Ready and Willing

by Cara McKenna

  “Ziti, as promised. With sausage.” This feels so much different than with Rob two days ago. I feel as if I know this man. And I’m not 100 percent sure if that’s okay. There’s a reason I chose to not go the anonymous donor route, but there’s also a reason I didn’t scout for an open-minded male friend to do this job for me. I’m all for finding a human connection with the potential father of my future kid, but putting myself in a position to miss that man after the conception’s over is another matter entirely.

  “I brought a bottle of red,” Noah says. “And a movie.”

  “A dirty movie?” I ask and waggle my eyebrows at him.

  “Oh. No, actually. Chinatown.” He casts a glance at the bag, and from the scrunch of his eyebrows alone I can sense him questioning this entire crazy arrangement. “Sorry, is that wrong?”

  I shrug. “Hell if I know. I’m making this up as I go.”

  “I thought maybe we were making a night of it. But if you were thinking of something more utilitarian…?”

  “I honestly have no expectations.” Or I hadn’t until Rob set the initial tone on Sunday. Now Noah’s here with an entirely different approach, and I feel flattered that he wants to hang out for more than just the food and fucking. “I’d love to watch Chinatown with you,” I say.

  “Oh good.”

  “Shall we bust open that wine?” I ask. He follows me into the kitchen where the red daisies stare at me accusingly from the counter. I find him a corkscrew, and Noah works on the bottle while I grab glasses, probably the same two from Sunday afternoon.

  “Dinner will be ready in fifteen or so.”

  He pours us each a glass, and we toast. I have to squint at him to remind myself we’re not already friends. Before my brain completely clouds over, I grab the waiver off of my computer desk. He signs it after a quick scan.

  I put it away, business complete. “Did you work today?”

  He nods. “Yeah, I’m a nine-to-fiver, roughly. I teach at Emerson.”

  “Oh right. Professor Aubrey, is it?”

  He smiles. “Dr. Aubrey.”

  “Wow.” I’d only asked the candidates if they’d gotten a bachelor degree or higher, no specifics. “You have a PhD? In what?”

  “Cinema Studies. NYU.”

  “Wow.” I make an impressed face, jostle his shoulder with mine. “Well, Dr. Aubrey, I work like three blocks from you. A little past the movie theater on Tremont.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “We better be careful. I could run into you in the park on a lunch break, bringing your baby in to show your coworkers.”

  “Oh shit, you’re right.” I decide to not let such a thought throw me off. “Small town.”

  “No kidding.”

  We’re quiet for a moment, caught in our own internal dialogues.

  “Abby,” he says, sounding careful, staring at my counter, the flowers.

  My heart sinks. “Too weird now?”

  “Oh no. I don’t think so. Can I talk to you for second? About tonight?”

  “Absolutely.” I take a drink, then set my glass down, offering him my full attention.

  “I’m crap at casual sex,” Noah says. “Can we pretend this is a date?”

  I smile at him and wonder if he can tell how relieved I am by that proposal. “We can treat it any way you want to. I need you to feel comfortable.”

  “I’d like to sort of pretend this is just a first date that goes better than I expected.”

  I nod, thinking the idea over and coming up pleased. I’d been curious about another Rob-style performance but also a little unsettled by the prospect. After the hotness of my encounter with Rob had dissipated, I’d been left with a lingering sensation of seediness for the remainder of Sunday afternoon. “Sure. Whatever works for you.”

  “Did you have other things you needed to get done tonight?” I detect a tiny note of panic in Noah’s voice.

  “No,” I say, laughing. “You’re the main attraction. Come on. Let’s go sit down.”

  He smiles apprehensively, and we head to the living room.

  “You have a decent day?” I ask as we plop onto the couch.

  “Not bad. It’s pretty quiet before Christmas. Just me in my office, reading papers, fielding panicky requests for finals extensions.”

  “Do you get a long break?”

  He nods. “Not as long as the students, but a big chunk of January.”

  “Very cool.”

  I’m surprised when he leans close. His hand is warm and soft, and he puts it to my jaw. He kisses my lips—a lingering, sexy, closed-mouth kiss. He looks shy as he pulls away. “Sorry. That was going to stress me out all night if I didn’t get it out of the way.”

