by Karen Gordon
I bite my lip, trying to stifle moans of pleasure, and breathe fast and shallow trying to keep quiet. My orgasm comes quickly and silently and takes away enough tension to let me drift off.
Chapter Five
I wake to the sound of voices in the hallway outside my door, male and female. They’re talking in German. I hear Mikel’s voice (yummm) then Annalize’s. Her German is stunted like her English with a definite Italian accent. It’s cute, of course. They’re moving around—probably bringing suitcases upstairs—so I lay back and relax. No need to hurry to get in their way.
Birds are chirping outside my window which is now open. It wasn’t when I fell asleep so I’m guessing Annalize or Mikel came in and opened them. I wonder if I had thrown off any of the covers and either could see me in my new lace. The thought turns me on again. I’m about to reach down for another quick O when I hear more voices outside my door. I know that accent, it’s Victor and there is another woman’s voice, Italian like Annalize’s but without the sexy purr. I do a mental count of who is here and realize…it’s all couples.
Fuck. My building libido dies. I’m going to be the only one here alone. Just me and my raging hormones.
When it’s quiet again outside my door I get up, put on my jeans and tee shirt, and open my door. Annalize is standing right outside it. She turns to face me then looks me up and down.
“The dress. Where is the dress?”
She’s wearing pants, but they are silky and loose and match the top that V’s low to her waist. Her bra is gone, the girls are bouncing free and barely concealed. At least I won’t feel overdressed or too racy in the dress she picked out (and bought) for me. I’ll look almost church-mousey next to her.
“I’ll put it on.” I stop to wave to Victor who is coming up the stairs. He greets me with air kisses before Annalize pushes him along.
“We eat soon. Get dressed.”
Her bossiness has me wanting to say “yes, mother,” but I don’t. I’ve been that bossy myself many times. It would be the pot calling the kettle black.
I duck back into my room and pull the dress from the hanger. The top is a complicated web of straps and I can’t seem to find my way in. I open the door and peek out hoping Annalize will still be there to help me. Instead I lock eyes with a pair of spectacular light green eyes, male eyes. I falter as I study him. He’s around my age and with long, curly brown hair, a beard, and jeans and a concert tee. He studies me too and I remember that I’m standing there with only my head poking out of the top of the dress and my underwear probably showing. “I, uh, I was looking for…” I hesitate. There’s a chance he only speaks German or Italian and doesn’t understand me.
“For Annalize?” He’s American.
“Yeah, I’m um,” I wiggle and try to pull the dress lower but I’m stuck. “I need her to help me figure this out.”
Completely unfazed by the fact that he doesn’t know me, he pushes my door open and comes into my room. “I can help. Tell me what to do.”
Does he know how much I like that phrase? He’s absolutely not my type, way too granola/hippie for me, but I’m in a what-the-hell mood and I don’t see another woman around. “OK, pull up so I can figure out where my arms go.”
He does so and I can’t see him but I know he can see nothing but my legs and sheer lace panties. I try not to laugh at how ridiculous this is.
I’m searching for the spot where the straps divide for my arms when I notice how close he is and how good he smells. No patchouli scent on this guy, more like Armani. I slide my arms into what I hope are the correct spaces and ask him to pull the dress down. He skims my body as he does. On purpose? His lack of hesitation feels that way. I shiver and my nipples bead up, his touch fanning the flames started earlier. I try to keep my voice casual. “Thank you, um…”
“Pete.” He’s still close, too close to do something like shake hands. I look up at him. He’s a tall mother fucker, well over six feet. Without shoes I’m noticeably shorter than him—a position I don’t normally like. But he’s so easy going, smiling down at me now with one of the most brilliant, open smiles I’ve ever seen. He has toothpaste-commercial worthy teeth.
I back away before I give in to an urge to lick his beautiful, smiling lips. “Thanks, Pete.”
There’s definite innuendo, but nothing forceful, in his, “anytime.” He leaves my room but not before looking me over in my dress and stopping to give me one more of his fabulous smiles.
