He lifted my camisole off over my head while licking me from my cleavage up to my neck.
I pulled down his underwear, releasing his monster erection, wrapped one hand around his cock and cupped his balls with the other hand. He groaned as I tightened my grip. I felt a surge of hormones. I don’t even know what to call the wild animal noise that I made. I wanted to put my mouth on it, but when I lowered my head down, he pushed me back and reached for a condom in his bedside drawer.
“I can’t wait any longer.”
“Good.”
I settled back into the pillows and inhaled deeply, trying to control my breath and anticipation, like at the start of a rollercoaster ride. Here we go. It’s happening.
He rolled back on top of me and kissed me. I didn’t have to tell him to go slow at first. He pressed into me. I let out a high-pitched sigh. It stung for a second, but it was awesome. He kissed me again and pushed himself in a little further.
“You’re so tight,” he groaned.
“You’re amazing,” I said. I wrapped my arms around his back and wriggled around and down, trying to take in more of him.
He started to move his hips, and so did I. I was ready. I would handle all of the painful pleasure of him for as long as he could give it to me.
He kissed me deeply. It relaxed me. I concentrated on kissing him, my eyes closed, and for a moment I felt so comfortable with him, it was like we were back in his basement in Seattle. It must have made me even wetter, because he was suddenly able to slide in even further, and he raised himself up so he could move more freely.
I felt so full of him and it was beautiful.
“You okay?” he said.
“Yes.” I had never been so okay in my life. “Don’t stop.”
My hips moved along with his and we found a rhythm—to tempo. At that point it seemed impossible that there was ever a time when we weren’t attached like this. Waves of warmth radiated from the center of my body, and I could feel his strength inside of me and all around me, but I could tell he was holding back.
“You don’t have to hold back,” I said. “Fuck me harder.”
“You got it,” he growled. He began thrusting with the power and grace of an athlete.
The bed was rocking, and I spread my arms out over my head and just enjoyed letting him pound away at me, so masterfully. I let myself go, and I started to come in a way that was wild and shattering, and not at all normal for me. It was epic. He managed to last until I had calmed down, but I could tell it was a struggle for him and I wanted to know what he was like when he came too.
When he slowed down a bit, gearing up for the big finish, I lifted my legs up vertically, so they were on both sides of his head, and I was so tight around him. He let out a gruff sound and said my name and his body started to shake. His loud breaths were musical in a masculine sort of way, and I wished I could know what it was like to be him right then, because there was such an impressive physicality to the way he climaxed. He was so in his body. I thought of a runner reaching the finish line, the way he finished strong. Not a sloppy explosion like I was used to from guys, but a celebration of everything leading up to that point.
I never knew I could fall in love with a man’s orgasm, but I did.
He collapsed on top of me and we lay together for a few minutes, in silence. I thought about absolutely nothing while I ran my fingers through his hair. He kissed my shoulder before sitting up.
Like any alpha male who has just revealed the most secret part of himself to a woman for the first time—as soon as he had gotten out of bed, the mask was back on and he asked if I needed to go home to Justin Timberlake.
I said that I did.
I took my time getting dressed, said hello to the kitten before leaving, and enjoyed his kiss goodbye, which was somehow passionate and restrained all at once.
Had he still not forgiven me? Was this how he was with every woman he’d had sex with? Was that incredible earth-shattering physical act just a run-of-the-mill experience for him? Was it worth it to me to feel so much for someone that I had sex with even if he wouldn’t admit that he liked me?
Absofuckinglutely.
For now.
Because I knew who Brad Mitchell was, and I knew that I wanted all of him, even the hard shell that had replaced the soft shell that once protected the sweet innermost part of him that I had stirred when we were teenagers.
I was determined to get back to that part of him eventually, layer by beautiful muscular layer.
Chapter Fifteen
BRAD
I had to work even harder to hide how happy I was at the gym the next morning, than I had with Vivian the night before.
I didn’t feel good about acting so cool about it. I sent her an: I had a good time last night text at six-thirty am. Fifteen minutes later, she wrote back: So did I. Thank you for having me.
I was torn between wanting to pace myself—since I didn’t want this to end—and wanting to see her and touch her and kiss her and fuck her soon/more/all the time/endlessly.
I still had a free personal training slot that I hadn’t filled yet, since handing Vivian off to Sebastian, so it was possible for me to go home early. After hours of debating whether or not I should ask to see her again so soon, I texted her at two-thirty to see if she wanted to have dinner at my place that night—since I hadn’t properly thanked her for helping me with LB yet.
I had to wait a full hour for a reply from her. In the span of an hour I had convinced myself that it was a terrible idea to see her again and I should write back to cancel my invitation. I was so mad that I wanted to fuck her again. It felt like I wanted her more than she wanted me, and that nothing had really changed since high school. I was glad that I at least hadn’t let her fellate me, because if she had I would have been a goner.
But as soon as I’d received a text from her I was happy again. She had back-to-back meetings, she’d said, but accepted my invitation. I decided that it was a good idea for us to get each other out of our systems as quickly and thoroughly as possible, and left the gym to go to Whole Foods.
