by Emme Rollins, Julia Kent, Anna Antonia, Helena Newbury, Aubrey Rose
I decided he was worth this—the two other guys I'd tried this on, ever, had been jerks about it, shoving my head down onto them and making it hard to breathe, with no consideration for me. That's the thing—sometimes when you give to someone it really isn't selfless. It's selfish. You find joy in it because you're giving freely. The point where it's not freely given is the point where it all falls apart.
Trevor's groans and little shakes of abandon made me swell with pride—and arousal. I didn't want this to be all we did, and apparently—neither did he, because I found myself suddenly in his arms, his hands pulling at my pants, his mouth against mine, searching and taking and frantic. He felt it, too—the sense that we needed to join as fast and hard and intensely as possible, to shoot for the moon with the precious time we had left.
Soon my naked ass hit the moss covering the ground, and Trevor was out of his pants, stripping off his shirt, returning to the state he'd been in when I met him. My eyes could never, ever get enough of that body, and he wanted to see me, too. The warm sunlight really didn't allow me to be hidden, and a flash of bashfulness hit me. Where did that come from? I willed it away and as he stripped my bra off, my final piece of clothing, he gently stretched me out on the ground, arms above my head.
“I just want to look at you, Darla,” he said, an open, marveling grin stretching that pensive face. “You are so beautiful.” Warmth filled me in all the right places, including my heart. Snappy comebacks and deflections filled my mind and died out within seconds, a deeper part of me accepting his words—really accepting them. Integrating them.
Because I was beautiful. That he could see it in me made me feel it all the more, made me revel in the attention and the recognition and in the validation that no matter how much people tried to convince me otherwise, or how life threw so many nasty messages my way, that internal divining rod of love I'd always hoped was inside me really was.
And it led me to Trevor.
Or, maybe, he had one inside him, too, and it had found me.
One of his hands reached down to find me slick and wet, and the other fumbled in his jeans, pulling out a condom. I kissed his nose and asked, “How'd you get that?”
“Wallet. Joe brought it with my clothes and phone.” A moth flew by and the sky was an unusual blue, with little puffs of cloud the only evidence we weren’t facing an unbroken chain of space leading to the heavens. It was the kind of spring day in Ohio that made you feel blessed. The long expanse of flesh that our bodies made, buried in the clearing behind flowers and grasses and new hope, made me feel a sense of peace and excitement I never, ever wanted to let go of.
And then Trevor's mouth was on my pebbled nipple, his hand moving along my wetness, making my breath hitch and my climax rise up, so fruitful and close before he moved on top of me, his hip grinding into my pelvis, and he leaned down to lick my earlobe, then slowly kissed a trail to my V.
Oh, that and that and there and—his magic tongue, the one that made his songs sound like liquid dreams, strummed my neediest of spots right now, stroking and laving with the sole intent of making me feel good. His hand guided me to lie flat, back against the soft ground, my face tipped up and watching the sun, the light changing as he gave my body one of the greatest gifts of time and attention and arousal and affirmation, making me throb and clamp as all the air left my lungs and a great wave of pending climax began to itch away at my soul.
My naked soul.
"Oh, my Lord," I whispered as he raised my hips, the words coming out like a tremor. Tremor for Trevor, my mind wandered, until he pulled me back in with that velvet tongue. His tongue settled on my needy red nub, a soft touch like a flower blooming and soaking in the warm sun, so mind-blowing I nearly exploded all over his lips, the touch like something I'd read about and knew existed but always suspected was some kind of fiction.
Reality, though, was extraordinary and very, very real.
"Trevor, that's amazing," I whispered, feeling his hands on my ass, owning me, the flesh simmering with heat as he took me in handfuls. Using those muscled arms, he hiked my core up to his mouth, the shift in angle making my teeth grit and my head twitter with little popping sensations of intense climax. So soon, so close, I just felt my hips begin to move in rhythm with him, wanting to chase the ache that was about to be stretched and kissed away.
