by Brandy Ayers
“We’re going to need drinks for this. And not here. Pete will never leave us alone.”
The widest smile I’ve ever seen dances across her face before she tries to hide it with a bite to her lower lip. “Perfect. There just so happens to be a super cute cafe down the street with private booths we can talk in. They sell great Irish coffee”
“Alright, let’s go.”
This is a very bad idea. But I can’t seem to stop myself, even knowing that.
***
“Okay. First question. What is your fondest sexual memory of us?” Marci’s cheeks glow bright red, apparently surprised by the sexual nature of the first question. They aren’t all sexy, but a good few of them are.
“I told you they were meant for couples.” I give her a shrug and a wry, I told you so, grin.
“No biggie, we’ll just have to answer in general terms. Since we have no sexual memories—”
For a second, I think she’s going to say yet, but she keeps going instead.
“What is your fondest sexual memory of all time?”
This is where things get tricky. Most people would think since I’m the teacher of a class on how to satisfy women in bed that I’ve had lots of partners. Truth is almost completely the opposite. I prefer sex with women who I care about, which makes one-night stands impossible. I’ve had three serious relationships since I started dating in high school, and hence, three sexual partners.
Marci’s eyes glow with interest and heat. I’m sure she’s expecting some incredibly off the wall story, but I’m afraid I’m about to greatly disappoint her. “Okay, we’re doing this, huh?”
She gives me one firm nod. “Feel free to take a sip of your liquid courage if needed.”
Not bad advice, honestly. The whiskey spiked coffee concoction warms my chest and strengthens my resolve as I take a healthy sip. “Okay. My most fond sexual memory would have to be the first time I had sex. It was with my college girlfriend. We’d waited a few weeks after we started dating. She was a huge Michael Bublé fan, so I took her to one of his concerts for her birthday. Then we stayed in a hotel before driving back to campus the next day. She was very worked up after the concert, and well, things went from there.”
Even giving her that much is more than I usually talk about my sex life. I have lots of guy friends, but we don’t talk about our sexual escapades all that much. I think they’re afraid to reveal too much to a guy who makes his living picking apart people’s sex lives and relationships.
“Oh, come on. You have to give me more than that. It must have been good if it was a fond memory.”
“It was good. That’s all I’m saying.”
Marci shakes her head, admiration and disbelief apparent on her face. “You really are unlike any guy I’ve met.”
Not sure what to make of that, I look down at the card in my hand. Jesus Christ, suddenly I’m regretting this game. “What is one sexual fantasy you’ve never told me about before?”
“Well this should be easy. You don’t know any of my sexual fantasies.” Marcie plants her elbows on the table, hands cupping the steaming mug. “I’m pretty sure all of mine are tame compared to some others. But I’ve always had this one, since I was a teenager.” She leans in even closer, tipping the chair toward me.
“I’m already in bed, asleep, and I feel something between my legs. At first, I think it’s a dream. But then the pressure keeps increasing. A wet, firm pressure. I try to roll over, and strong hands keep my hips pinned to the mattress. One snakes up my torso, kneads my breast. That’s when I wake up and look down where the pressure is coming from. There’s a man between my thighs, licking me. Eating me like I’m his last meal.
“Sometimes I know him, sometimes he’s just a combination of a bunch of traits I like in men. But no matter what, he stays down there until I’m weak and trembling from how many times he’s brought me over the edge. Then he takes me. I can barely move, so he just positions my body however he wants it. Wrings even more pleasure out of my spent body. I beg him to finish, to come inside me. And when he finally does, he pummels so hard, I know I’ll be able to feel the imprint of him inside me for weeks.”
Fuuuuuck. The rod in my pants has never been harder. The zipper on my jeans is truly in danger of splitting open and unleashing the beast Marci’s story has created. “Wow. Um. You could have just said being woken up by someone giving you oral sex.”
She laughs, this totally carefree big laugh that I don’t expect out of her. It doesn’t help the situation developing in my pants at all.
