The Cocktail Collection

by Alice Clayton

  Feeling his mouth on me, on my breasts, hot and wet, tickling and sloppy, was unreal. So I told him so.

  “That feels unreal,” I moaned to the top of his head as the scruff from his light beard roughed my skin pleasantly. His lips closed around my right nipple, and my hips went off on a tangent of their own, bucking wildly beneath him, both of my legs now wrapped firmly around his waist. Lips and tongue and teeth now lavished across my cleavage, which spilled out over the edge of the nightie as he alternated between breasts, loving them equally. I was surrounded by Simon, and even his scent was turning me on, equal parts peppery spice and thick Spanish brandy.

  Nonsensical words poured from my mouth. I was aware of a few Simons, and one or two, Yes, that’s good, but mostly what I overheard from myself were things like Mmph, and Erghh, and a rather loud Hyyyyaeahhh, for which, frankly, there is not a correct spelling.

  Simon sighed over and over again in to my skin, his actual breath a turn on as I felt it wash over me. My hands had been left free to roam in the wonderland that was his hair, and as I swept it back from his face I was rewarded with the amazing sight of his mouth on me, his eyes closed in clear worship. He bit down lightly, closing his teeth around my sensitive skin, and my hands almost tore the hair from his head. It felt phenomenal.

  His other hand was running up and down my leg, encouraging me to grasp him tighter between my thighs as his wondrous fingers began to come ever closer to the edge of the lace. It was the last boundary we had yet to cross: the lace frontier.

  I felt my breathing still as he went on final approach, his fingers brushing just under the edge of my panties, barely brushing. His breathing slowed as well, and as he continued to touch me gently, his face came back up to mine, and we had this moment, this quiet moment, where we just . . . stared. Awe—it’s the only way I can describe the feeling of his hand ghosting over me, delicately, reverently. Our eyes locked as he eased his hand farther underneath the lace and then, with achingly perfect precision, he touched me.

  My eyes fluttered shut, my entire body awash with so many sensations. My breathing started back up again, the intense pressure that had been circling all around and inside and out was now like a low-level hum, just beneath the surface of my skin. I moved with him, feeling his fingers begin to explore me, and I let out the tiniest moan. It was all I could let out. The feelings were so intense and the energy—oh my goodness, the energy that surrounded us in that moment.

  I was sure Simon was unaware of the entirety of the emotion that flew around behind my closed eyelids. The poor man was just finally getting a little touch. But as his fingers became more deft and sure of themselves, something incredible began to happen. That teeny tiny little bundle of nerves, which had been dormant for centuries, began to spark to life. My eyes flew open as a very specific warmth began to move through me, starting at the center of my being and working its way out.

  Simon was most certainly enjoying this. His eyes were hazy and crowded with lust as I writhed underneath him. I knew he could feel me tense and come alive.

  “God, Caroline, you’re so . . . you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes now crowding with something a bit more than lust, and I felt tiny pinpricks behind my eyeballs.

  I threw my arms around his neck and held him close, tearing at his shirt to get it off, get it off him so I could feel everything. He lifted himself from me for only seconds, ripping off his shirt in an exaggerated way that made me giggle but yearn for him even more.

  Lowering himself back on to me, he slipped farther down, his lips tracing a path down to my belly button. Circling it with his tongue, he laughed into my tummy.

  “What are you laughing at, mister?” I giggled, squeezing his ear. He was below the nightie now, his face hidden from me. Poking his head back out, he let loose a slow grin that made my toes point.

  “If your belly button tastes this good—fuck, Caroline. I can’t wait to taste your pussy.”

  There are certain things a woman needs to hear at different times in her life:

  You got the job.

  Your ass looks great in that skirt.

  I would love to meet your mother.

  And when used in the just the right context, in just the right setting, sometimes, a woman needs to hear the p-word.

  This could be better than Clooney.

  The moan that came out of my mouth when he said that word, well, let’s just say it was loud enough to wake the dead. He let his tongue trace a path from my belly button down to the edge of my ruffles, and then with loving precision, he hooked his thumbs underneath the lace and dragged them down my legs.

