The Cocktail Collection

by Alice Clayton

  I gasped. “But I thought, I mean, I saw you with—”

  “I know what you thought, but it’s true. How could I be with anyone else when I was falling in love with you?”

  He loved me! But wait, what’s this? He was backing away . . . where was he going?

  “And now, I’m going to do something I never thought I would do.” He sighed mournfully, looking at the stacks of bread on the table. With a deep breath and a grimace, in one fell swoop he knocked them all to the floor. Bread rained down in foil-covered bricks around us, and I can’t be sure, but I think I heard a tiny whine escape as he watched them hit the floor. But then he turned to me, eyes dark and dangerous. He grabbed me and swung me up on the table before him, nudging my legs apart to stand between them.

  “Do you have any idea how much fun we’re going to have?” he asked, slipping his hands inside my apron, warm and a little rough on my tummy.

  “What are you up to?”

  “An O has been lost, and I’m a sucker for a challenge.” He grinned, pulling me to the edge of the table and snugly in to him. With his hands behind my knees, he wrapped my legs around his waist, kissing me again, lips and tongue hot and persistent.

  “It’s not going to be easy. She’s pretty lost,” I protested between kisses, worrying his buttons open and exposing his Spanish suntan.

  “I’m done with easy.”

  “You should print that on cards.”

  “Print this—why do you still have clothes on?”

  He laid me back across the table as I grinned up at him. My foot hit the flour sifter and sent it crashing to the floor, dusting us thoroughly in the process. Simon’s hair looked like a biscuit, powdery and puffy. I coughed and a plume of flour came out, making Simon laugh out loud. The laughing stopped when I reached down for him, finding him hard, yet still covered in denim. He groaned, my favorite sound in the world.

  “Fuck, Caroline, I love your hands on me,” he said through his teeth, dipping his mouth to my neck and leaving a trail of white-hot kisses across my skin. His tongue swept out across me, underneath the edge of my apron. Hands quickly found the bottom of my tank top, and it went sailing across the room, into the kitchen sink. Within seconds, a pair of shorts found themselves swimming alongside, quickly followed by a pair of jeans and a white button-down.

  The apron? Well, we were having a little trouble with that one.

  “Are you a sailor? Who tied this knot, Popeye?” he seethed, struggling to get it undone. In his struggles, he managed to knock over a bowl of orange marmalade glaze, which now dripped down the table and on to the floor. My contribution was to flip over a carton of raisins while I craned my neck trying to see the knot behind me.

  “Oh, screw the apron, Simon. Look here,” I insisted, snapping the front of my bra and tossing it to the floor. I pulled down the top of the apron, arranging and propping up my cleavage. Pie-eyed, he looked at my now-naked breasts and went in for the kill. I was pushed roughly back on to the table once more, his insistent mouth now dragging down my neck, attacking my skin like it had done something personal to him and he was exacting his revenge. And a lustful revenge it was.

  Dipping a finger into the marmalade puddle, he traced a path from one breast to the other, circling and pressing the sticky into my skin. Bending his head, he tasted one, then the other, both of us groaning at the same time.

  “Mmm, you taste good.”

  “I’m glad I wasn’t making hot wings. This could be a different story—wow, that’s nice.” I sighed as he responded to my smartassery with an actual bite.

  “These would be extra spicy.”

  He laughed as I rolled my eyes.

  “Want me to get some celery to cool you down?” I asked.

  “No one’s cooling down in this apartment, not anytime soon,” he promised, grabbing the jar of honey from the nearby counter and pulling aside my apron. Without missing a beat, he got my panties all wet. And not in the way you think, although there was that. . . .

  As I watched, he poured the honey all over me, covering my panties and making me squeal. He stood back to admire. “Look at that, those are ruined. They’re going to have to come off,” he said as he came close again. I stopped him with a marmalade foot.

  “You first, Mr. Man,” I instructed, nodding at his flour-covered boxers. He raised an eyebrow and dropped the boxers. Standing naked in my wreck of a kitchen, he was insanely cute.