That shift gave Trevor one fine, toned hand to drive me crazy as he slid one finger inside and looped it up so that it set off unexpected waves of pleasure, the sound of leaves rusting in the distance and a light breeze adding to my feeling of complete abandon, as if Trevor gave me access to some primal self I didn't know I possessed. This was what I wanted, what I had craved for years but never imagined I could actually have, much less share with a near-stranger I'd met just a day ago. The sense of connectivity, of freedom and compassion and communion with him wasn't just body-blowing (though he was doing a fabulous job of that).
It completely blew my mind. People didn't just wander into my life like this, grab my attention, and then snake their tongue across my clit in an effort to give me what I needed. Absorbing this made my soul burn, his mouth whispering and blowing against my hot skin now as I bloomed with lust, all heat converging on my nub, as he licked it, slowly growing the release within, slipping his finger in and out, making me want more. More? There could be more?
Please let there be more!
My legs began to shake, and I knew I would come like a Nevada brothel during an orgasmfest. My hands sought him out, holding on for dear life, sliding and guiding him to find the just-right rhythm that would—
"Oh, Trevor!" I heard myself hiss, loving his tongue, which licked me, hard, right where I needed it most. The heat of his muscled, naked body pressed against my legs and hips, the way he chased after me as I moved, so damned determined to make sure I got what I needed—and that very thought did it, making me clench and release, scream and groan, whispering and grinding into him as he gave me the best orgasm(s) of my life, tears filling my eyes at the acknowledgment that a man could even want to do this to me.
Much less actually do this to me. Music groupies had nothing on this. Trevor should have tongue groupies, for fuck's sake. And I would be the permanent president of the fan club.
His tongue opened up, hot flesh on mine, as he gave me focused and expansive flesh play. Feeling both his fingers and his tongue on my throbbing, twitching nub continued the screaming climax as my whole body became one big, tight ball of clamped-down muscle. There really was more? Holy shit. I'd just been dreaming. And when in my God-forsaken pathetic little life had a dream like this come true?
Today, apparently. And yesterday. What about tomorrow? my mind wondered.
"Where in the hell did you come from?” I gasped, hands curling into fists of orgasm, my pussy crammed into his tongue as I groaned.
He pulled back and strummed me with his fingers, the calluses on his guitar-playing fingers like an organic sex toy, my pink folds dripping and the pads of his fingertips gliding against my lower lips. “Don't worry about where I come from,” he whispered, the words like little aftershocks on my swollen skin as I felt my climax recede, an immense, expansive sense of pure gratitude and joy filling me. “Just worry about your coming.”
Heaven. He came from heaven.
Focusing on my orgasm and my skin as if it were his job to finish me off, his life's mission and his one, true goal, he followed my body as I moved, flittering, draining me and playing me like this was some sort of piece of music he was performing, all the crescendos and legatos mixed into the muscles of his mouth.
A few little waves finished up, my moans slowed down. Now, I haven't run more than the distance from the grocery store door to my car in the parking lot in a rainstorm, so I wouldn't know from experience—but I'm guessing that the runner's high was about the closest feeling to what Trevor had just elicited in me—endorphins about to kick in but suspended in that moment where there's a rush of blood in your ears and all you can hear is the push of air in and
out of your lungs.
He grinned, then climbed up to me, army crawling like I was some sort of course to be conquered. And I was, right? Because damn if he hadn't just won a fucking gold medal for that. The taste of my own juices turned me on again, the wave hitting so suddenly I climaxed yet again from that simple, luxurious kiss, his warm, wet mouth bringing me such a homecoming it made my whole body shudder with happiness and an arousing applause, the clit leading.
“You just stripped my soul naked, Trevor,” I gasped, knowing the words were so inadequate, but hey—I had to try. My fingers ran through his wavy, blond hair and it felt like I could do this forever, just rest on nature's mattress and sleep in his arms. My needs were small. A wildflower field off an Ohio interstate was like the penthouse suite of the Times Square Marriott right now. As long as I had Trevor with me, preferably naked and aroused, the world was all mine.