“That wouldn’t be any fun, now would it.” Marci goes back to her next question, one eyebrow quirking up, and suddenly, I’m sweating, anticipating what’s coming next. I may have made this game, but I have no clue which cards she got. “What is one of the biggest regrets in your life? And is it too late to change?”
No way in hell am I telling her the real answer. As cool and fun as this woman appears today, I can’t forget she’s a reporter, and this will all be going into her article. “I had the chance to be in the band Malfeesance. But I crashed my bike on the way to the audition and ended up in the hospital for two days.”
Marci looks at me skeptically, as if she knows I’m not giving her the whole truth. “The metal band Malfeesance, whose misspelled name annoys editors everywhere?” She looks me up and down again, and I can almost watch as she tries to fit the image of the buttoned-up therapist in front of her with the head to toe black leather wearing miscreants in the band. “I can’t picture it.”
“Here, this will help.” I pull my phone from the front pocket and pull up my Facebook page. The guys from my high school band have a group page where we all bullshit with each other and reminisce about teenage shenanigans. Tapping on the photos folder, I find the one of me sitting behind my drum kit, hair long and hanging in my face, sweat dripping down my temples from the show we had just played. I turn the phone around, letting Marci check out the photo. “That’s from my misspent youth as a wannabe rock star.”
Leaning in, Marci’s blouse hangs down a little, showing me the tops of her round breasts. Before I can stop myself, my tongue snakes out, running over my suddenly dry lips. Thankfully, her eyes are on the screen, not my mouth.
“Oh my gosh, you were so cute!”
“I wasn’t cute. I was a badass.” I pull the phone back, and her eyes shoot up to meet mine. “And what do you mean were?”
“Micah, there is nothing cute about you now. I think you know you’re way more than cute.” Her cheeks flare red, and I feel my own blush in repose to her compliment.
It’s true I don't think of myself as cute. Nothing as inconveniently over-sized as I am could ever be considered cute. But I never thought of myself as all that handsome either.
“Okay, I think it is your turn to ask me a question.” Marci leans back in her chair, her chest heaving ever so slightly. Is she as turned on right now as I am?”
“Right.” The next card is a relatively innocent one, thank god, because I’m not sure much more my poor, angry cock can take. “What is your favorite way to relax?”
“My new vibrator.” Before the last word is totally out of her mouth, Marci slaps her hand over her face. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud.” The words come filtered through her fingers, her eyes as wide as the giant ceramic cup of coffee she ordered.
Stunned, I sit there in silence for a moment before the laughter erupts out of me. “Don’t worry. I’ve heard worse.” I don’t mention that there are now triple-X rated visions of her curvy body writhing on the bed while she pleasures herself with a toy in her hand. “And as a psychologist, can I just say it is very healthy to be able to take your pleasure into your own hands.”
With a mock serious face, Marci nods solemnly. “Absolutely, Dr. O, I agree.” Her long blonde hair swings side to side as she shakes her head and tucks her chin to her chest, laughing into her hands.
“Okay, my turn to ask a question.” Gathering her composure, Marci draws a random ca
rd from the center of her stack. Immediately, her whole face lights up, then goes an even darker shade of rosy than her laughing fit left her with. “If you could do one thing to me right now, sexually, what would it be?”
Why, why did I make this game?
“Be honest. I can take it. I know I didn’t give you the best first impression.” A little of the light in her eyes dims, and something inside me sinks knowing my actions caused that.
The truth is, she did make a pretty terrible first impression, but if my work has done nothing else, it has taught me that people are never set in stone. They change and evolve as their lives dictate. People have good days and bad days. God knows I have.
Without thinking too much about my impulse to make her happy, I opt to give her the full truth to her question, no holding back. “No consequences?”
She shakes her head, leaning in once more and biting her top lip. In the short time we’ve spent together, I’ve discovered Marci bites her top lip when nervous. Her bottom lip when she’s turned on.
