Accent Hussy (It Had 2 B U)

by V. Kelly

  “Do you need a ride?”

  Speak of the devil. Caleb is standing behind me, his hands shoved in his pockets. I’m not sure if I should be happy to see him, or annoyed. It’s hard to fight the attraction I have for him when he keeps popping up like this.

  “Nope, I’m going to call a cab.”

  “I have a car parked around the corner. I can give you a lift.”

  “Is this some ploy to get me to go home with you? Because if so, I’m not that drunk.” I hear my words slur a little bit and I giggle. Holy crap, maybe I am that drunk.

  “Would it be a bad thing to go home with me? I can tell you’re attracted to me; your eyes have been following me around all night long.”

  He winks at me . . . again. Ugh, why am I finding his winking sexy? Winking is not sexy. His winking . . . fucking amazing.

  “I’m certain it would be something I’d definitely regret in the morning,” I tell him, not really believing myself. I’m sure he’d make every second worth it. The fact of the matter is, he doesn’t have an accent, and that’s a deal breaker—a major one.

  “I’m pretty sure it would be the best night of your life. I could give you references if you need them.”

  Mock laughter spills from my lips. “Yes, because contacting every vagina that’s made contact with your dick sounds like the perfect way to assess your ability to make my night. Are you that dense? Seriously, do you choke on your cockiness, or do you simply like the taste of your own ego?”

  He looks a little shocked at my comeback, but it only lasts for a few seconds. His self-assured smile is back and I don’t find it any less attractive than I did before. If anything, his confidence is a super big turn on for me. “The only person who will be choking on anything tonight is you, my dear, when I shove my cock straight into your pretty little mouth.”

  I gasp. He did not . . . oh my god, he did! He just went fucking alpha on me—he went alpha on me and I’m actually turned on by it. Exactly how much did I drink tonight, and at what percentage of alcohol did my body start craving to be dominated? “Do you kiss your mother with that dirty mouth of yours? Or do you have to bathe your tongue in hand sanitizer first.”

  “Oh trust me, Baby, there are things I do with my tongue even hand sanitizer wouldn’t be able to fix.” The thought of his tongue doing dirty things to me makes my legs scissor together. He notices and that smile of his slowly crawls across his face.

  “I’m so not your baby. Baby is a derogatory term men use when they can’t remember a woman’s name. It’s condescending, not to mention rude on all accounts.”

  He smiles again, my puss practically purrs every time he does it. I’m gonna have to pet her when I get home to get me through the night.

  “It’s also a term of endearment. When I use it, it’s not because I don’t remember your name . . . it’s because I like you enough to give you a pet name.”

  “If I wanted a pet name, I’d buy a dog. Do me a favor and buzz off; you’re killing the mood here.”

  “Mood? Last time I checked, you were deflecting me with your bitchy sarcasm, and turning me on with your banging ass and voluptuous bosom.”

  “Do people actually say bosom anymore?”

  “I think I just did,” Caleb quips. “I’m going to make it a thing again. I’m saying goodbye to the boobs of my past and welcoming the bosom of my future.” His eyes focus on my girls and he licks his lips.

  “Hello? Last time I checked, my eyes didn’t migrate to my boobs. Do you mind focusing up here again, you perve?” The more he talks, the less attracted to him I get. Then he smiles and the fact that his voice is so boring doesn’t even matter to me. I need to stop this crap before I fall any further into the deep dark hole he’s leading me to. He’s like the White Rabbit, only cocky and lacking a pocket watch.

  He shakes his head, still smiling. “Has anyone told you that your sassiness is quite intoxicating?”

  “Has anyone told you that your voice could make a baby cry?”

  “What’s wrong with my voice?” he asks, a little confused.

  Besides the fact it has no accent whatsoever, nothing.

  “What’s not wrong with it? It’s annoying, and I’d rather listen to Celine Dion gargle mouthwash than be forced to hear you talk for another second.”

  “So you’re saying no to the ride then?” He grins.

  God, stop doing that!

  “No,” I answer quickly. “I’m saying if I go home with you, you will have to stop talking.” Yup, he knew exactly what he was doing with that smile.

  “Wait, are you saying you want me to shut up?”

  “That would be helpful, yes.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” he asks, completely dumbfounded.

  Just for added emphasis, I pull out my phone and dial a taxi service. The lady picks up on the second ring. “Yes, hi, I need a taxi . . .”

  Caleb takes the phone away from me and hangs it up.

  “Excuse me; I was making a phone call.” I’m trying not to laugh. This crazy flirt thing we have going on is really turning me on.

  Caleb doesn’t say a word. He grabs my wrist and tugs me behind him.

  “Hey, where are we going?” I ask him. He stops, makes a motion of him driving a vehicle, then turns and keeps walking. Oh, I see what’s going on, he’s actually shutting up. I can work with this . . .