Speaking of arousal, he kissed me, the taste of him all me, actually, a shock and gasp turning into a moan and a roar of more, more, more inside me.
“Are you...?” he asked, his voice rising up with husky desire.
“I want you, Trevor Connor. You're the answer to my whispered prayer.” He got the allusion to their song and the skin between his eyes changed, tight with an almost-teary sense of gratitude, of acceptance and recognition and relaxation. We got each other, both in body and in heart.
As he entered me, all power and animal movement, he murmured back, “You make me believe in something so much more.” As we completed our joining, his flesh ensconced in mine, my hands roamed his back, fingers digging into and feeling the tiny lines of sinew and tendons that worked with his muscles to be in me, to make me feel pleasure, to drive home that what we were feeling was so much more than sex. A thin layer of sweat formed on his chest and I craned my neck to lick it, to teasingly bite his nipple, with made his whole body tense, then move faster in me, the angle of our bodies just right and enough to make a red wall of passion take over my very existence.
A thin breeze made my flesh tingle and as my hands cupped his marble ass, so tight as he pulled back, then filled me, our bodies moving with a delicious rhythm. I opened my legs wider and wrapped them around his hips, the movement giving us more of each other, his lips kissing my ear and then, a desperate bite on my shoulder as he shuddered, tense and lost in his own pleasure, my body rushing to catch up so we could pitch over into another dimension that was only for us.
We did.
The feel of the soft green moss pressing into my thighs, Trevor's sweet stubble playing on my cheekbone, his hushed gasps in my ear, my own groans of release and our arched keening in our climaxes—it made for a long, deep, blissful state of everything and I felt more at home with his slick chest hovering over my tight, swollen breasts and our little sounds of open love than I had anywhere, any time.
He finished and collapsed on me, the weight of him like a blanket of victory, a ceremonial surrender that said, You did it to me. You made me go outside my own mind and use my body to make something new with you. You did it, Darla.
My own body felt the waves of explosion receding, a tingling permeating every bit of me, my face buried in his shoulder—and yes, I licked him now.
A low rumble of chuckling filled me as he laughed from his core and he slid out of me, snuggling against my side. With a practiced hand he dispensed with the condom and I cocked an eyebrow at him as he looked up at me.
“What?”
“You're mighty practiced at that.”
“I learned it at Turnpike University.”
“What did you major in?”
“Avoiding becoming roadkill.” He curled up against me and propped himself up on one elbow, beckoning me to stare back, my inner thighs beginning to shake from a muscle memory of our acrobatics. One calm palm from him on my thigh stopped the tremors.
“What am I going to do with you, Trevor?” I asked, reaching up to push a stray lock of hair from the bridge of his nose. His face changed, saddened, and he let a long breath escape.
I knew what he meant. He didn't have to say anything. Leaving would suck, and it was coming in hours. But there was something...more. Like he wanted to say something and couldn't. I didn't read minds (man, did I wish I could) and wasn't sure whether to ask him. Those sorts of questions are hard enough to ask when you're clothed. Naked and in a field? Uh...no.
“Darla, you told me about your parents' accident last night.” I stiffened. Maybe he didn't have a problem asking those questions after all.
“Yes.”
“I feel like it's...hanging over me, sort of. So I want to tell you something.” His face was a mask of emotional struggle. What could it be?
“Go ahead.” I reverted to two-word sentences. Like this. And this. For sure. You know?
“It's nothing like what you went through,” he started, apologetic.
“Mama says everyone has shit to deal with. Everyone.” I stroked his back lightly, encouragingly.
“It's actually not about me. It's my brother. He's autistic.”
“And...?” I drew out the word as if that alone didn't mean much. Lots of kids around here were on the spectrum. It seemed like every other day another kid went to school and came home with a PDD or autism diagnosis, and then someone else got a job as an aide. Loads of my friends got their associate's degrees at the branch campus and picked up decent jobs doing that.