“If I could do anything to you right now, I’d pull you over my knee, lift that skirt over your high, round ass, and spank you for the way you acted the first time we met.” Her jaw falls open at my words, letting loose her top lip. “Then, after it was nice and red, I’d turn you around and shove my cock so deep inside, you’d feel me for days. I’d sit back in my chair, hands gripping the back, and make you ride me while your red ass shook on my lap. I’d make you scream over and over, and only when you begged, would I let you have my cum.”
Chapter Seven
Marci
A skirt, stockings, and no panties suddenly seems like a very bad idea for tonight. Thanks to my outfit choice and Micah’s words, I’m fairly certain there is going to be a sizeable wet spot on this cafe's chair.
Micah’s eyes dance with lust and a spark of bad boy that I didn’t see coming from him. In class, he’s this big feminist teddy bear, espousing the need for men to treat their women as equals both in and out of the bedroom. Making sure men know their enjoyment of sex should be secondary to their partner’s. I expected him to be gentle in bed. With as big as he is, even as a gentle lover, I’m sure he packs a punch.
But there is nothing in his body language that suggests gentle right now. No. His coiled muscles, clenched jaw, and the confidence radiating off him scream alpha.
A feminist alpha. I think I just came a little.
“I’ve never been spanked.” The words are out before I can think twice about them. I desperately want to cover my mouth and crawl under the table before I can say anything else dumb. But I don’t. I hold my ground, look him in the eye. Let him know I may not have been party to that bit of fun in bed before, but I would be up for it now.
“When there is as much tension between two people as there currently is between us, it can be explosive.” Micha leans back in his chair, sipping his coffee while keeping his eyes on me. “I have a strange feeling you’ve been sleeping with the wrong men.”
Huh, he’s not wrong. But we’re not going there right now.
“I really did think you would prefer to take a more submissive role in bed. What with the class you teach and everything, I just assumed you would let women take the lead.” It might be the booze lacing my coffee, or just the pure male aura coming off Micah, but the whole room seems to close in. Heat creeps up my chest, making my breaths come faster. A quick shift in my seat, thighs rubbing together, does nothing but ramp up the desire building between my legs.
“Like I said before class, I get off on a woman’s pleasure. There is almost nothing I wouldn’t do to make a woman come. But if we are talking pure selfishness, my preferred way to be in bed is definitely not submissive.” Micah takes another sip of his drink. A dark drop of coffee lingers on his lower lip as he pulls the cup away. One of his fists comes up, swiping at the liquid with his thumb. He sucks the spill off his thick digit, and my eyes are riveted to the action. A glimpse of his tongue through his sensuous lips makes my nipples tighten into almost painful points.
“Actually, I prefer women not be submissive in bed either. I like a little tension between the sheets. Or against the wall. I want her to give as good as she gets.” His words draw my attention back to his eyes, which I only just now notice are shifting focus between the tops of my breasts as they push against the sheer blouse I’m wearing and my lips.
Biting my lips has been a bad habit of mine since childhood, one I’ve never totally broken. But right now, the move is intentional. He wants to look at my mouth? I’ll give him something to think about. Slowly, I draw my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down on it lightly before letting it pop out and following with a swipe of my tongue.
Micah’s Adam’s apple bobs up then down as he swallows, though he didn’t take a drink. No, that reaction was caused by me, and that knowledge gives me a little more confidence in whatever it is that’s happening between us now.
There isn’t a specific rule stating that a journalist shouldn’t get romantically involved with the subject of their story. But even if there was, I wouldn’t give a shit. Just talking with Micah has me more turned on than anything I’ve done between the sheets with my few past sexual partners. It would take a lot more than some unspoken code of conduct for me to pass up the opportunity to have the power this giant of a man must be able to harness in bed.
But how do we move from this sexually charged conversation over spiked coffee, to him putting his cock in places that ache in a way I’ve never known? This is the part of the whole dating thing I’m not good at. Asking him to come back to my place and spank me before fucking me into a coma isn’t exactly the smoothest way to go, but that is exactly what I want him to do. “Do you think we should continue the game some place we can talk a little more freely?”