  “Glad to put you at ease.” It’s so the opposite—I’m relieved beyond measure to have the physical tone of my night with Noah set. Not just relieved now—curious too. I’m tempted to lean in and continue that kiss, but Noah speaks.

  “I have to say, this whole thing… I feel really…honored. No, sorry, that sounds way too earnest. But I feel really flattered, you know, that you chose me.”

  I smile at this and pat his hand. “You should. I was prepared to not pick anybody, if no one felt like the right match. And believe me, a ton of them didn’t. So…thank you. For showing up.”

  His gaze jumps between my eyes and my mouth and back again, and we both shift a bit, turn so our knees touch. The next time he leans in, I kiss back. Our mouths part, and we catch each other’s lips in turn, softly, no tongues. I feel the ache return to my body, right where Rob left it. I couldn’t tell you exactly what I’m wanting from Noah—his body and his warmth, but for a baby or for my own selfish pleasure, I’m not sure. The feeling is nice but confusing, and I want a little reality check to help me understand where Noah’s coming from.

  “You’re only doing stuff you want to, right?” I ask as our mouths separate. “That was nice, but don’t feel like you have to do all the romantic stuff. If you don’t want to,” I reiterate, babbling.

  “Does it bother you?”

  “No, it was sexy.”

  “Okay. As long as you don’t mind, I’d like to do things the cheesy traditional way,” Noah says. “The illusion makes me feel less…sordid about the whole thing.”

  “Gentleman’s choice.” I hold my glass up, and he follows suit. We clink them together, then take a drink just as the oven timer buzzes.

  In a few minutes we sit down with heaping bowls of ziti and start the movie. Once my wine kicks in and I’ve set my bowl aside, I scoot over a couple inches and rest my knee on Noah’s thigh. He smiles, looking equal parts guilty and appreciative.

  After another glass and another hour, his hand is on my leg, rubbing idly. I know neither of us is really watching the movie. I study his profile, the handsome details of his face lit by the TV in the relative dark. My body’s been priming for him, growing warm and restless and curious in tiny ways he can’t see but maybe he can sense. I want to feel his stubble when he kisses me deeply. I want to explore the parts of him I diplomatically averted my eyes from when his pants were around his ankles when he first arrived. I want to know what he sounds like and what sorts of things he might say. I bet he moans more than he talks during sex, and I bet he goes slow, right up until the very end… I feel like I know this man already, and I want all my suspicions about him confirmed.

  He finishes his second glass and sets it on the coffee table. I let him do the same with mine, and he turns to face me. My nerves reach a low simmer, and my stomach’s gurgly—not the way it was with Rob, not from adrenaline and apprehension. More like first-date jitters. Noah’s warm, strong hands take my face, and our mouths reconnect.

  He’s bolder than I expected. His tongue slips between my lips after only a few seconds’ hesitation. The penetration is divine and dirty and sweet all at once. He kisses deep, wet sweeps of his tongue against mine, firm fingertips on my skin. His palms slide to my shoulders, and I can’t wait. I swing a leg over his and straddle him. My knees sink betw
een the cushions, so I end up pushed hard against him, my skirt pooled in our collective lap, more forward than I’d meant to be. Noah’s only protest is a deep, accidental-sounding moan and a thrust of his hips. His erection grinds against my inner thigh, spreading heat up and down my legs and making my pussy clench.

  I touch his arms though his soft sweater. They’re strong. I wasn’t expecting that. Curious, I tug at his hem, and he breaks away for a moment to peel his top off for me. Beneath he’s got on a white button-up shirt, and I squeeze his biceps through the cotton as his mouth captures mine again. Damn. I squeeze him tighter, fascinated to discover his body is hard, breaking the promises made by his easy smile and his kind eyes, his slow, no-pressure approach.

  I slide my lips to his neck, tasting the faint chemical flavor of his aftershave, running my tongue up his jugular vein. His hips pump softly as I touch his firm chest, trace his collarbone through his shirt. His mouth is just above my ear when he moans. The sound and the heat of his breath splash gasoline all over my flames, flash a hundred dirty ideas through my mind, thoughts of Noah’s weight on me, the look on his face when he comes. His hands take my thighs, guiding me to rub my pussy over his cock where it strains against his pants. I want him now now now.

