You hear stories about men with fabled dicks but I’d never seen one quite so magnificent up close and in the flesh. I should have known. I mean, you don’t have a body that big, that perfect, and find it attached to a small dick. At least not if there was any justice in the world. So yeah, I worried what it would feel like as he plunged into me, but my thoughts soon shifted to the exquisite pleasure I knew he could give me.
He licked the sole of my foot and then left a trail of fiery kisses and playful bites up my leg, stopping once he reached the apex of my thighs where he licked me through the quickly dampening cotton of the denim. My back arched off the bed in a blaze of sensation and my frenzied moans of delight encouraged him to give me more.
I was incoherent with longing, reduced to one word that I muttered over and over and over again: Please. Please. Please.
He moved up my body to suckle at my full, ripe breasts, bringing my nipples to tight peaks of need. I closed my eyes at the onslaught of sensation and he chuckled confidently at my reaction, moving to the waistband of my jeans, where he flicked open the button and dragged the zipper down and peeled the fabric from my flushed, dewy skin. The cool nighttime air washed over naked body, leaving goose bumps scattered across my torso. I dimly remember hearing the chirping of crickets outside my bedroom window.
I looked down and saw his face positioned between my legs, a smile of wicked delight playing across his lips before he set his tongue to the most private part of me. When he licked me it was almost more than I could take. When he parted my folds and dragged the tip of his tongue back and forth over my clit I felt the telltale sign of an orgasm sneak up on me. My limbs became fraught with tension and fireworks danced behind my eyelids. As he continued to lap, lathe, and nip at me, I writhed beneath him and then came with a scream as I melted in his mouth.
“Fuck me,” I whispered, once the power of my release subsided.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he growled and I felt awash in satisfaction that he craved me as much as I craved him.
I don’t know what I expected to happen next – I mean, I did – but when Cameron sat back on his heels, placed his hands on my hips, and flipped me onto my stomach like I weighed next to nothing, I hadn’t been expecting that. I don’t know why but I assumed he’d crawl on top of me, kiss me some more, and then he’d enter me. You know, your basic, everyday missionary style. Ha! How wrong I’d been, and thank goodness for that. Life was too short for bad sex, which was probably why it’d had it. Compared to the men I’d been with before, I could do the whole orgasm thing much better myself.
I squawked with the sudden movement and he laughed at my surprise.
“Trust me Sarah. You’re going to love this.”
And that’s the thing. I totally did trust him, especially as he’d just spent the last half hour seeing to my pleasure before his own.
He lifted me onto my knees, my back flush against his chest. As he held my body tight, his left hand traveled down the length of me, past my belly, and into the soft, wet curls below. He brushed the pad of his middle finger over my sensitive clit, sending spasms of delight rocketing through me. His movements were slow, languorous, like he had all the time in the world to please me. I should have been sobbing with frantic need by that point, an incoherent mess of feeling and emotion, but there was something about the intimacy of the way he held me that helped keep my wits about me.
Cameron had given me piggy back rides before and we’d hugged and danced and had had any number of other minor, inconsequential physical interactions, but it occurred to me in that moment that it was the first time he’d ever held me. The supreme closeness of the embrace after I’d longed for more from for him brought tears to my eyes. Thank God he couldn’t see my face.
Just as I was getting into the rhythm of his movements, my hips undulating in time with the shifting of his fingers, he began to place soft, feather-light kisses on the back of my neck, sending shivers of desire all over my skin. He gently nibbled on my ear lobe and then ran the tip of his tongue along the outer rim, a sensation I’d never found erotic, but with him everything was. Every feeling, every caress. My body wasn’t my own anymore. Not that I made a habit of quoting Madonna, but it truly felt like I was being touched for the very first time.
Just as I was ready to come he pulled his hand away, left me wanting more. Needing it.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” he whispered in my ear.
And then I felt it, the head of his hard, swollen cock slipping through the crevice between my ass to press against the wet, inflamed flesh of my pussy, pushing past the tightness of my entrance, pushing past all of my defenses. Just that little bit of contact had me coming. Hard. As I pulsed around him, I heard him groan, and then in one powerful thrust he was fully sheathed inside of me.
Given the fierceness with which he entered me I fully expected him to pound away, that he’d give it to hard and fast and a little bit frenzied. But no, he took his time, savoring the friction of his cock entering me, the slow slip slide of our coupling. There were no sweet nothings whispered in my ear, no terms of endearment given between us, just the sound that two bodies make when in the throws of extreme passion.
As my body geared up for another orgasm I was overcome with one terrifying thought. He hadn’t used a condom. I was clean, and I knew he was too. I wasn’t worried about disease so much as I was about other side effects of unprotected sex. I’d been on the pill since college but had taken antibiotics to ward off a sinus infection the week before so I panicked and tried to push myself away but his strong arms held me tight as he continued to fuck me from behind.
“Condom. You forgot the condom,” I spat out. That got his attention right away and he instantly stilled. And just like that the spell was broken.