“What did you have in mind?” His voice is smoke, a signal of the fire burning under the surface. Deep and rumbling with an edge to it that makes my nerves jump in excitement.
“My apartment is a short cab ride away. I have a couple bottles of wine I keep meaning to crack open.” Jesus, the butterflies in my stomach have migrated to my limbs, making my fingers and toes tingle, my chest tighten, and my pussy pray for some relief.
Soon.
“Sounds good.” He stands, and once again, the size of this man nearly has my head spinning. One of his huge hands curls around mine, drawing me out of my own seat and pulling him closer to me. “Though I think we’ve had enough games for one night, don’t you?”
I take another step closer, forming some sassy response as I go, but all words are lost as the steel length in his pants presses into my soft stomach. A gust of breath whooshes out of me, and he tilts his hips in further, making himself very, very known. “Holy shit.”
“And this is how big I am while my pants are cutting off the blood supply. Imagine what will happen when we get them off.” The naughty whisper raises the hair on the back of my neck, every single point of my body at full attention now.
Not needing any more reason to get this man alone, I turn ready to drag all six feet and seven inches of him out of the café and into the street to hail a taxi.
“Oh my God, Marci.” A blur of perfect chestnut hair and French manicured fingers surprises me with air kisses on both my cheeks. “What are the chances of seeing you here?”
“Lacy?” My college roommate backs up a step, taking in my hand joined with Micah’s. “What are you doing here?”
The impeccably made up woman waves a dismissive hand over her shoulder at a man looking crestfallen in the corner. “My first date from this ridiculous matchmaker I read about. She’s supposedly famous for finding women husbands who can keep her in the life to which she is accustomed, but I think it is all exaggeration after the experience I just had. I mean, why would he bring me to this side of town if he was trying to woo someone of my caliber? Can you believe it?” The haughty laugh, totally fake in every way, is like someone grinding their teeth together right your ear. And combined with my ramped-up
arousal, it is making me a little stabby.
Her eyes sweep up and down Micah’s body, and Lacy looks back at me with an arched eyebrow and a look which needs no interpretation.
“But it appears that I’m not the only one slumming it tonight. Looks like you are going for a more mountain fresh flavor, though.”
Why did I used to be friends with this girl again?
The combination of derision and superiority in her voice is nauseating. Sadly, a few weeks ago, I would have fake laughed along with her, just to hang on a little longer to our quickly fading friendship. But now, I want to throw myself over Micah, hide him from her snap judgments because of his clothes and size. True, he’s wearing all name brands, but they aren’t the right brands for someone like Lacy. Heck, I don’t think she’s ever let a man who wore jeans touch her.
Micha drops my hand like he just found out I handled nuclear waste for a living, and the relaxed heat emanating from him just seconds ago turns ice cold at my back.
“Actually, Micah is a…”
“No need to introduce us, Marci.” The smoke is gone from his voice, frost replacing it. “I should get back to the bar to help Pete close up for the night. I think you have enough on the game for your article, don't you?”
Micah steps around me, his spine stiff.
“Wait, Micah.” I step after him, but Lacy grabs my arms. “Oh good, you were only here for work. We were so going to have words if you were here for a date. I mean, really? I didn’t realize giants were your thing, Marc.”
Time stops for a moment as indecision invades my every cell. I want to tell off Lacy like I’ve never wanted anything in my life, but I also need to go after Micah, who doesn’t even pause on his way to the door. Before I can make up my mind, it is made for me when Micah strides out onto the sidewalk. The door closes, snapping me out of my catatonic state.
I whip around so fast, Lacy’s hold on me is broken, and she stumbles a little in her way too high and too expensive Jimmy Choo’s. “Lacy, I’ve wanted to say this so many times over the years, but never had the courage. You are ugly.”