by Eden Royce
“Open for me.” He was intent on my every move, my every sound, even though his own lids were heavy with passion. He found my rhythm and amplified it, until the thrumming fired my blood. My world shrank. It was only him and the melodious hum spread throughout my body.
His pace changed and I thought I’d lost my chance at orgasm. Again. A scathing remark came to the edge of my tongue. It never left my lips. He plunged two fingers deep into me and held them there as my cunt pulsed around them. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
“Sip your drink, baby.” I could barely hold the glass steady, but when it reached my lips I guzzled the remainder of the icy liquid. The moment I finished, he parted his fingers, stretching me until my summery walls leaked honey.
Then his fingers retreated and I mourned the loss of his heated invasion. My hips lifted, tried to follow his fingers as they left my clutching flesh. My nipples, stone hard, chafed against the inside of my bra and I longed to pinch them, tug at them.
My hand clutched at his arm and he returned to tease, like a hummingbird darts around a chosen blossom before plunging between the vibrating petals for nectar. My vision swam and the entire bar wavered as a haze of passion covered my vision like a silken blindfold. He brushed aside my hair and placed his moist lips on the delicate skin beneath. When his thumb rolled over my pearl, I spread my thighs as far as my skirt would allow me and tilted my pelvis upward to receive him as deeply as possible. I relished his masculine grunt of approval.
I held the empty glass to my lips to muffle my whimpers at his skillful movements. “Is this where you need it, right inside your pink?”
Before I could respond, his fingers sank deep, curled and flicked. My body quaked when his thumb made dizzying circles on my puffy clit, faster with each rotation, until his sopping fingers slid wildly over my slick pussy.
“Mercy,” I gasped.
“Fresh out.” He added a third digit and pressed. His mouth on mine absorbed first my whimpers, then my protests as he slipped his hand from me. He dipped into the old-fashioned glass with its melting ice before returning to my scorching cunt. My snug channel stretched to accommodate the probing and I ground my hips down onto his hand.
My orgasm mounted and my hand on the bar began to tremble. He took it in his free one and pressed it against the straining fabric of his jeans. I was about to come and he knew it. He stayed close with murmured words of encouragement and kisses along my neck as I bucked against his firm hand. A few beckoning motions against the spongy flesh of my G-spot and my orgasm broke. It rocked me back on the barstool and he was there, taking the weight of my body against his and capturing my mouth to swallow my screams. His feverish touches carried me through the orgasm, wrung another hip-bucking spasm and another, and finally mewling whimpers of satiety.
He stroked my hair as I came down, my face buried in his crisp shirtfront. My breath came in pants and gasps as I rode out the final convulsions of my climax. He feathered a lingering kiss on my damp forehead.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
He paid our bills and ushered me, on shaky legs, into a taxi. I whispered my address and he gave it to the driver while I closed my eyes, lulled by his steady, even caress on my knee. He told the cabbie to wait while he tucked me into bed, where I slid into a dreamless sleep.
#
The sun was sitting high on her throne as I drove the long, black ribbon to the Outer Banks of North Carolina to begin my therapeutic vacation. My windows were open and the air conditioning off as I maintained the speed limit down I-74. The wind was enough to move the trickle of perspiration further between my breasts. I opened my mouth and allowed the briny ocean flavor to coat my tongue as I took the turnoff to Surfside Condos.
Sea air had given the buildings the weathered look of most seaside homes. Paint was unnecessary, even shunned, in lieu of the convenience and beauty of bare wood.
Rotund and rosy from exposure to the sun, the front desk receptionist stood and beamed at me as I entered. What was left of his hair was frizzy, and his bulbous nose was peeling despite a heavy smear of zinc oxide. Santa Claus on vacation. He checked me in with the leisure and small talk of someone who has spent his life on the beach. I made a mental note to tell Dr. Lawrence I liked his counterpart. He scratched his potbelly while he handed over a set of keys.
“It’s 183, go straight back and veer right by the palmetto trees. You got a real clear view of the water and you’re a good piece from the other units.”
