Intoxicated

by Cynthia Dane

  I don’t have to tell you why I keep thinking back to how good it was a week ago. Could it happen again? No point wondering now! She’s…

  She’s in my windowsill.

  Cher pretends to not notice my presence as she enjoys the view of the river and the old warehouses across the way. The sun is setting on the other side of the building, so all she sees is the twilight creeping across the land.

  Innocent isn’t the word I’d use to describe her. There isn’t a drop of innocence exuding from this woman, and I don’t think those who never heard of her would get that impression, either. You know how worldly she is from one look. It’s in the way she gazes out at the world. The curve of her posture as she assuredly dangles one foot off the ledge and tilts her head as if absorbing what everything has to say. Her clothing drapes with purpose. Her hair wraps around her finger and flutters toward her waist as if it has nothing better to do. The only thing innocent about her is that blank expression on her face. She’s not putting on a show. She’s not playing a character. She’s simply existing without reservation.

  If you want to see the real Cher Lieberman, you don’t simply feed her Chinese food. You load her up with greasy goodies and then abandon her to take a shower. That way you can come back to what she looks like when she thinks you’re gone.

  This must be what she looks like at home. Alone.

  Goodness gracious, as my grandmother would say, she’s absolutely beautiful.

  Only now do I make my presence known, and that’s done with a simple approach to her heavenly form.

  I keep respectful distance. I kinda have to. You see, the only clothing bedecking my form is a pair of light gray sweatpants I happened to have in my bathroom. If I get any closer to her, I’ll spring up like the first sunflower of the season.

  There’s a joke about seeds in there…

  “Have a nice shower?” she asks, head still pointed toward the window. “Don’t mind me. Making myself at home in your lovely apartment. Who pays for it, by the way?” Finally, her eyelashes bat in my direction. “Your daddy, or your business of heartbreak?”

  With hands on my hips, I shift my weight to one foot and suck in a cheek. “You’re ridiculous,” I say. “Of course I pay for it. With my own hard-earned cash.”

  “Uh huh. Hard earned.” She glances at my abs, then my crotch, then out the window again. “Very hard.”

  I better not be showing. Or growing, for that matter.

  “If you’d like to use my shower, go ahead,” I say.

  “I’m fine. I’ve got a shower in my own apartment.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “What?” Her head snaps around, hands linked around her knees. “You want me naked in your apartment? Say so. Come on, Drew, I thought we were done playing games. Come out with what you want.”

  I half-expect her to snap the waistband of my sweatpants. Instead, she keeps her soft hands to herself. Hands I could be pinning above her head right now.

  Twitch. Twitch. That’s my cock, by the way. Wondering why the ol’ Dirk Diggler isn’t playing an arousing game of Dig-Dug with her pussy.

  “Oh, gee, what do I want? Or am I supposed to pretend to want what you want?”

  “I haven’t told you what I want.”

  “I know what you want. Some things aren’t so different between men, after all.” She sniffs. “You want me to suck your cock. Or to fuck me. Guess you could take your pick.”

  “Honestly, either order would be wonderful. I wouldn’t say no to you sucking my cock right here until I haul you off to bed for some of the other stuff.”

  “Uh huh.” Cher stretches one arm above her head. “What if I told you I’d much rather see you flex your skills in other ways?” That hand lowers. Whoops! There it is! Her fingers in my waistband! She takes a cursory glance at my hardening cock and pretends to be unimpressed. Except I saw that little glint in her eyes. She’s as hungry to gobble me up as I am to get reacquainted with her delicious depths. “We’ll start with that foul mouth of yours.”

  Let’s not beat around the bush. Or shall we, since she said that’s what she wants?

  This time when I pick her up, it’s not to throw her down and fuck her brains out. Oh, no, we must have more finesse today. She’s not wet with wild anticipation already. Somebody needs a little foreplay. The more I can play with her, the better, apparently.

  All right. Play, we shall.

  ***

  If there’s one thing Cher loves to do, it’s pretend she doesn’t really want it.