  There I was, spread out on top of Pillow Town with a pink nightie bunched up around my midriff, all pertinent parts on display, and damn happy about it. He pulled my hips just to the edge of the bed and dropped to his knees. Sweet Jesus.

  As he ran his hands up and down the tops of my legs, I lifted up on my elbows so I could watch, needing to see this wonderful man tending to me, taking care of me. Kneeling between my thighs, with his khakis unbuckled and halfway unzipped, hair at atomic heights, he was stunning. And on the move.

  Once again letting his tongue lead, he planted open-mouth kisses along the insides of my thighs, one side and then the other, with each pass getting closer and closer to where I needed him most. Carefully lifting my left leg, he hitched it over his shoulder as I arched my back, my entire body now aching to feel him.

  He gazed at me for a moment longer, maybe even just a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. “Beautiful,” he breathed one more time, and then he pressed his mouth to me.

  No quick licks, no tiny kisses, just incredible pressure as he surrounded me with his lips. It was enough to make me drop back on the bed, unable to support myself any longer. The feel, the exquisite feel of him was all-consuming, and I could barely breathe. He worked me slow and low, bringing one hand up to open me further to him, letting his mouth and fingers and perfect tongue gently and methodically coax me into the stratosphere, rising up, filling me with the sense of awe and amazement I had been missing for so long.

  I allowed one hand to drift down to him and tangle in his hair, running my fingers through it with as much feeling as I could. The other hand? Useless. It was fisting the sheets into some kind of ball.

  He lifted his head from me once, just once, to press another kiss against my thigh. “Perfect. Jesus, just perfect,” he whispered, so quietly I could barely hear him over my own sighs and whimpers. He returned to me almost immediately, an urgency now to his movements, his lips and tongue twisting and pressing as he groaned into me, the vibration riding straight through.

  I opened my eyes for a second, just a second, and the room was glowing, almost incandescent. All of my senses came alive, and I could hear the crashing of the surf, see the candlelight flickering on our bodies. I could feel my skin break into gooseflesh, the very air caressing me and announcing what I had been missing for months, years even.

  This man could very possibly love me. And he was about to bring back the O.

  Snapping my eyes closed again, I could almost see myself, standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down into the raging sea below. Pressure, enormous pressure was building behind me, nudging me toward the edge where I could fall, fall freely into what was waiting for me. I took one step, then another, closer and closer as I could feel Simon grasping my hips. But wait. If the O was coming for me, I wanted Simon inside. I needed him inside me.

  Tugging on his shoulders, I pulled him up my body, feet kicking at his khakis until they lay defenseless on the floor.

  “Simon, I need you, please, inside, now,” I panted, almost incoherent with lust. Simon, schooled in Caroline shorthand, understood this completely and was poised between my legs, hips nuzzled up into mine within seconds. He leaned down, kissing me wantonly, the taste of me all over him. And I loved it.

  “Inside, inside, inside,” I kept chanting, my back and hips alternately arching, desperately trying to find what I needed, wha
t I had to have, to push me off that cliff. He left me for only seconds to fumble in his khakis, which I had kicked halfway across the room. The telltale crinkle let me know that I was safe, that we were safe.

  Finally I felt him, exactly where he was meant to be. He barely nudged inside, but just the feeling of him entering me was monumental. My own needs quieted for the moment, and I watched as he began to push into me for the first time. His eyes bore into mine as I cradled his face in my hands. He looked as though he wanted to say something. What words would we speak, what wonderfully loving things would we say to commemorate this moment?

  “Hi,” he whispered, smiling as though his life depended on it.

  I couldn’t help but smile back. “Hi,” I answered, loving the feel of him, the weight of him, above me.

  He slipped gently into me, and at first my body resisted. It had been a long time, but the little pain I felt was welcome. It was that good kind of pain, a pain that let you know something more was coming. I relaxed a bit, allowing my legs to wrap around his waist, and as he pressed farther into me, his smile became infinitely more sexy. He bit down on his lower lip and tiny frown lines appeared on his forehead. I breathed in, inhaling his scent as I watched him pull back just the smallest bit, only to thrust once more. Now fully inside, I welcomed him the only way I could. I gave him that little internal hug, which made his eyes flash open and peer down at me.