“Thanks, Dr. Stroker.”
St. Nick giggled. “Oh, I’m not Dave. He’ll be back late this afternoon sometime. Said he’d check on you, though. Make sure you’re having a good time.”
I scaled the stairs to the unit on the uppermost floor. The windows were open, allowing the sea air to sweeten each room. I ignored the siren call of the master bedroom’s fluffy pillows and en suite garden tub, and moved into the kitchen where a gift basket beckoned.
Inside was a scented candle, a tube of silky body lotion, and a tin of Belgian chocolates. My teeth sank into a creamy paradise and I reached for the last item. Crisp tissue paper crinkled around my trembling fingers as I read the card tied to the neck of the I hurried to the table in back of the coffee shop as fast as my legs in their four-inch spike heels allowed me without spilling my cinnamon mocha. “Hey, Jenn. Sorry I’m late. Conference call ran over.”
“Hey, girl.” My best friend bit at her lip, leaving an edge of red on her teeth. “You gonna be mad at me if I cancel on you tonight?”
Even though I cringed at the thought of spending Friday night alone – again – I kept my face impassive and looked straight ahead at the dark suits, almost identical to mine, scrambling by outside. “Depends on why you’re canceling. We were going to try the new Asian fusion place.”
Her uncomfortable tone, blanketed by a thick, fluffy Southern drawl, crawled around my ears. “Um. Something came up.”
“Was it a penis?”
“Claire!”
“What? I’m pretty sure I’m right. Right?”
“Well, what happened was…”
Oh God. This was gonna be big. Significant. Big, significant penis. I was already picturing my phallus-free evening: A glass of wine while I sat on my couch and watched reruns of Frasier. Jee-zus. I imagined having sex with Kelsey Grammer’s sitcom alter ego. Even in the heat of passion, he would call my pussy a vulva. I shuddered and pulled myself back to Jennifer’s high-pitched explanation.
“…I’d get to wear my new dress. The red one, remember?”
I remembered. It was a strappy little thing my D cup breasts would laugh at. Plus, Artesian was the place to be seen at and it was right up Jennifer’s alley – tiny portions served on tiny plates by tiny people. Give me a diner burger and a side of crinkle fries any day.
As usual, Jennifer took my silence for acquiescence. “Anyway, it was a last minute thing. Oh, please don’t be mad.”
I wasn’t mad at her for canceling at the last minute. But I was mad at her for believing that asshole wanted to bring her to a work event. His first and possibly second choices had fallen through, and he was trying to save face by bringing someone. I wanted to slap her silly for being so… well, silly. “No, it’s fine.”
“See, he’s been assigned to–”
“I said it was okay, Jenn. Don’t worry about it. I’ll live.” I always did. Just once, I wanted her to choose hanging out with me over a date.
“Thanks, girl. You’re the best.” Apparently, I wasn’t going to be her choice tonight. I looked at my watch and groaned. It was almost time for my appointment with Dr. Lawrence.
#
By nature, I’m not a calm person. Type A, all the way. I stay awake nights, thinking of what I did or need to do. I go into the office early, work through lunch, stay late.
At least I used to until I burned out. More like a flaming jet crash, smoking fuselage that looks tiny up in the air, but grows to gargantuan sheets of white-hot metal as it reaches the unsuspe
cting earth. The wreckage didn’t resemble who I thought I was; a tireless wonder woman. I felt more like Aquaman, useless until someone needed to talk to fish.
I’d been making the company my life since I was twenty-five. Now, ten years later, my life consisted of meeting with a shrink two hours a week and wondering if getting sex on a regular basis could have slowed my burnout. I hadn’t made time for a real relationship since I started working. Blamed it on being too driven to do anything boring like sit at long, leisurely dinners and answer questions about my family, hometown, and outside interests.
The few times I did date, if I was horny enough, I might force a smile and ask if he wanted to go back to my place. Most times, I had to take charge of my own orgasm. Fine. I could handle that responsibility, too. Senior Executive in Charge of Climax. It was the delegating I had trouble with.
“Claire!”