  She’s the kind of lover that makes you need a safe word. Otherwise you’re constantly interrupting your fun because you feel like a jackass who doesn’t know how to respect a woman’s boundaries. Then she asks you, “Why the hell did you stop?” Gee, honey, maybe it’s because you asked me to stop? I can be a giant asshole, but an actual monster? Not as big of one as she might think.

  If anything, I like to think I’m pretty fluffy for a monster!

  Take this sweetness for example: imagine our intrepid princess with her skirt hitched up around her waist, her legs bent and spread around my happy head. Every other word out of her mouth is nothing but gibberish, because that’s how good I am with my tongue as it slides up and down her wet slit.

  Her taste is one I can’t describe. Sounds like such a cop-out, I know, but there you are. I could compare her to other women I’ve tasted, but I’m told that’s not appealing. Yet how else do I describe it? She’s the sweetness of a young girl’s heart before it’s ever been broken. She’s the bitter bite of a woman scorned. The natural salt of her skin blends into the myriad of desires pouring forth from her body. I can’t take all the credit for arousing her, of course. My tongue may dance upon her clit and flick against her anxious hole, but her soul has completely gone somewhere else. Trust me. My eyes have been fixated on her face this whole time. Not because she graces me with eye contact. Oh, nooo. Cher is too busy squeezing her eyes shut and flinging her arm over her face. Is this because she’s ashamed to know who’s eating her out? Or maybe she’s fantasizing about someone other than me. Ouch. I can take that, I guess. She could be fantasizing about whatever heartthrob stole her heart when she was seventeen, but I’m the one working my magic on the only thing that matters in this room.

  Surprised? While I wish it shocked me how many men out there refuse to bestow attention upon the very thing we tend to crave most, I’m not. I mean, I know the kind of guys I hung out with as a kid and now as an adult. One of the easiest, fastest ways to a woman’s heart is to at least offer to rub your face all over her pussy. Bonus points if you’re not a punk who can’t slam your tongue in there. Like, bros, really get in there. This is your chance to kiss every part of a woman’s body! I don’t care if she’s that asshole who stole your Camaro and flipped you the bird on her way to the chop shop. You get pussy in your face? You make some fucking love to that pussy.

  Even with your mouth.

  Say it with me now.

  Even. With. Your. Mouth.

  I mean, it’s fun! Especially if you’ve got a girl totally into it. Cher is on my bed gently humping my face as she rubs her nipples and whispers how much she fucking loves it. I don’t care if she thinks she’s a master string-puller getting exactly what she wants. I’m one happy dude when I’ve got a face full of you-know-what. Sure, there is the occasional lady who doesn’t like it as much as, say, Cher, but they’re always so tickled that you offered. Come on, men, step the fuck up and get laid! Don’t you want your ladies to be happy?

  Don’t answer that.

  Ah, yes, I’m busy, anyway. Busy with this orgasm about to clock Cher right in the body. I can taste it long before she begins to shudder, buck, and cry out that I’m a sex God. (All right. I’m not a sex God, apparently, but she’s not holding back on the sounds of pleasure. Isn’t that sweet music to one’s ears?) There’s that sudden twist. A zest, if you’ll call it, when you get into a solid groove, your hands on a lady’s hips to both keep them pinned down and so you can feel th
ose sweet undulations of her passion, here comes the first wave of climax that nearly drowns a man.

  Good thing I know how to swim. I’m actually a pretty strong swimmer.

  “Fuck!” Her whole body stiffens. Everything but her hands, which twitch through the air, attempting to find anything to grab. I enjoy every second of it as I keep my eyes locked on her face. You know what’s my favorite part of a girl’s O-face? How it’s so her. She can be prim, proper, daintily made up and perfect with her makeup, but if you really make her come, she suddenly either has no neck or a giraffe neck. Her cheeks are puffed and her mouth twisted. Eyes squeezed shut and brows flying off her face. It’s the most natural you will ever see her. You will wonder why you have never done this before.