✈ ✈✈
Dinner is looooong, but I don’t care. Mikel, Annalize, Geoff and his wife Erika, Victor and his wife Ines and Pete and I are seated around a table set up near the open doors to the balcony. There’s food and more food and wine and more wine and talking and laughing. I know I’m going to sleep with Pete tonight even before I’ve had almost too much wine. I knew before he told me about the super-cool tech company he runs from his laptop as he travels all over the world, before he told me his last name that I can’t pronounce (It’s Greek). In my head I name him Smilin’ Pete because I know I will always remember his smile. Three hours ago he might not have been my type but my type has officially changed. Right now I’m way into tall, lanky, smart men who live fascinating, unstructured lives. He’s my opposite in so many ways. He left home at seventeen, didn’t even finish high school, figured he didn’t need it. His college was living out of a duffle bag traveling through Asia, meeting people and setting up and selling apps. He doesn’t even care how much he’s made, as long as it keeps him going on his adventure.
I try to sneak glances at him during dinner. I want to study (ok, research) this man. He’s changed out of his concert tee and into a light green button down shirt that matches his eyes exactly. His hands are like Mikel’s, long fingers, not elegant but definitely not hammy. And he seems to be lightly tan everywhere I can see. Did he lay out naked on a beach somewhere? I would love to see that.
After my second glass of wine I realize he’s not sneaking glances at me. No, he’s blatantly looking at me, not so much checking me out as intently paying attention to me. I’m not sure if I like being in his spotlight. I want his attention but I fear what he will see, or not see. I don’t feel exciting or exotic enough for him.
✈ ✈ ✈
While the dishes are being cleared to serve dessert Annalize turns up some music I have been completely oblivious to until now. She shimmies and dances alone then summons me to join her.
“You know this song, Vivienne. Come dance with me.”
I do know this song. It’s Billy Paul’s smooth voice singing Me and Mrs. Jones. I keep my wine glass with me as I cross the room to go stand by her as we both sing along. But she wants to dance so she takes my glass away and pulls me to her. We are boob to boob, hip to hip and she’s spinning me around, leading. It’s so damn sexy and I imagine Smilin’ Pete is really smiling right now so I let her. For the big ending she turns me around, my back to her, and wraps her arms around me. Her hands dance up and down my sides, snaking across my chest and neck then lower and around to my ass.
Luckily the song ends because I’m not sure where she was going next. Another Motown slow song starts and everyone else gets up to dance. Mikel comes for Annalize and Pete slides in behind me where she was. I close my eyes and revel in his height and his cologne. I caress his arms, wrapped around my waist, loving the feeling of male muscle and a smattering of coarse hair.
“She wants you, you know.” He whispers in my ear. “They both do.”
That sobers me up quickly. I turn to look at him but he keeps us dancing. “Anna and Mikel, they want to play with you.”
I open my mouth but have nothing to say. Pete leans down to my ear again. “You didn’t know they are open?” I don’t reply because my mouth is agape. He pulls me in close and stands but I still hear him say, “I’ve played with them. It’s cool.”
✈ ✈ ✈
I’m not sure I’m dancing. I mean Smilin Pete is holding me and he’s moving so I must be too. I try to follow my thought train b
ut it’s jumbled and hampered by all the wine. I can have Mikel. A few hours ago I would have jumped on that chance. Annalize wants me. I’m…flattered and definitely turned on, but…I would need time to think about that, process, that’s a big leap. Then there’s Pete who I was all set to jump in bed with but now I’m not sure if he would be the only one in the bed. Is he bi? Is Mikel?
I must not be moving because Pete stops. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean to freak you out. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He uses his size to pull me up close to him so we are tight, nearly grinding. “Relax and enjoy.” We dance through that song then another starts. Most of the others have stopped dancing because dessert is now on the table. Pete doesn’t stop. I look up to see his eyes are closed. He’s lost in the song and our moving together. Why can’t I be like him? He’s floating on a bliss cloud and I’m just clinging to him, hoping some of it rubs off. I let myself relax a little and he rewards me with, “that’s it.” He leans way down and kisses and nibbles at my neck. I vibrate all over, the mood from earlier returning.
“You like that?”
My first reaction is to pull away and have a conversation with him. Yeah, I like it. My neck is really sensitive, oh, and so are my nipples. So, where are you sensitive? My mouth wants to runneth over. But I resist and just mumble, “mmm hmm.”