  In that instant, Heart, Brain, Backbone, and LC lined up on one side of the playground. They beckoned for Nerves, waving her over like a game of Red Rover. I looked at Simon, naked and floury and perfect, and I sighed with a giant smile. Nerves finally, blessedly, scampered over, and we were finally all on the same page.

  “I fucking love you, Simon.”

  “I love you too, Nightie Girl. Now lose the panties and gimme some sugar.”

  “Come and get it,” I laughed, sitting up and sliding my panties down my honey-dripped legs. I threw them at him, and they hit his chest with a loud thwack, the honey dripping everywhere.

  “We’re going to need one helluva shower after all this,” I remarked as he wrapped me in his sticky arms.

  “That’ll be round two.” He smiled, picking me up and carrying me to the bedroom, my body aligned with his, only the apron between us. And that wasn’t going to keep us apart for long.

  Did I need an O? I mean, was it necessary for life? Being near Simon, being so close to him, wrapped up in his arms and feeling him move inside me, was it enough?

  For now, it was. I loved him, you see . . .

  He dropped me on the bed, and I bounced a little, rolling sideways and making the headboard bang a bit.

  “You gonna bang my walls, Simon?” I laughed.

  “You have no idea,” he promised, and scrunched my apron out of the way as I sighed and threw my arms over my head. I lazed backward, with a giant smile on my face. His fingers walked down over my tummy, my hips, my thighs, finally reaching me. After a gentle nudge, I let my legs fall open. He licked his lips and sank to his knees.

  He touched and tasted me as he had in Spain, but it was different. It still felt amazing, but I was different. I was relaxed. Twisting and turning his fingers, he found that spot, the one that made my back arch and my moans grow deep. He groaned into me, causing me to arch off the bed again, his lips and tongue finding me once more, deliberate. My hands sought my breasts, and as he watched, I teased my nipples, bringing them taut once more.

  Again, I had the distinct honor of feeling his mouth, his wonderful mouth, on me. I seized up, my entire body tensing at the sizzle of energy that ran through me, and then I relaxed once more. I started to feel, really feel everything going on inside at that moment. Love. I felt love. And I felt loved . . .

  Here in the daytime, where nothing could be hidden, everything was on display—and covered in messy stuff—I was being loved by this man. No fairy tale, no waves crashing, no flickering candles. Real life. A real-life fairy tale where I was being loved by this man. And I mean looooved by this man.

  Tongue. Lips. Fingers. Hands. All of it dedicated to me and my pleasure. A girl could get used to this.

  I could feel the sweet tension begin to build, but this time my body received it differently. My body, perfectly in tune for once, was ready, and in my mind, behind closed eyes, I saw myself begin to approach that cliff. In my head, I grinned, because I knew this time I was gonna catch that bitch. And then? Really amazing things began to happen down below. Long, gorgeous fingers pressed inside me, twisting and curving and finding that secret spot. Lips and tongue encircled that other spot, sucking and licking, pressing and pulsing. Tiny pricks of light began to dance behind my eyelids, intense and wild.

  “Oh, God . . . Simon . . . that’s so . . . good . . . don’t . . . stop . . . don’t . . . stop . . .”

  I groaned loud, louder, and then louder still, unable to contain the sounds I was making. It was so good, so good, so very, very good, so close, so close . . .

  A
nd then the screaming began. And it was not my own.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I became aware of some kind of furry missile racing across the floor.

  Like some kind of pussified dive bomb, Clive ran at Simon, leaped, and dug into his back, attacking him from behind.

  Simon ran from the bedroom into the hallway, then back in again, Clive still latched on like some kind of rabid coonskin back cap that would not shake off. He had his arms—does a cat have arms?—wrapped around Simon’s neck in a way that under other circumstances would have seemed adorable. But right now, he meant business.

  I ran after them, naked except for my apron, trying to get Simon to slow down, but with those ten claws digging deeper in, he continued running from room to room.

  The irony that Simon was literally trying to run away from pussy was not lost on me.

  If I could have watched from outside, rather than being involved, I would have peed myself. As it was, I was having a hard time stifling myself listening to Simon’s screams. I really must love him.

