. Let’s get our clothes off and fool around. Do you know how much I want to see you naked? To kiss and lick you all over?” He paused to bite the top off the banana.

  “Freud would have loved that.” Despite my flippancy, I was hoarse and shaking with desire, clutching at him. “Come on, then. My bed’s bigger.”

  We ran upstairs, and as we entered my bedroom I was horribly aware of its untidy state, including an unmade bed. “I’ll change the sheets—”

  “No. I want to be covered by your smell.”

  It was quite the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to me. Patrick unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it on the floor next to a pair of my socks.

  I grabbed the bottom of my sweater to pull over my head.

  “Stop!” Patrick unzipped his jeans, toeing off his socks. “I’m going to undress you. Why are you giggling?”

  “I love the boxers.”

  He glanced down at the pattern of bright green frogs. “I knew you’d like these. Get on the bed.”

  Oh, God, I’d forgotten my vibrator blatantly tangled in the sheets. I made a grab for it, but Patrick got there first. “And what’s the meaning of this, young lady? Did I not service you adequately last night?”

  “Uh, well, yes, but this morning…” I was embarrassed but at the same time highly turned on at his discovery.

  He switched it on and ran it over one finger. “We’ll have a demonstration of this implement of desire later. Now, brace yourself.”

  He removed his boxers and I was treated to my first real sight of his cock, sturdily erect, and I wanted to take him in my mouth and kiss and lick. He swatted me away and I realized what a master of sensuality the man was.

  He took his time and caressed every square inch of skin as he lifted up my sweater. Just wait until you see my bra, Patrick. It wasn’t the best item of clothing to wear on a bike, but I was glad I had. He stopped his gentle caresses and stared, before tracing my nipples through the lace, and finally bending to kiss them.

  After an eternity he reached behind me to unhook my bra and then stared at my breasts with a look of reverence on his face.

  “I want to touch you,” I said, but he shook his head, no.

  He slid down my bike pants and then my cotton underwear—as much as I’d have liked to wear the matching panties I knew that particular pair would give me the mother of all wedgies on the bike—and finally we were skin against skin, naked together, kissing and touching.

  His skin was even paler than mine, silvery in the dim light in the bedroom, with a springy mat of reddish curls on his chest—I’d noticed that as he undressed—but at this moment it was all touch and slide of skin and delicious texture. I wrapped my hand around his cock and he reached down to guide me, showing me how he liked to be touched, unselfconscious and trusting.

  “Condoms are…” I gasped when his mouth left mine to tickle deliciously along my collarbone and nip beneath my ear.

  I liked what he was doing—I liked it very much—but at the same time it troubled me. The intensity of our contact, the sheer lightning of his touch, sent me way beyond what I’d considered pleasure, into a realm of unknown sensation. Fucking—whenever he decided it would take place, for it was clear the decision was not mine—would return me to safety. I thought I knew all about teasing and sexual play after my time in the Great Room, but with Patrick I was a novice, troubled and clumsy.

  “What’s wrong?” He had progressed downward, doing amazing things to a spot on my hip bone that I hadn’t realized was an erogenous zone.

  “I feel I should be doing more for you,” I said feebly, his dick being out of reach at the moment.

  “Ach, don’t worry. This is sex, not some sort marketplace barter.”

  “Yeah, I had noticed.” I didn’t even sound sarcastic; just pathetic.

  He sighed and planted his chin on my pubic mound. “Is fucking so very important? Because if it is, we’ll do it.”

  This was the first time I’d ever had a guy reluctant to do the deed. “I don’t know. I’m out of my depth with you.”

  “Shit,” he said and returned his head to mine. “Stop worrying. Enjoy yourself. What would you like me to do?”

  “I hate it when guys ask that.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I feel like I have to give some sort of grocery list.”

  “Ah. Half a pound of cunnilingus, please, and I’ll take a bit of anal play, but only if it’s fresh, not that nasty frozen stuff. Is that what you mean?”

  “Something like that. So if I asked you what you like
, what would you say?”

  “I’m a guy. It’s much simpler for me. Suck my dick, scratch my balls with your fingernails, but very gently, play with my arse—do you have any lube? Jo—”

  I’d taken him at his word, scooting down the bed and grasping his cock. I rolled it into my mouth. This I knew I could do; I was back on familiar territory. Yes, like this, lick him from balls to tip, suck on the delicacy of his foreskin and head, and then—

  Oh, yes, he groaned, and reached for my head, guiding me, showing me what he liked. I ran my fingers up the crack of his ass, the soft hair moist and warm, and relaxed my throat to gather him in. Deep tremors, the tightening of his hands on my head warned me that he was close, and sure enough his hips bucked and he flooded my mouth, warm and salty.

  “Well,” he said and reached a thumb to clean a drop of semen from my mouth. “Well, that was something. That was lovely. I’ll reciprocate if that’s all right with you.”

  He kissed me, my mouth still salty and my chin wet from his orgasm, and turned me over and at that point I was avid to come, by any means possible. One of his clever fingers trailed over my clit.

  “Patrick, just do it. I don’t want subtlety.” I was mortified.

  But he laughed and gathered my thighs in his arms and nibbled and licked at my clit, fingers inside me probing and my orgasm was like a bolt of lightning that left me limp and amazed. I really couldn’t complain when Patrick started another long, slow delicate traverse from collarbone, down and down, culminating in another wicked orgasm.

  I opened my eyes— I couldn’t believe how heavy my eyelids felt and how my whole body sank into the bed. He sat back on his heels and regarded his cock with a mixture of admiration and pity, hard and dark red against his belly.

  “You’re gorgeous,” I said.

  “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” He clasped his cock, stroked. “I’m about to be absolutely crass.”

  “How?”

  “I want to come on you. Sorry, I’m a dirty bastard and you’re damn gorgeous yourself. Think of it—” he pumped his cock with his fist “—as me marking my territory. I don’t know why…it’s this urge—I want to see my come on you. Okay? Say no, and I’ll stop.”