  “There’s my girl,” he murmured, raising one rakish eyebrow and thrusting into me again, with more conviction this time. My breath caught in my throat and I gasped, unwittingly rocking my hips into his with a motion as old as the waves crashing down below.

  Slowly he began to move within me, sliding against me with a fantastic pressure, each new angle and sensation giving way to more of that warm tingly feeling working its way out to the tips of each finger and toe. The feeling of having Simon inside me, inside my body, was more than I can articulate. I groaned, and he grunted. He moaned, and I mewed. Together. His hips pushed me higher on to the bed, up toward the headboard. Our bodies were slick with sweat, crashing and smashing into each other. I threaded my hands deeply into his hair, tugging and writhing beneath him.

  “Caroline, so beautiful,” he sighed between kisses across my forehead and nose.

  I closed my eyes and could see myself, once again, on the edge of that cliff, ready to jump, needing to jump. Again, that pressure began to build, that crackle of energy spinning itself wild and frantic, pulsing with every thrust, every slip and dip of his hips into mine, driving him, unrelentingly, in and out of my body.

  I took one final step, one foot now dangling off the edge of the cliff, and then! I saw her . . . O. She was in the water down below, her hair like fire dancing along the waves. She waved and I waved and just like that, Simon brought one hand down between our bodies, just above where we were joined, and he began to trace his little circles.

  Little circles from a perfect hand, and I jumped. I jumped free and clear and loud and proud, announcing my approval with a lusty “Yes!” as I rushed toward that certain high.

  And I fell.

  And fell.

  And fell.

  And crashed. Crashed and smacked into the unforgiving surface of the water, and I didn’t come up. I fell for what seemed like an age, but instead of O meeting me at the bottom with open arms, I floundered, alone and wet. Every muscle in my body, every cell was concentrated on the return of the O, as if I could will her back. I strained, body tight and taut as I caught sight of her, just the very tips of her hair, like fire under the water, slipping away from me. She was so close, so very close, but no. No.

  I scrambled after her, trying with sheer will to make her reappear, but nothing. She was gone, and I was left underwater. With the most beautiful man in the world inside me.

  I opened my eyes and saw Simon above me, saw his beautiful face as he made love to me, and that is was this was. This wasn’t sex. This was love, and I still couldn’t offer him all that I had. I saw his eyes heavy and thick and half-closed in passion. I saw a bead of sweat running down his nose and watched as it splashed lazily on to my breasts. I saw as he bit down hard on his lower lip, the strain on his face as he delayed his own well-deserved climax.

  He was everything I had hoped he would be. He was a generous lover, and I could feel my heart beat to within bursting out of my chest to be nearer to him, to love him. He was everything.

  I lifted his hand from between us and kissed his fingertips, then wrapped my legs tighter around his waist and anchored my hands on his back. He was waiting for me. Of course he was. I adored him. I closed my eyes once more, steeling myself for all I was able to give him.

  “Simon, it’s so good,” I panted, and I meant every word of it. I bucked my hips. I clenched in all the right places, and I called his name, over and over again.

  “Caroline, look at me, please,” he begged, his voice rife with pleasure. I allowed my eyes to open again, feeling one tear spill down my cheek. A strange look stole over his features for only a second as his eyes searched mine, and then? He came. No thunder, no lightning, no fanfare. But it was stunning.

  He collapsed on to me, and I took his weight. I took it all as I cradled him to my chest and kissed him over and over again, my hands soothing his back, my legs hugging him as tightly as I could. I whispered his name as he nuzzled into the space between my neck and my breast, simple touches and caresses.

  Heart sat to the side and quietly sighed. Nerves? You motherfucker. Don’t even think about showing your face here.