By the time she’d arrived at my place, the quinoa and asparagus salad was ready, the parmesan-encrusted zucchini chips were crispy, the salmon en papillote had just gone into the oven, and I had “prepared myself” twice so that I wouldn’t attack her as soon as she walked in, even though I fully expected her to jump on me.
She didn’t.
She behaved very respectably. She apologized for her work outfit, since she didn’t have time to go home and change. She was wearing a more relaxed variation of the sexy librarian outfit she had worn the day before (not quite so tight a skirt, black high heel boots), so obviously there was no need to apologize. She kissed me on the cheek, removed her boots to reveal knee high socks that were somehow even sexier than the boots, and asked if she could visit Little Badass in the guest room. While she did that, I set the table and checked on the salmon.
When she returned from the guest room, I noted that her blouse was unbuttoned and un-tucked from the top of her grey pleated skirt, revealing the sheer cotton tank top she was wearing, with no evidence of a bra underneath it. She looked me directly in the eyes, as I finally lifted them away from the outline of her semi-hard nipples, as if to say: “Good luck getting through dinner without trying to fuck me, buddy.”
I did—manage to get through dinner without trying to fuck her. We sat at opposite ends of my long dining table, and I asked her about her job. When she asked me about my plans for my business, I went on and on and into great detail about the chain of fitness centers that I planned to open that would cater to Baby Boomers and seniors, in more suburban locations. I told her about my client Larry, and about how I had finally gotten my own parents to start working out regularly. She was not only a great listener, but also a great person to talk to about business plans, since she primarily worked with people who were in the process of forming their own companies.
I barely even thought about fucking once, all thr
ough dinner, but when I served her my homemade chocolate black bean brownies for dessert (after she gagged at the sound of it), she made the sexiest noises while she savored and devoured two of them. I stared at her mouth, transfixed.
But, I didn’t want to lose myself in her all night.
I let LB out of her room, as I was now doing for about an hour at a time, to let her get used to the size of the whole apartment. I suggested we watch Twin Peaks. It was one of the many shows we’d watched together in my basement back in Seattle. She loved the idea, despite having to watch the actors eat all those donuts and slices of cherry pie, and got all comfy on my sofa, with LB in her lap. I took a seat at the other end of the sofa.
After reverent silence through the opening titles, we had a passionate discussion about Twin Peaks: The Return on Showtime, and how we both hated it but couldn’t stop watching it. I finally told her what I thought about The Hunger Games and Game of Thrones adaptations. We talked about the movies and shows and music that we did like, and more that we hated. We were opinionated, impassioned nerds, just like in high school. After about an hour, LB had gotten annoyed by all our talking and returned, unprompted, to her room.
I got up and closed the door to the guest room, and when I’d returned to the sofa, Vivian was rubbing her feet.
“They’re sore from running,” she said.
“They’re probably sore from those heels you wear,” I said. “Or it’s possible you aren’t landing mid-sole and then rolling to the tip of your toes. Or maybe you need better running shoes. I can get you free Nikes, they sponsor me.”
I sat down and gestured for her to put her feet up on my lap so I could give her a foot massage. She pulled off her socks and obliged. I warned her that I gave really good foot massages. She warned me that she had really smelly feet (she didn’t).
As soon as I pushed my thumbs up into the balls of her foot, she closed her eyes and moaned, arching her back. Her legs were smooth, and getting more and more toned each week. I slowly worked my way up her calf, kneading and stroking, and then rubbing the inside of her thigh and feeling her wet panties and slipping my fingers inside of her.
She pulled me to her for a kiss, bent her legs, squeezing herself around my fingers, rhythmically.
“Is this really what you wore to work today?” I asked.
“I had a bulky sweater on over it.”
“You knew you’d see me tonight, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know. But I always hope to.”
Her straightforward honesty was humbling.
“I thought about you all day,” she said into my ear. “I had to lock myself in the ladies room and touch myself in between meetings.”
“You did not.”
“I did. I brought a change of panties to work because I knew I’d get wet thinking about you.”
All the blood in my body rushed to my dick at that point, so I couldn’t really hear what she said next, but I said: “You are a very, very naughty girl.”
I pulled my fingers out, flipped her around, removed her skirt and then took a bite of her perfect peach ass while squeezing it. I pulled off her tank top, kissed her all the way up her back, while massaging her breasts, both of us kneeling on the sofa.
“God, your body is perfect right now, don’t change,” I groaned.
“I still can’t fit into the dress yet,” she said breathily.
“Fuck the dress. I love your body.”
She turned around, pushed me back and straddled me. “Do you really?”
I couldn’t believe I’d said it out loud, but I nodded. “Yes. I love all of it.” I kissed her breasts. She had a musky-rose scent this time, it was driving me crazy. She leaned back to let me enjoy her upper body for a while, and then she grabbed my button-down shirt with both of her hands and ripped it apart. I heard a few buttons skid across the hardwood floor.