  I intend to play with her a little. Get her to slowly come down from that high, but not without a few teases that have her taking off again. My finger slips beneath her ass and taunts her slit. I get a hearty nod from my salacious princess. Perfect. Time to head for Puckerville, not that I intend to give her the full treat tonight.

  Maybe next time.

  “Oh, shit, you…” Cher sits up, pulling her pussy away from my face. She grabs the top of my head and lifts it for a kiss. Her mouth inhales mine. It’s not our first kiss today, but it’s the first famished one that leaves me knocked out. Almost like she really loves her own taste. Or maybe she only loves it on my tongue.

  “That’s right,” I mutter on her mouth. “Me.”

  Cher is loosened up in more ways than one. The endorphins of her orgasm turn her into a palatable princess who wants to get frisky and help me on my own road to orgasm. When she grabs my cock, though, it’s not to get me off. She’s testing my rigidity. When she finds it to her standards, I get a lovely grin made only better by the flush in her cheeks and the fall of her tousled hair.

  “You gonna fuck me now?” she taunts, hand slipping up and down my shaft. “You gonna take this super dank pussy?”

  I’d say I regret saying that earlier, but no. Hearing her say that, with a dirty grunt to her voice, only makes me smile. “Gonna take it and utterly destroy it,” I say.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  She means it, doesn’t she? I know she likes it rough, but after that kind of attentive oral titillation you’d think she’d want something… more tender. But I know that greedy look in her eye. Every inch of her burns to have me use her. Use it. She wants to be my little toy I do with as I will.

  A flicker of regret hits me for the first time in a long while. Not regret for being with her. Regret for how I’ve treated some women in the past. Especially my former marks. Especially how I would have treated Cher had she not made me. Sometimes, the easiest thing to do when you have to stick it in some crazy to get to your ends, is simply treat them as “just another girl.” No personality. No privileges. If they scream for some anal, by all means, fuck ‘em in the ass, but it’s not something you hunger for like it’s two hours until Christmas dinner. You flip them over and lube up.

  I think Cher knows that about me. Why wouldn’t she? She knows everything else. Like I know almost everything about her.

  Well, everything but what makes her… her.

  Why would she want me to do that to her, exactly? Does she really get off on it? Does she fantasize about it when she’s with other men, or when she’s touching herself in bed? Is that what she wants? To be used and fucked into oblivion? It’s one thing for a woman to declare how much she loves being stuffed by cock. It’s quite another for her to ask you to completely disregard her personal boundaries. On the surface, anyway.

  Maybe she’s a thrill seeker. That would also explain how she entered her life of depravity.

  “I could do that.” I yank her dress over her head. As if its worth means nothing to me, I toss her designer threads over the edge of my bed, a literal pile of forgotten memories. As her body emerges, all I can think about is fucking her. Why not? It’s what she wants. It’s what I want. Memories of what happened a week ago flood my head and fill my cock. It’s ready to ram into whatever I send its way. Sweet skies above, there are a hundred different things I could do right now. I could make her suck it. Ride it. Get on her knees like I did the first time we did it, her ass hitting my hilt and almost making me come right away. Cher isn’t merely a beautiful woman. She’s the nymph you can’t say no to, because you’re so under her spell you’re willing to give her your soul. “Or I could torture you with tenderness. Make really slow and conscientious love to you.” My lips linger against hers, our bodies falling to the bed together. Her hand wraps around the back of my neck. Nails dig into my skin.

  “You won’t do that,” she tells me.

  “Oh?”

  “Hell, no. You’re going to give into temptation and give us both what we deserve.”

  I don’t quite yet get her meaning. I also don’t care. I’m too busy hitching her hips to mine and seeking out her heat with the hungry tip of my cock.

  It finds her so easily. Like she puts her arms above her head and jiggles her tits for me so easily. With her legs bent beneath my hands and her hips reaching up to meet mine, I take her with one long stroke of my cock.

  She doesn’t close her eyes. Nor do they roll into the back of her head. As I reel from the sensation of her soft, wet cunt grabbing onto my cock, I notice she’s not giving me a single sign of expression.

  If anything, that’s triumph in her eyes.