  Finally, I backed them both into a corner, turned Simon around, resisted the urge to squeeze buns, and pried Clive loose. I quickly headed out to the living room and deposited him on the sofa with a thunk, patting him on the head once as a thank-you for the defense, unwarranted as it was. Clive responded with a prideful meow and began licking his whiskers.

  I went back into the kitchen to find Simon, still huddled against the wall. I appraised him, his eyes wild as he leaned against the wall, wincing at his back. My gaze was drawn lower. Unbelievable.

  He.

  Was.

  Still.

  Hard.

  He saw my eyes travel down his body, reminiscent of the first time we met face-to-face. He nodded sheepishly.

  “You’re still hard,” I blurted, breathing heavily as I tried once more to untie my apron.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  “Ah, fuck,” I huffed, giving up on the knot.

  “Yes, please.”

  I paused for a split second, then whirled the apron around to my back in one swift movement. I leaped across the room, my apron flying behind me like a low-rider cape and crashed into him, driving him up against the wall as I assaulted him. He caught me as I wrapped around him like a feisty blanket, kissing him furiously. My nails raked down his chest, and he gasped.

  “Your back okay?” I asked between kisses.

  “I’ll live. Your cat, however . . .”

  “He’s protective. He thought you were hurting Mommy.”

  “Was I?”

  “Oh no, quite the opposite.”

  “Really?”

  “Hell yes,” I cried, sliding against him, manipulating my body against his, honey and sugar slick and gritty between us.

  I dragged myself down his body, stopping to kiss the very tip of him. I pulled him down on to the floor with me and flipped him on to his back so quickly a puff of flour clouded the air. There, in the middle of the kitchen, naked with marmalade dotting my breasts, I straddled him. Raising up just a little bit, I caught his hands and encouraged him to grab my hips.

  “You’re gonna want to hold on for this,” I whispered, and sank down on to him. We both sighed at the same time, the feeling of him inside me once more just amazing. I arched my back and flexed my hips experimentally . . . once . . . twice . . . a third time. It really was true what they said about riding a bike. My body remembered this just as quickly.

  With my stupid apron riding bitch behind me, I began to move above Simon, feeling him move inside me, responding and rewarding, thrusting and never relenting. Driving, pushing, we moved together—actually even moving across the kitchen floor a little. He sat up underneath me, moving deeper into me as I cried out. My hands were wild in his hair. It was standing straight up beneath my fingers as I took hold, anchoring myself as I closed my eyes and began.

  Began that long march to the edge of the cliff.

  I could see the edge, high above the raging waters. As I peeked over the edge, I saw her. O. She waved at me, diving under and over the water like a sexual porpoise. Crafty little bitch.

  Simon was kissing my neck, licking and sucking my skin, making me insane.

  I stuck one foot over the edge, pointing my toes directly at her, rolling my ankle and waving little circles in the air in her direction.

  Little circles.

  I pushed Simon back to the floor, grabbed his hand in mine, and brought it between my legs. I rode him hard, pressing my fingers against his, my cries getting louder as we sped up our rocking, both of us, in tune and right there. Right there. Right, right, right . . . there . . .

  “Caroline, Jesus, you . . . are . . . amazing . . . love . . . you . . . so . . . much . . . killing . . . me . . .”

  And that’s the little extra I needed.

  In my head, I took one step back, then dove. Not jumped. Dove. Executed a perfect swan dive, thank you very much, straight into the water. Clean and true, I grabbed on to her and didn’t let go as I slipped into the water.

  The O had returned.

  White noise filled my ears as my toes and fingers got the news first. They tingled, tiny fizzles and sparks of energy spinning up and out, driving through every nerve and every cell that had been starving for this for months. These cells told other cells, communicating to their sisters that something fantastic was happening. Color exploded behind my eyelids, bursting brightly into tiny little sensory fireworks as the feeling continued to spread to every corner of my body. Pure pleasure shot through me, pulsing and slicing, filling me up as I shook and shimmied on top of Simon, who hung on through the entire thing.