“Hey!” I snapped. “I like this shirt!”
“I liked the panties you destroyed last night,” she said. “You can sew the buttons back on your shirt.” She pulled it off of me and ran her hands all over my torso. “God, you should be bronzed,” she said.
I laughed. “But then I wouldn’t be able to move and do all the things I want to do to you.”
“Do them,” she said. “Do everything you’ve ever wanted to do to me.” She put her hands inside my jeans and stroked gently. I was so hard, my erection had been painful all cooped up in there. She carefully unbuttoned my jeans and released the beast. It was like she was opening a present, and she was really, really pleased with what she had unwrapped.
She stared down at it while she squeezed one hand around the head and ran the other hand up and down the shaft, getting a feel for it, paying attention to my reactions. Her hands were soft, but her grip was firm. She didn’t look away from my cock when she told me that she was still on the pill and got tested after she found out that her ex had cheated on her, even though they hadn’t had sex since he’d started fucking the other woman. “So I’ve got a clean bill of health,” she stated, matter-of-factly.
I told her that I did too, but I didn’t tell her that I wasn’t ready to not have some kind of a barrier between me and her warm wet self. That would be the end of me.
But I finally let her go down on me. I wanted her juicy red lips on me. She kneeled on the floor between my legs, I lay back into the sofa with my fingers in her silky hair, and Christ Almighty, did she know what she was doing—alternately licking me like an ice cream cone and sucking, always using her hands. She was a full-on an artist with her mouth and tongue, working the head, the shaft and the balls. She was hungry and very comprehensive. Her ex must have been insane to want anyone else doing this to him. She wasn’t kidding when she wrote that she was “too good at fellatio.” I could barely stand it.
I pulled her up and she rode me on the sofa. It didn’t take long for her to accommodate my size this time, and I couldn’t believe the filthy things that came out of her beautiful mouth as she told me what she’d fantasized about doing to me all day. I thrust up into her while she held herself in position, her thighs tensed, her head tilted back, breasts bouncing deliriously in my face. She dragged her fingernails across the skin of my back and I came like a rocket, and had to work really hard to keep from shouting out that I loved her.
I was spent. I had never been so spent after sex. On some level, everything that I was just wanted to be released inside of her. It was deep and primal and it was stupid to fight it, but I wouldn’t give up that easily.
However, I would have to gain control of my breathing again, first.
Before I could say anything, she said that she should go home to give Justin Timberlake some love since she hadn’t been around as much for him lately. She kissed me, thanked me for dinner, then got dressed and left as quickly as a fireman.
Dammit, it just made me want her more.
Chapter Sixteen
VIVIAN
Days and days went by, and I was starting to feel just fine about this just sex thing with Brad. If that was all he was capable of giving me at this point, then I wouldn’t complain, because it was a lot. I mean, we had a lot of sex. Almost every day. Always at his place. I never spent the night, and he had certainly never asked me to.
It had not even occurred to me before that the high endurance-level of that man’s fit body would extend into the bedroom, but I had never been so thoroughly intercoursed in my life.
As an added bonus, the skin all over my body was silky smooth from being exfoliated by his stubble.
In between work and sex, I worked out with Sebastian, who actually complimented me and chatted with me and made me laugh while I was exercising. I went to a cardio-salsa class on Thursday morning, met up with Frankie and her friends for a late dinner on Friday night. Once I even got up at six to jog around my neighborhood. I won’t be doing that ever again, but I’m glad I can say that I did it once.
It felt like I had a pretty balanced life, and I really was happy.
I had
been texting my sister throughout the week, just little check-in blitzes, to see if she’d received the dozen rainbow penis lollipops and plastic pecker eyeglasses that I’d sent her, but I hadn’t had a real conversation with her in a bit. I always waited for her to call me, because she was so busy.
Finally, Aubrey FaceTimed me on an afternoon when I was working at home. I took her call on my laptop. When the video connected, she squinted her eyes and leaned in to inspect her screen.
“Oh my God you finally boinked him—why didn’t you tell me immediately?! That’s so unfair!”
“Is it that obvious?”
“You’re glowing. You look so happy. Come closer so I can see you better.”
I leaned in towards the camera.
“Your skin has never looked that good. Did you get a facial?”
“No, it’s just the exercise. And the sex. I am happy, Aubrey. I’m so grateful to you.”
Aubrey waved her hand, dismissively. “So it’s a regular ongoing thing?”
I nodded. “I mean, we’re not dating, but yeah. We see each other almost every day. It’s fun. And intense. But mostly fun.” I immediately burst into tears and then started laughing.
“What is wrong with you?”
“I don’t know. I keep crying when I’m at home by myself. I think it’s a detox thing.”
“What is wrong?”
“Nothing. Literally nothing is wrong, I’m just so happy, sometimes I just feel so much I have to cry.”
“What is wrong?”
“Oh it’s so dumb. Sometimes I feel bad about not being with Brad.”
Every Inch of You Page 10