  “You feel so hard,” I murmur.

  “I am.” He pushes my hips away enough to slide a hand between us. His touch is a shock, zapping through me. There’s one flimsy layer between my aching cunt and his fingers, and he finds my hard clit through the damp cotton, stroking.

  “You’re wet.” He whispers it like a beautiful accusation.

  “I want you.”

  “Right here?”

  “Please,” I say.

  His hands leave me to unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly. I lean back so I can watch him push his pants and shorts down enough to take himself out. Big. Not as long as Rob, but thicker, just as mouthwatering.

  I reach down and wrap my fingers around him, and his hardness is shocking. I imagine it must hurt, being this hard. He even sounds pained, making little whimpering noises as I stroke him.

  “I love it,” I tell him, luxuriating in the feel of his skin sliding up and down his shaft, the harmony of his hips pushing to meet my strokes. He slips a hand between us, cupping his big, tight balls, fondling them and setting me on fire so instantly I feel light-headed.

  “God, yeah.” It’s impossible to express how badly and completely my body needs his, how this strays beyond attraction into the desperate wilds of biology.

  He kneads himself a bit rougher, a show for me. “I’ve got what you want,” he whispers, playing with himself.

  “I know you do.”

  His contracted brows and parted lips betray his cool, teasing facade. “You ready?”

  “I’m aching for it,” I say, God’s honest truth.

  He slips his fingers behind the crotch of my panties, runs his knuckles over my tender, slippery lips, and groans. “So wet.”

  “Take me, Noah.”

  He does, but with his fingers first. He thrusts deep, driving into my juices and my swollen, willing flesh, an excruciating tease. His thumb finds my clit.

  “I want you. Please.” My fist tightens around his cock.

  “Soon.”

  “Now. Please.”

  “Soon,” he repeats, and I can detect an evil smile in his tone, a taste of some secret side of this man. I guess I don’t know him as implicitly as I’d suspected, but I’m not sad to be proven wrong, just curious and impatient, fascinated. His fingers fuck me and my hand jerks him, and we masturbate each other for a long minute. Precum is beading at his tip, and I slick it over his head.

  “Now,” he says. He yanks my panties to one side and angles his cock. He plunges in deep in one thrust, pulling me down by the hips, burying himself.

  “Noah!”

  “Oh Abby.” His eyes close. We sit motionless for a few breaths, just experiencing each other. Deep inside me, he’s pulsing. I feel full and quenched…and yet still so thirsty. I have what I wanted, but my body’s screaming for more. I know how he feels, but now I want to know how he moves and sounds and smells. Everything.

  “You’re so thick,” I murmur in his ear. “And hard. Show me how you like to fuck.”

  His eyes open halfway, trained between our bodies. I lift my skirt up so he can see.

  “Ride me,” he says.

  I start to move, pulling back and pushing forward, taking him slow and explicitly.

  “God, Abby.”

  “You feel so good.” To emphasize, I draw back at a sharp angle, milking his thick cock with my hungry body. I want to hear him unravel as he nears his release. I want to feel his hands grab my hips and control me when he reaches that gorgeous point of no return. I want him frantic and nasty and demanding.

  “Want to make you come,” he moans. “Tell me what you need.”

  I consider the demand. And why shouldn’t I come, if he’s offering? “Just let me fuck you,” I say. “Slide forward a little.”

  He shimmies his ass closer to the front of the cushion.

  I ride him slow, brushing his pubic bone with my clit. I want to remember all of this: the faint, repetitive scrape of his zipper against my thigh, the smell of his sweat, the look of need on his handsome face. His cock feels so right, so big. I want to use him for more than just his precious cum.

  “Touch my breasts,” I beg.

  He pushes my shirt up, and I yank it off. I undo my bra, and his hands on my bare breasts are absolute heaven.

  “God, you’re hot,” he says.

  “And you’re big. I wanna come on your cock.”