  We lay for a while, listening to the ocean in our own little haven, this romantic fairy tale that could have, should have, been enough. When his breathing returned to normal, he lifted his head and kissed me very softly.

  “Sweet Caroline,” he smiled, and I smiled back, my heart full.

  Sex could be amazing, even without the O.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, disentangling from me and walking to the bathroom, naked backside a sight to behold. I watched him retreat, and then sat up quickly, pulling the straps of my nightie back up around my shoulders. I rolled onto my side, away from the bathroom, and curled around my pillow. This had been the single best sexual experience of my life. Every i had been dotted, every t had been crossed. And yet, I was still no-go for O. What the hell was wrong with me?

  I will not cry.

  I will not cry.

  I will not cry.

  Even though he’d been gone from the bed only a few minutes, when he came back, I panicked and pretended to be asleep. Childish? Yep. Totally childish.

  I felt the bed dip as he climbed back in, and then his warm and still very naked body was up against me, spooning. Arms wrapped around my middle, and then his mouth was at my ear, whispering.

  “Mmm, Nightie Girl back in her nightie.”

  I waited, not speaking, just breathing. I felt him shake me a little bit and let out a little chuckle.

  “Hey, hey you, are you sleeping?”

  Should I snore? Whenever people faked sleep on sitcoms, they snored. I let out a tiny one. He kissed my neck, my traitor skin pebbling in the wake of his mouth. I sighed in my “sleep,” snuggling closer to Simon, hoping he would let me pull this off. The fates were kind tonight, as he simply hugged me tighter to his chest and kissed me once more.

  “ ’Night, Caroline,” he whispered, and the night settled around us. I fake snored for a few more minutes until his actual snoring took over, and then I sighed heavily.

  Confused and numb, I was awake until dawn.

  chapter twenty

  I had faked it.

  Faked it with Simon. There must have been a rule written somewhere, maybe even chiseled into a stone tablet: THOU SHALL NOT FAKE IT WITH WALLBANGER. So let it be written, so let it be done. I faked it, and now I was doomed to wander the planet forever, O-less.

  Was I being overly dramatic? Oh my, yes. But if this didn’t call for a little drama, what did?

  That next morning, I was up and out of be
d before Simon was even awake, something I hadn’t done the entire time we were on our trip together. Usually we stayed in bed until the other one was awake, and then lounged for a while, laughing and talking. And kissing.

  Mmm, the kissing.

  But this morning I ran quickly through the shower and was in the kitchen making breakfast when a sleepy Simon came in. Shuffling across the floor in his socks, with boxers low on his hips, he grinned through his sleep haze and burrowed into my side as I sliced melon and berries.

  “What are you doing out here? I was a little lonesome. Big bed, no Caroline. Where’d you go?” he asked, planting a quick kiss on my shoulder.

  “I needed to get moving this morning. Remember the car is coming for me at ten? I wanted to make you some breakfast before I left.” I smiled, turning to give him a quick kiss.

  He stopped me from turning away and kissed me more thoroughly, not letting me hurry through anything. I could feel myself closing off, and I was almost unable to stop it. I needed some time to process this, to understand how I was feeling—other than miserable. But I adored Simon, and he didn’t deserve this. So I let myself fall into the kiss, be swept away by this man once more. I kissed him back feverishly, passionately, and then pulled away just before it could become something more than a kiss.

  “Fruit?”

  “Huh?”

  “Fruit. I made fruit salad. Want some?”

  “Oh, yeah. Yeah. Sounds good. Coffee made?”

  “Water is boiling. French press is all ready to go.” I patted him on the cheek as I waved him toward the pot. We coexisted in the kitchen, talking quietly, and Simon stole a kiss or two here and there. I tried not to show how messed up my brain was, tried to act as normal as I could. Simon seemed to sense something was up, but he took his cue from me, let me lead this morning.

  We sat outside on the terrace one last time, eating our breakfast together and watching the breakers roll in.

  “Are you glad you came?” he asked.

  I bit down on my lip at the obvious. “I’m so glad. This trip was amazing.” I smiled, reaching across the table for his hand and giving it a squeeze.