“What?” Dr. Lawrence’s sharp tone yanked me from the bitter memory.
“We aren’t making much progress. Your tension is obvious. None of my relaxation techniques are working.”
“How can they? I can’t even go to my favorite restaurant because it’s one my boss takes clients to.” No offense to Dr. Lawrence, but yoga and meditation weren’t helping. I focused on doing them perfectly instead of just doing.
“You need a change of scenery. Get on completely unfamiliar territory.”
“Like where? Deciding on a vacation spot would be stress enough.”
The doctor rubbed the bridge of his aquiline nose. “I know. That’s why I want you to stay at the Surf for a while. It’s right on the water. The sound of the ocean will be soothing.” He reached into his desk for a tan card with the words “Surfside Condos” embossed in hunter green copperplate. “My good friend runs it and sits on the board. We went to school together.”
“High school?”
“No.” He shifted in his leather swivel chair. And I knew.
“Ah,” I said. “He’s a shrink too. Feel better knowing he’s keeping an eye on me?”
“Yes, he’s a psychiatrist as well. I will feel better because you’ll have someone around if you need anything.”
“Like what? A sedative?”
“I told you before.” He tossed my well-padded file onto the spotless cherry desk. “You don’t need medication. There’s nothing wrong with you a little fun and enjoyment won’t fix.”
“Then why do I pay you so much?”
“Cheaper than a condo.”
I gave him a chilly look as I stood and took the card.
“Where are you going? We still have fifteen minutes left in our session.”
“That’s enough social interaction for one day. I’m going to get a drink.”
“But you can’t–”
“Don’t worry, I’ll look up your shrink buddy.” I glanced at the business card: David Stroker. “Dr. Stroker? Good God. At least it isn’t Dr. Finger.”
#
Taxicab exhaust hovered in the air as I entered the restaurant alone. I told the hostess at Musashi it would only be one for dinner. She looked at me as though I were a leper and suggested – strongly – that I sit at the bar. I toyed with the idea of telling her curly hair looks ridiculous on Asians, but I decided against it and mentally patted myself on the back for my restraint.
At the bar, I had a chance to take in the restaurant. It was beautiful: the circular bar was in the center of the restaurant and all tables branched out from that nucleus. Crafted in dark wood, the reflective tops of the intimate tables caressed the candlelight. The bar’s stools had padded seats and backs, an invitation to linger and enjoy several perfectly poured drinks.
I ordered a glass of Snow Maiden and sat as far from the crowd as possible. I wanted to see people, but not necessarily interact with them.
I’d ordered my second glass when he came in and sat in the seat next to me. The slight scent of his cologne wrapped its curly tendrils around me and I found myself understanding Jennifer’s decision tonight. He smiled as he sat down and I could almost hear the “ting” of a toothpaste commercial. He ordered and looked out across the restaurant until the bartender set a wine glass of milky liquid in front of me.
“What is that?” he asked, his interest evident. His voice was low and resonant and its vibration seduced my ears. For the first time in recent memory, I was jealous of a glass of wine.
“It’s sake,” I said.
“Sake?” My heart thumped when he used the Japanese pronunciation. “It’s white and … opaque.”
“Yes, it is,” I responded, feeling superior. “It’s unfiltered.” I smiled, lips closed, as I turned the stem of the glass around and around in my fingers. “Ever tried it?”
“No, I’ve had sake, but not like that.”
I reached over his forearm and grabbed a straw from the black lacquer holder on the bar. I dipped it into my glass and when it filled, held my finger over the top opening. “Here. Try it.”
He continued to look at me, unblinking, even as the bartender set his bourbon and branch in front of him. Heat moved inside me like a lazy kitten, yawning and stretching as it woke from its extended slumber. He shifted on the stool toward me, his eyes searching my face for something I wasn’t sure I was ready to reveal. The muted light gave his eyes an intensity that made my heart thud. Unable to hold his direct gaze, I dropped my eyes to his fingers around the old-fashioned glass. They stroked the curves of the cut crystal and the kitten woke fully, watching the rhythmic movement.