  “Abby.” His fingers tweak my nipples, flashing pleasure between my breasts and my cunt, connecting me, lighting me up. He pulls me close, and his lips draw me in, suckling.

  “I’m fucking you, Noah. I’m fucking you.” It’s all I can think to say. My pussy is burning up, tight and frantic and needing not just a man, but this man. My clit burns white-hot. I ride him fast and rough and groan his name into his hair, insane with the feeling. My consciousness and every atom of my being is drawn down to my core, like the eye of a violent, swirling storm. For what feels like forever, I’m floating in the pleasure, suspended… Then intensity returns, wringing my body out. The spasms flood me with heat and relief and beautiful, drunk happiness and keep me tight against his dick.

  “Yes yes yes…” He’s whispering against my skin as my pussy flutters and calms. I hear us breathing. I hear Jack Nicholson talking in the background. I smell ziti and feel Noah’s soft, short hair between my fingers, feel his cock throbbing inside me. I smooth my hands over his head and lean back to study his face.

  “Wow,” I say stupidly.

  He smiles broadly and cranes his neck to kiss my lips.

  “I haven’t come that hard in forever,” I tell him, feeling dim-witted and grateful. “Your turn.”

  “Okay. Can you keep riding me, like before? When you’re ready.”

  I nod, commanding my jelly legs to get their act together. I pump him, slow at first. His fly is soaked from my orgasm, its wet fabric rubbing the back of my thigh. I feel a little embarrassed, mostly proud. Noah’s lost in his pleasure, looking hypnotized and handsome and just perfect.

  “Yeah. Faster.” His eyes shut tight, and he leans back into the couch.

  My knees are raw from grinding into the upholstery but it feels good taking orders from him. His breathing turns rapid, a rhythmic string of grunts as he gives himself over.

  “I want to make you come,” I say.

  “Yeah. Fuck me, Abby.”

  “Your dick is so big. I want to make it shoot for me.” I never found it so easy to talk nasty to a man before this one showed up. Noah makes things comfortable, his mere presence like a sip of liquor that dulls inhibitions and loosens lips.

  “Fuck me. Fuck me.” His hands grasp my ass, making the thrusts faster and rougher, taking charge, losing control. “Fuck my cock. Fuck it.”

  “Come on, Noah.” />
  “Your pussy’s so tight.”

  “It loves your cock. Give it what it wants, Noah.”

  He licks his lips, catches my eye for a split second. “Yeah, you want my cum.”

  “Yeah, all of it. Give it to me. Shoot it for me. Nice and deep.”

  “Just fuck me. Fuck me.” He’s a goner. I’m glad he can’t see my smug grin as his possessive hands pull me hard against him. He drives deep with every last inch and releases. He groans like a madman, like a suffering animal. “Abby. Abby.”

  “Good…”

  He keeps me close as he stills, wraps his arms around my back.

  “I have to lie down,” I say, stroking his hair. He nods against my neck. His embrace loosens, and he lets me flop down along the couch so I can hug my knees. At least this time my panties and skirt offer a scrap of modesty.

  I hear him clear his throat, regaining coherence.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  A nervous laugh. “You’re welcome… What are you doing, exactly? Is that a conception thing?” I feel him squeeze my toes.

  “It’s probably pointless,” I admit. “But the theory is that you hold it all in, and gravity sort of helps the process.”

  “I guess it can’t hurt.”

  “That’s my thinking.”

  A silent minute passes before Noah speaks. “Um…should I go?”

  “Up to you,” I say, trying to sound casual and friendly and hurtproof.

  “Could I stay a little while longer? I should drink some water and let the wine wear off before I drive.”

  “Oh sorry, of course. You stay as long as you like. I’ll be done absorbing in five minutes or so. We can back the DVD up, or see what’s on TV.”

  “Cool, thanks.” His voice drips with relief.

  “Hey, Noah?” I say to the ceiling.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for coming tonight. In every sense of the word. But you know, thanks for showing up. This was really nice. Thanks for making me come too.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks for making me dinner.”

  I laugh. “This is like some base-desires meet-up. What do we have left? Should we build a fire and some shelter?”

  He squeezes my foot again. “I think you’ve wrecked me for the rest of the night.”