  What do I do with this? Hell, do I care? Not really. I’m already fucking her, and that’s what we both want.

  It’s what I sure as hell want.

  I want to drive my cock into her, hitting her so hard that she never forgets what it feels like. I want to watch her body shudder and jiggle with every impact I make. I want to pinch her nipples and listen to her squeal in appreciation. Fuck it, I want to slam myself into her, over and over, completely losing control as I attempt to find her deepest, hottest recesses. I want to come so deep inside of her that she lets out that gasp of recognition that I’ve claimed her once again.

  I only want a reaction out of her. I want her to signify that I’m so fucking good in bed that she’s going to think about me for the rest of her life. I want her to squeeze my cock and milk me dry. I want her to elicit such an animalistic response from me that I roar like a beast and fuck her until she breaks.

  The harder I thrust, the deeper I go. I pull her hips up, her hair haloing around her head as she braces her hands against her breasts. She doesn’t give me the satisfaction of closing her eyes in happiness, though. She’s still looking right into mine, daring me to do more.

  “Fuck me, Drew.”

  Those are the last words she utters as I piledrive her like I’ve wanted since we first met. There’s no escape for her. She’s my little caught vixen, the nymph I’ve cornered in the wilds of the universe. She’s going to take my cock. She’s a prisoner of my onslaught. She’s my spoils of war. The Princess offered up to me on my warlord’s platter. She may not be a virgin, but I’ll make sure she’s so stretched that no man will want her after me.

  I’ll always want her. I’ll look at her and think that’s the one. The one I fuck.

  A little purr rumbles through her and she bites her upper lip as I’m compelled to come. Down, down, down my cock goes, swimming in its own cum as it fills her up. She finally growls like the nymph she is, her legs spreading a little wider so I can take her some more.

  It’s only when I start to come down from orgasm that I get what she meant when she said, “give us both what we deserve.”

  Yes. I get it now.

  You know what we both deserve.

  No emotion. No love. No shred of humanity.

  I fuck her and come inside her, marking her like a caveman would mark his mate, yet that’s all we are. Two reasonless cavepeople who have yet to unlock such complex emotions in our brains.

  We’re two broken souls who don’t deserve love.

  As if railing against that premise, I keep fucking her. I
’ll prove to myself it’s not true.

  It’s not true.

  Chapter 14

  CHER

  It’s not Drew’s snoring, twitching, or night sweats that wake me up around eight in the morning. Nor does the sunlight streaming through the window affect my ability to stay asleep.

  No, what wakes me up from my exhausted slumber is something much more sinister.

  My stomach.

  Cramps, to be exact.

  You know what I’m talking about. Maybe you think that Chinese food you devoured the night before is coming back to haunt you. Maybe. But when you’re about three days away from your scheduled visit from Aunt Flo, you know what it is.

  I jerk upright, half-awake. Right away, I feel the tell-tale sign of my uterus having a big laugh at my expense.

  It’s all right. It’s okay. I only spent half the night rough-fucking the asshole snoozing next to me. I may have taken a long shower before collapsing into his bed around eleven, and he may have loaned me a T-shirt to wear so I didn’t have to sleep naked, but I’m not going to regret any of it.

  Although you and I both know that a good, hard fuck sometimes encourages that asshole in your uterus to come roaring out like it’s entering the Thunder Dome.

  I’m not wearing underwear.

  That reminder becomes painfully obvious as I roll over and attempt to creep out of bed. My underwear from the day before is somewhere on the floor, and I have a tampon in my bag. This should be okay. Get to the bathroom before…

  Before…

  Oh. No.

  Oh, no no no no no no no!

  I’m barely out of Drew’s bed before I realize that the most horrifying thing that could ever happen to a girl has happened… to me.

  Behold. Dark red splotches all over Drew’s white sheets.

  My thighs are covered in blood. I literally look like some serial killer has climbed through the window and stabbed my abdomen until I bled to death. Well, I may be ghostly pale, but it’s not because I’m dead. It’s because I’m utterly mortified to the point that I don’t think to quickly grab my shit and run.