I want to kiss him. I dying to taste his smile, maybe take some for myself. I need to smile more. Like every desire I have, this thought is immediately followed by analysis. Is this smart? Will he want to? What if he doesn’t? Will I look stupid? I turn my head on his shoulder and glance around the room and realize that I won’t look stupid because no one is paying attention to us. All the couples are feeling the heat, pairing off, kissing, dancing. Mikel and Annalize are headed upstairs, alone. I guess they figure I’ve found someone else to play with.
My analysis says I have nothing to lose so I go for it. I pull Pete to me. I kiss him and he kisses me back. His smiling lips are fantastic to kiss. I feel the heady mix of power and lust that I haven’t felt since Danny. Only Pete doesn’t seem to mind me taking control. He doesn’t seem to mind at all.
I push my luck and unbutton his shirt. I love the look on his face, mock shock mixed with interest. The adventurer wants to see where this will go, he’s happy to go along for the ride.
I grab a bottle of wine from the table. Pete follows my lead and takes our glasses then shadows me up the stairs.
Chapter Six
How could I have thought for one minute that Smilin’ Pete was not my type. He’s exactly what I want. Control-freak Vivienne, meet laid-back Pete.
I undress him and leave my clothes on, because I want to. He lets me then stands there gloriously naked and completely comfortable in his skin. And he should be. He’s all long, lean, lanky muscles everywhere, including his cock. I’m hoping it’s a show-er and not a grower because we might be in trouble. I need to find out. I drop to my knees and take him in my mouth. His groan of pleasure spurs me on. I’m the one on the floor but I’m feeling so powerful. This man, this beautiful man, has given over to me, to do with him whatever I want. I want to make him feel so good he never forgets me. I want him to be laying in a hammock somewhere in Africa, cock in hand, pulling images of me from his spank bank.
I make a meal of him, licking, sucking, nibbling. He stays still and lets me until he has to pull me onto the bed. “Can’t stand.” He breathlessly explains. I take the opportunity to undress. I want to feel his skin against mine.
But, there’s the dress…
It’s no easier to get out of than into. I’m stuck again half way in. Pete gets up to help me and I’m irritated that I’ve killed the moment. He tugs up then stops. I feel his big hands on my ass, sliding my panties down and I realize he is taking advantage of the fact that I can’t move my arms. He’s turned the tables on me.
But instead of being mad I’m laughing. Because it’s shrewd and funny, like Pete. He hefts me over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry to peel my panties over my feet. I kick at him but not hard and I’m giggling. He pops me once on the butt then leans down and bites one cheek gently. I squirm and giggle more. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed this much during sex.
Once he puts me back on the ground he pulls the dress over my head, releasing me and tossing it aside. He reaches for my bra and I pull back. “With your teeth.” I command. He laughs and accepts the challenge, leaning in to grasp one shoulder strap between his teeth and pull it down. The other takes a little longer but I don’t mind. His perfect lips and beard give me dueling soft/scratchy sensations that I feel all the way to my pussy. The back hooks are harder but he wins out and so do I. His kisses are firing nerves down my spine. My toes curl and I sigh each time he scrapes his beard against me.
We’re naked, kissing, stroking, but in no hurry. Once I’m naked he wants to study me. “Enjoy you.” He explains. I try to show the same cool confidence that he did, not turning away or hiding anything. He licks my nipples, notes that they are delicious then moves on to my stomach shoulders, arms, hips. “Tell me what you need.” He urges between kisses.
“You, on top.” I feel too floaty and want his solid weight on me. He doesn’t question me or need an explanation. Whatever I want is good with him.
Once he’s there he positions his cock between my lips, against my clit and he rocks, slow and steady. “Does that feel good?”
I can’t answer because I’m so close to coming so I nod. I’m tensing up, pushing for release when he slows down but doesn’t stop.
“Hey, breathe.” I’m not but if I do I’m afraid I’ll lose my way to my orgasm.
“Can’t” is all I can say through my clenched muscles and held breath.
“Vivienne, look at me. You can relax. You’ll come, I swear.”