“Oh shit. God. I’m Sorry. I don’t … damn.” He pulled out, leaving me empty – bereft – as he fell onto his back on the other side of the bed, arm thrown up over his head.
I didn’t know what to do, what to say, so I simply lay next to him, my breath coming out in staccato pants. I pulled a pillow over my body and hugged it tightly to my chest. I could hear my heart beating loudly in the silence.
Neither of us spoke for several seconds, by then sober as a church mouse. Finally, I turned to look at him and found him was staring back, a horrified look on his face. I wanted him to say something, anything. And then I wished he’d never spoken.
“We shouldn’t have done that.”
I felt tears sting my eyes and the regret his words communicated left me feeling hurt and vulnerable. I didn’t say anything back. I couldn’t speak lest he hear it in my voice.
“God … I’m such a fucker,” he groaned and sat up quickly, flinging his legs over the side of the bed, leaving me with a view of his back. A back I wanted to score with my nails, to mark as mine. But he wasn’t and never would be. His reaction confirmed it. I had to accept what just happened between us had been a one-time thing, a mistake – a beautiful, lovely, wonderfully heartbreaking mistake.
He rested his head in his hands for a few moments and then dropped them to rest on his thighs. He didn’t look at me when he said, “I shouldn’t have touched you. I just …”
As scared as I was to know what he intended to say with that hanging sentence, I deserved an explanation. “You just what?” My question came out barely a whisper and I was afraid I would break if I said anything more.
“I couldn’t help myself.”
He stood up rooted around for his clothes. The entire time he dressed he never once looked at me. The shame of his reaction over what we’d done tore my heart in two.
Look at me, look at me, please look at me.
He didn’t.
Instead, he walked to the door of my bedroom, but then paused in retreat. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, not even bothering to look me in the eye when he broke me.
And then he walked out.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I slammed my fists against the steering wheel and dropped
my head forward as my knuckles throbbed in response.
A week ago I’d made the worst mistake of my life. Had it been finally touching Sarah the way I’d wanted to for so long, or was it the fact that I’d stopped? Neither of those things. It was that I’d callously walked away from her and hadn’t the balls to now make amends. That was my biggest failing.
Normally I made a point of not drinking too much liquor in front of her because my mouth wasn’t to be trusted under the influence of hard alcohol. Too many beers and I’d generally be fine, but the second I started downing shots of tequila, all bets were off. It’d been that way since high school and even though I knew this about myself, I’d still let those shots of Patron slide down my gullet. By then I’d completely forgotten why it was a bad idea to drink tequila in the first place.
That had been my first mistake of the night.
When the bartender said we needed to leave, a voice in the back of my head told me I should put my ass in a cab and go home. But then Sarah grabbed my arm, her eyes glittering with laughter after having recounted the day we’d first become friends, and said there was no way I was going home as drunk as I was. Her lips forming a perfect O, like she’d just had the brightest idea ever, she exclaimed I should stay the night at her house instead. I’d stared at her lips as the words had formed and wrestled with how best to answer. I was stupid drunk by that point, but not so far gone that a small part of my brain hadn’t been blasting warning signals that if I did go home with her, I’d be crossing a line I hadn’t meant to cross. I knew it was a bad idea and yet I found myself following her out into the night anyway.
It made sense to go back to her place since she only lived a mile or so up the hill from the restaurant, which meant we didn’t need to wait for a cab. Theoretically, once there we’d say goodnight and I’d sleep the tequila off on her couch. In the morning I’d walk back down to Maria’s to pick up my truck and drive home. I say “theoretically” because even though that’s what should have happened, the second we walked through the door I asked if she had any more tequila laying around. I knew she did since I was the one who’d put the almost-full bottle away in her cupboard the weekend before a spur-of-the-moment barbeque at her place to celebrate someone’s birthday.
Once we’d taken that first shot, another followed, and for the next two hours she made me practice the scene she wanted my agent to submit to her boss. For most of the night she’d been trying to convince me I had a chance at landing the lead in his next movie, a major Hollywood blockbuster, and that it would make my career.
While it would have been a major coup for any actor to land, the way my luck had been going I didn’t think I stood a shot in hell. Things had gotten so bad with the parts I was being offered that I was considering giving up acting altogether. My dad’s step-brother was a contractor-turned-developer who built custom homes about an hour outside of Los Angeles and he’d offered to give me a job on one of his crews. I’d first learned the basics of construction helping my dad with renovations on my family’s farmhouse while growing up, so going into construction wasn’t totally outside the realm of possibility. Not to mention the fact that the pay was better than what I currently brought in.
Skeptical though I was this would be the opportunity that finally stuck, I’d humored Sarah and read the monologue aloud until I’d memorized the lines, and then I’d acted them out in earnest, or had at least tried to. The scene was supposed to be a dramatic one, full of loss and longing but every time I’d get to the part about avenging my family’s death, Sarah would burst out laughing and I’d have to start over.