  I don’t know if he could see the choirs of dirty angels singing, but no matter. I could. And it was the definition of bliss.

  O came back, and she brought friends.

  Wave after wave crashed through me as Simon and I continued to press and twist, arching into every single one of them. My head was thrown back as I continued to scream lustfully, not caring who or what could hear me in my own House of Orgasm.

  I opened my eyes at one point to see Simon below me, frantic and happy, smiling big as he stayed with me through it all, his strenuous effort clear across his face as the flour in his hair turned into a wonderful little paste.

  He was becoming papier-mâché.

  Still onward I thrashed, passing through the land of multiples and into some kind of no-man’s-land. Passing six and seven, my body became limp with ecstasy.

  But O brought one more friend. She brought along G, the holy grail.

  Stuttering like an idiot, I grasped hold of Simon, holding on for dear life as the biggest tidal wave of love and toe-curling heat hit me like a ton of bricks. Sensing I needed help for this one, Simon sat up, which positioned him even more uniquely. He found a spot deep inside, hidden to most, and he leaned into me, driving himself over and over again as I held my breath and hung on tight.

  I finally opened my eyes again, seeing light spark around the room as oxygen rushed back into my system. I babbled incomprehensibly into his chest as he rocked into me again and again, finally finding his own kind of amazing somewhere deep inside me.

  I held on to him, feeling the waves finally retreat, both of us shaking now. As we panted, the pleasure left and the love simply rushed in, filling me back up again. My mouth was too tired to move. He had taken my breath away. So I did the best I could, I placed his hand over my heart and kissed his sweet face. He seemed to understand and kissed me back. I hummed with happiness. Humming didn’t take as much effort.

  Utterly spent and exhausted, punch-drunk and covered in sticky sweat, I lay back against his legs, not caring a bit how contorted and ridiculous I looked as tension tears ran down the sides of my face and into my ears. Sensing this was not the most comfortable position for me, Simon moved out from under me and helped to unbend my pretzel legs before cradling me in his arms on the kitchen floor.

  We lay quietly,
not speaking for a while. I noticed Clive sitting just inside the doorway to the bedroom, licking his paws quietly.

  All was good.

  When movement seemed possible, I tried to sit up, the room spinning a little. Simon kept one arm around me as we appraised the situation, the overturned bowls and bottles, the scattered bread, the chaos that was my kitchen. I laughed quietly and turned to him. He watched me with happy eyes.

  “Should we clean this up?” he asked.

  “No, let’s shower.”

  “ ’Kay,” he answered, helping me up.

  I cracked my back like an old lady, wincing at the good hurt my body felt. I started for the bathroom, then changed direction, heading for the fridge. I grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and tossed it to him. “You’re gonna need it.” I winked, flouncing my apron on my way to the shower. Now that the O was back, I planned to waste no time in summoning her again.

  As Simon followed me to the bathroom, taking a swig of Gatorade, Clive suddenly flopped on to the floor, rolling over on his back. He seemed to be waving Simon over with his paws. Simon looked at me, and I shrugged. We both looked at Clive, who wiggled on his back, continuing to wave him over. Simon knelt right next to him, cautiously extending one hand. Winking at me—I swear to Christ he did—Clive wiggled a little closer. Knowing this could still be a trap, Simon cautiously reached down and rumpled the fur on his belly. Clive let him. I even heard a tentative purr.

  I left the two boys alone for a moment and went to turn on the shower so it could heat up. I finally got the apron knot undone and was able to abandon it on the floor. Stepping under the spray, I moaned at the feeling of the warm water hitting my still-sensitive skin.

  “You coming? ’Cause I sure did,” I called over the rush of the shower, laughing at my own joke. A moment later Simon poked back the corner of the shower curtain to watch me naked and covered in bubbles. He smiled like the devil as he climbed in. I drew in a breath at the sight of ten tiny punctures in his back, but he laughed it away.

  “We’re good. I think we just made friends,” he assured, pulling me against him and joining me under the water.

  I sighed, relaxing. “This is nice,” I murmured.