“No?” I asked as I shrugged in what I hoped was a careless fashion. “Okay.” I moved the straw toward my lips.
“Wait,” he said, too loudly, even for the busy restaurant. He continued, more softly, “Wait. I’ll try it.”
“You sure? No pressure.”
I’d only whispered the last part, but he’d heard. His eyes glittered as he spoke. “I’m sure.” But instead of taking the offering I had prepared in the straw, he took the glass from my hand and brought it to his lips. He swirled the creamy liquid around in the glass as he swallowed.
After what seemed like an eternity, I asked, “Well?”
“Strong, sharp, with an unexpected sweetness. I like it.”
It bothered me that something I enjoyed pleased him. “I’m so glad.”
“Now you have to taste something I choose.”
“I don’t have to do anything.” My inner cynic, born of so many bad dates and even worse lovers, had to be heard.
The smile eased across his face again. “You do if you want to be fair.”
“Newsflash. Hate to tell you, but life isn’t fair.”
“No, but it can be fun.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
He leaned an elbow on the bar, causing his shirt to stretch over an impressive set of shoulders, strong and solid, without being bulky. When I looked up, he was watching me observe him. To his credit, he didn’t comment. “Why wouldn’t you know? You seem pretty together.”
“That is exactly the reason. Men don’t like ‘together’ women. They like nutcases without anything going for themselves except a closet full of clothes that are a size too small. They even…” My rant died away as his fingers found my earlobe and pressed with a feather touch, securing the tiny hoop. I shuddered as he trailed the tip of his index finger over the taut, sensitive flesh behind my earring before returning his hand to his pocket.
“It was coming out,” he explained. “I tightened it for you.”
“I’m not used to anyone doing anything for me.” I rubbed my ear, trying to erase the tingling, but it was no use. My skin felt hot and tight, as if he’d kissed me there. The thought of his lips, with their soft friction on my flesh, made a stream I’d thought long dry begin to flow. I squirmed in my seat at the unexpected moisture and wished I’d worn hose in addition to the thin, microfiber bikini panties.
He brushed a drop of pearlescent wine from the back of my hand. “Why not?”
“I… Well, I get it done faster.”
“Fast
er isn’t always better.”
“I like knowing things are done, so I don’t have to worry about them anymore.”
“You shouldn’t worry at all.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I’ll give up worrying for Lent.”
“No, really. It causes undue stress and wrinkles.” He reached toward my face and I couldn’t move as the backs of his fingers danced over my cheek. My face burned.
“I’m sure I already have wrinkles.”
“You have beautiful skin.”
“It isn’t–”
He leaned close, his mouth a gasp away from mine. “Just say, ‘Thank you.’”
My throat constricted. His scent, his presence was all around me. Each movement he made was relaxed and easy. It was self-assurance that was far from being arrogant. It was a confidence imbued with the knowledge he could handle any issue that might arise. I breathed him in again, slowly this time, savoring the crisp, earthy scent. He radiated heat, foiling the best efforts of the restaurant’s ceiling fans. My nipples tightened and the lips of my pussy seeped fluid.
I pressed my legs together in an attempt to stem the flow of moisture, but I ended up pinching my protruding clit between my thighs, which made me shudder. My ‘thank you’ was a whisper breathed into his mouth.
“My pleasure.”
He signaled the bartender and spoke in a low tone I couldn’t hear above the busy restaurant. The smaller man returned and set three miniature martini glasses between us before disappearing. “Now for yours.” He moved closer to me until our legs touched, my thighs lined up between his, and he placed his arm around the back of my chair.
I shook my head. “I can’t handle three more drinks.” I was already overheated, my breasts weighty and full. My nipples ached, throbbing in time to the heartbeat pounding between my legs. The pulsing made my pussy feel empty, made it crave the thickness I could feel through his jeans.
He poured the contents of the first glass into the second. “It’s only two drinks. But you can have a little taste of each.” He held the glass to my mouth and I wet my lips on the clear, sweet liquid. “What does it taste like?” he asked.