“My parents sent him to an institution when I was eight. He's older—five years older—and after that my mom went a bit nuts.” Trevor broke eye contact and rolled away, his hip still touching mine, but he eased his hands behind his head and stared up at the sky. A flock of birds flew way overhead, looking like a brown cloud, so clustered together and in sync.
A low whistle came out of me. That bad? I wanted to ask, and quickly realized it was a good thing I had a one-second filter, because that would have been a shitty thing to ask. “Thirteen when he left?” I asked. “That means your parents tried really hard.”
That was the right thing to say, because he relaxed and turned on his side again. “They did. Rick was just too hard. It's...well, I don't want to go into detail right now. It was just hard. I hated my mom and dad for a long, long time. And Mom fell apart and went to a psych ward for a few weeks.”
“Ouch.” Mama was right. We all had our shit in life. Even preppy Boston boys.
“When she came home, she wasn't the same. She was broken somehow. All her attention that had been on Rick for all those years came barreling at me. I had to be perfect, suddenly. The best student, the best athlete, the best musician—a perfect, shining example that she could have one kid who wasn't...you know...”
I hugged him and he let me. “Is that why you took all that peyote? To stop having to be perfect?”
“No,” he laughed. “I took all that peyote because I am a dumbass.”
We both giggled, the sound seeming to travel across the vast field, up to the blue sky, the birds hearing our amused music. There was great comfort in our sharing and baring of naked souls. Maybe we're all damaged. The question is: to what degree?
“You still see him?” I asked. The air was getting a chill to it so I sat up and he pulled me into his arms, my back leaning against his chest.
“Every week, like clockwork. He's more stable now and in a group home with five other guys. Has a job and everything. He just—when he became violent and big, Mom and Dad couldn't handle his aggression.” I could feel him shake his head. “At least, that's how they described it. Mom tried all kinds of doctors and drugs and treatments. We owned this weird oxygen chamber for a while, and then he used to get all these IV drugs, and Mom took the whole family for genetics testing. No one had any answers.”
“Sometimes no one does,” I said simply. A bulge against my butt (and no, it wasn't Trevor) started to hurt, so I sat up and pulled it out.
My phone. 3:21.
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” I shouted, throwing my shirt on, trying to connect my bra underneath, being stupid and p
eeling everything off and then pulling it all back on again in the right order. “I'm gonna be late for work.” The words came out sharper than I wanted them to and Trevor startled but got the message quickly, jumping up, pulling on his clothes. Those beautiful, tan curves a—shame to see covered in anything so mundane, so boring as clothing.
We looked like two people that had just had sex outside. I felt the back of my head...bedhead, except instead of rubbing my hair against the sheets my head had been rubbed against a big, giant pile of moss. I could feel it matted into my frizz and started batting at it like a small animal caught in a trap.
“What are you doing?” Trevor said, laughing.
“I've got moss and dirt in my hair and I can't go to work like this.” Again, I thought. I'd never had a man out here before. This really was a sacred space for me but I'd certainly had a...well, my share of outdoor fun with a man. Not this much fun, mind you.
We trudged back through the field to get to my car where I knew no one else would be. I wanted to say something—thank you? I'm sorry? What do you say when someone confesses their secrets to you? Maybe I should say nothing, or wrap my arms around him and caress his hair, kiss his shoulder, like he did last night when I blurted out my business like a teenager on truth serum. It was one thing to tell him my secrets, but to have him turn out to have a pretty big family issue of his own had me reeling.
I didn't have any siblings—Josie was seven years older and the closest thing I had to a sister—so I couldn't imagine what Trevor's life had been like, having a brother with autism and having that brother up and disappear when he was little. Disappearing loved ones I understood, sadly, though. Going on and seeing his brother every week, striving to have a relationship, using music as a bridge showed a kind of caring empathy that made me want to just be with Trevor.