I shake my head, still trying to hold on to the tension but it’s dying, leaving me. I’m about to get irritated. But he won’t let me. He keeps pushing against me, arousing the right places, but he’s breathing steady, in and out with each push. He locks me with his eyes, inviting me to do the same. I do, awkwardly at first, but then I find his rhythm.
It’s intense. He’s looking into my eyes, breathing in sync with me, building me up, little by little to coming. As I get closer my breathing speeds up but so does his. I think he’s going to come with me and I love it. It’s like a game, a beautiful, sexy game. I’m on the brink, breathing, making lots of noise because I feel like I’m higher up than I’ve ever been before and I know the fall is going to be amazing.
And it is. I fall over the edge. I let go and just ride the waves of pleasure—thrilling waves like I’ve never felt before. And Pete is coming too, his breathing and moans taking me even farther, longer. When it’s over we smile at each other, then laugh. My god that was fun.
“Wow.” Is all I can think to say.
He leans off the bed briefly to grab his shirt and uses it to clean off my stomach then he tosses it aside and leans in to kiss me. “I know.”
“How did you know that I could..?” He’s got some mad skills he learned somewhere.
“Tantra.”
“Whata?” I’ve actually heard of it but I don’t know much about it. I want to take advantage of having a hot, smart, naked search engine in bed with me.
“It’s an ancient Indian practice that has a sexual component but there’s a lot more to it than that.” He settles in next to me, positioning himself so we are touching but still facing each other to talk.
“And you took a class on this?”
“I’ve studied it, yeah.”
“So you have like an advanced degree in fucking? That’s definitely something you should put on your resume.” I like teasing him because it makes him smile and damn this man’s smile goes all the way to his soul.
He doesn’t disappoint. He laughs, “I’ll consider it.”
“Seriously, it’s like you knew what I could do more than I did.”
“You’d be amazed at all you c
an do, especially as a woman.”
“Oh, do tell.” I settle myself in because the research geek in me is completely turned on now.
He tells me about breath and energy and using them. How I could actually make myself come without even touching myself, only with my mind. It’s all fascinating. I want to know more and more. I want to spend days, weeks, months with him learning all he knows. I want to talk and do lots of lab work. I allow myself to float on this fantasy even through deep inside I know it’s just that. Pete and I lead very different lives. I can’t see myself backpacking around the world, working from a laptop. I love my apartment, my street, my hometown. I like being rooted.
There’s just a hint of sunlight in the room when we fall asleep. We snuggle and it feels so much more comfortable than it should considering we met about twelve hours ago. Now, knowing about energy and touching it makes sense to snuggle with Pete, to enjoy each other’s rhythms, scent, heat. There’s none of the usual, “What does this mean? Are we dating? Are we not” anxiety between us. Just a sweet post-connection bliss and a snuggle.
✈ ✈ ✈
It’s full daylight when I wake, probably even afternoon. I turn to look for Pete but I can already feel the lack of him in the bed and I know he’s gone. There’s a business card on his pillow. On the back he’s written, “Let’s cross paths again. Please keep in touch.” It would be a cold goodbye coming from almost anyone else, but it fits Pete. I was part of his adventurous life, for a day, and now he’s back to it. I flip the card over. It has his name, a phone number that looks like a U.S. number, and a website for his company. Nothing fancy, no elaborate descriptions of what he does, just Pete—Smilin’ Pete.
Curiosity is killing me so after I rush to the bathroom to pee, I get out my laptop to research his company.
Very interesting…Smilin’ Pete is quite the businessman. His company has several apps that are used mainly business to business. The general public wouldn’t have heard of him or his company. It’s a nice site, clear and to the point. There’s even a section where he shares all his pics from his travels. I can’t help but smile back at him as I sift through them. He looks so damn gratified and excited, posing with friends in front of open markets, houses, jungles, and monkeys. I’m turned on again, just looking at him and knowing who he really is. Part of me can still see how two days ago I would have looked at this page as some hippie’s photos, thought he might look better with a haircut, and moved on. I’m jealous when I realize I never got a pic with him. I want a picture of me smiling with the man who put that huge smile on my face.