Eventually our laughter turned to stifled giggles and then we’d each gone quiet. It was nearly five o’clock in the morning by that point and while I should have been exhausted, I’d felt a strange sort of energy come over me as we sat quietly together in the murky pre-dawn light of her living room. Sarah’s eyes had been closed for a few minutes but I knew she was awake when a sweet, innocent smile tugged at her lips. Lips at that moment I wanted to taste. Lips I couldn’t stop staring at. Lips I needed to make mine.
I’d scooted closer to her, all the while fighting my instincts to touch her the way I really wanted to. The next thing I knew, I held her face reverently in my hands and her eyes had locked with mine. I’d been dying to kiss her but something held me back for what seemed like forever. Longingly, her name left my lips on a strangled whisper, and I almost didn’t recognize my own voice. Her gaze grew heated, and when she licked her lips I hadn’t been able to contain my desire any longer. When I cradled her head in my large, calloused hands and caressed her cheek with my thumb, she leaned into the gesture and a moan escaped her perfect pink lips. My cock twitched in my jeans and any rational thought I might have had fled.
That had been my next mistake.
One bad decision after the next my transgressions mounted, but with each step I took over that line, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from compounding the problem. My mind said that if I walked away before I did anything truly irreparable, tomorrow we could pretend like none of it had happened. That one day, far down the road, we’d both laugh about that time we’d gotten shitfaced on tequila and had almost kissed. But my heart? Well, it had had other plans. It wanted Sarah with a force I’d never experienced before, and as my mind fought to control my body, my heart told it to shut the fuck up and stop distracting me.
Drunk on tequila and intoxicated with desire, I kissed her. And I put my hands on her. And I tasted her, and then finally, I claimed her and the best part of it all was she had been right there with me the entire time. When she told me I couldn’t know how badly she’d wanted me, I thought all of my prayers had been answered. When she came in my mouth, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Then, when she demanded that I fuck her, it felt like all my dreams had come true. When her pussy clenched around my cock in the most beautiful orgasm I’d ever seen and I was seconds from coming myself, that’s when she realized I’d done the unthinkable. That I’d made the biggest mistake of all: I’d fucked her without protection.
The moment her words registered in my lust-and-booze addled brain—“You forgot the condom”—I froze with fear. Very rarely did I have sex without a condom. When I was fourteen, my dad had taken me out to our barn and told me the facts of life before handing me a condom and a zucchini from our garden. It’d been one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life but the lesson had stuck. Mostly. No prophylactic, no pussy.
It wasn’t that I was scared of catching anything from Sarah. She hadn’t been with anyone for at least a year and I knew she was clean. In fact, as some sort of crazy pact of solidarity, several of us had gotten tested at the same time. Some of us did it as a lark (her), while others (me) needed to be tested anyway. After an ill-conceived relationship with an actress I’d found out was a frequent visitor of a famous producer’s casting couch I’d been more than ready to march my ass down to the clinic. But even though we’d both received clean bills of health, that didn’t mean I couldn’t get her pregnant. And if I’d been worried about how seducing her could negatively impact our friendship, there was no question in my mind that knocking her up would have destroyed it. Destroyed her. I couldn’t do that to her. Not now, not ever.
And so I made another terrible mistake. I got dressed, mumbled a drunken apology, and stumbled back down the hill to my truck. I wish I could say that had been the end of it, but no. Instead of talking to her like a rational, reasonable adult, I’d texted her another stupid apology and then I stayed away. I was ashamed. I felt like I’d taken advantage of her and the only thing I could do was give us both time to come to terms with this altered state of reality.
My best friend Mike told me I was being an asshole. From the little I’d relayed to him, he said it it sounded like we’d both gotten exactly what we’d wanted … until I’d fucked it all up by being a stupid prick. He tried to convince me that by not groveling at Sarah’s feet I was making matters worse, but I wouldn’t listen. Maybe he was right, but I fel
t like if I saw her it would only be a reminder that her best friend, the guy she’d trusted with everything, had destroyed that friendship. In the end, away was my only option. Not doing so would only cause more confusion so I’d chosen to give us both the space we needed to move past it. I had every intention of calling her, just as soon as I could remember what it was like not to desperately want to taste her on my lips again.
“Knock, knock,” I called out as I opened the door and stepped into the foyer of my parents’ farmhouse in rural Ohio. I hadn’t given them notice that I was coming so I expected some level of surprise once they realized I was here, but I hadn’t quite anticipated my niece throwing a frying pan and then running into the kitchen screaming “Call 911! There’s an intruder in the house!” at the top of her lungs.
Nor had I expected to come face to face with my dad and his trusty .22 caliber rifle aimed squarely at my chest. Once he saw his son was the intruder in question, Dad took his finger off the trigger, dropped the gun to his side, and ran a hand through his air on a loud sigh.
“Good lord, you scared the crap out of us.” He looked down at the floor, taking in the pan and its scattered contents – scrambled eggs, from the looks of it – and shook his head ruefully. Craning his neck, he called back toward the kitchen, “It’s okay Gloria; it’s just your Uncle Cameron. Now get back out here and welcome him properly.”
Lucky Star: A Hollywood Love Story Page 3