  Chapter Six

  Caleb was silent the entire time in the car—not saying a single word. He didn’t even clear his throat. He let me have control over his stereo, and just to be a bitch, I made sure to station search, lingering on every pop song I could possibly find. I caught him rolling his eyes once or twice, but during Katy Perry’s California Girls, he actually started tapping the steering wheel with his thumbs. I like all sorts of music, but I learned quickly that the best way to torture any man is to assault him with campy pop songs. After fifteen years of torturing Max, he’s now immune to pop warfare. Between Breezy and me, he’s probably heard every single pop song on the market.

  “Where are we going?” I ask him when he starts heading in the opposite direction from where I told him to take me. The minute I got into his car, I told him the directions to my parent’s place. It wasn’t until he pulled into his driveway that I realized he was actually serious when he said he wanted to take me home.

  He gets out of the car, comes around to my side, and opens the door. We’re outside a condo; the exterior walls are made of red wood, and there’s a steep staircase that winds up a hill to his front door. Nope, I’m not getting out of this car. I shake my head when he extends his hand to help me out of the vehicle.

  “Take me home.”

  He looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he leans into the car, unbuckles my seatbelt, sticks a hand behind my back and under my legs, and lifts me from the car.

  “Put me down!” I scream. I start smacking his back and kicking my feet, but the strong grip he has on me is no match for my weak attempt to make him drop me. Who am I kidding? I want him to carry me up those stairs and have his way with me. I want it bad. He kicks his door shut and takes the stairs two at a time like it’s nothing. Once he gets to the door, I manage to wiggle out of his arms. Having him carry me over his threshold feels a little too serious, and there’s no way I’m letting anything go past a one-night-stand.

  Opening the door, he motions for me to go inside. I cross my arms and glare at him. “Look, I’m not sure when I gave you the idea that I’m some easy floozy, but if you think you’re getting lucky, Mister, you’re sadly mistaken.” He lifts a single eyebrow. “Ugh, fine. But if you want anything more than a one-night-stand, it’s not happening. You’re so not my type.”

  Finally, he speaks. “I think I’m exactly your type and that’s what’s bothering you.”

  “No, what bothers me is the fact that you’re so sure that I want to sleep with you that you took me straight to your house.”

  He takes off his shirt. Holy mother of God! Is that chest real? I’m met
with a finely-tanned, completely hairless chest, and a washboard set of abs. My hands rake over his stomach feeling each ab individually. He grins. “You were saying?”

  “Here’s the rules.”

  “There are rules?” he asks.

  “There are rules!” I snap.

  “And what kind of rules do you want to give me?” he asks.

  He grips my waist and pulls me aggressively into his chest. The moment my body touches his wall of muscles, I’m done for. I allow him to bend in to kiss my throat, whimpering when his lips meet that sensitive part of my neck that’s directly connected to my pussy.

  “First rule, this only happens tonight. I won’t be giving you my phone number. I won’t be seeing you again. This happens tonight and tonight only. Got me?”

  “You may be changing your tune once I get done with you.” He pushes me into his house and closes the door behind us. In one swift movement, my back is against the same door he just closed. He tugs off my shirt and unsnaps my bra with just his left pinky finger. His hands slowly start at my shoulders and move down until he’s palming each of my breasts. He continues kissing my neck, but at the same time lightly brushes and plays with my nipples. They bud underneath the pads of his thumbs and I’m aching for his touch to go even further south. Just the thought of it scrambles my brain. Caleb is making it entirely too hard to focus; it takes everything I have to lay down the next rule.

  “Rule number two, no talking. Like, at all. If you talk, you’ll just ruin everything for me.”

  “What’s the deal with you wanting me to be quiet? I don’t get it. I thought girls liked it when guys talked during sex?”

  “Sure, if you have the right voice. I’m sorry, but I have a thing for guys with accents. You don’t have one; therefore, I’m not attracted to you. If you shut up, I can picture you having an Australian accent or something to keep my fantasy going.”

  “Seriously, that’s why you’re not attracted to me? All because I don’t have a fucking accent?”

  “You sound offended,” I mumble, unbuckling his jeans which he steps out of when they hit the floor. A slight chuckle escapes me when I’m greeted by his black and white Joe Boxer shorts and the long hard erection muscling its way out the slit on the front of his underwear.

  “I am. I’ve never had a girl tell me that the only reason they aren’t attracted to me is because of my voice. You really know how to wound a guy’s ego.”

  “Don’t worry, your ego will survive; it’s big enough.”

  “I think you mean my dick,” he chuckles.

  “From what I can tell, it’s of adequate size, but I won’t know for sure until it’s inside me.” It’s not the biggest cock I’ve ever seen, but not the smallest either. It actually looks just right. Hmm, I wonder if Goldilocks ever had this kind of internal struggle when she was trying to figure out which of the three bears’ beds to climb into.

  He grabs the front of my jeans, undoes the button, and pushes down my zipper before slowly sliding them down my thighs. Now we’re both standing by his front door in just our underwear.

  “So you do want to sleep with me. I knew you were attracted to me.” He kisses my neck again, and my hands flatten against his chest.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been drinking tonight, there were no guys with accents at the bar, and currently, you’re the only half-naked man within a two-foot vicinity of my vagina. Pretty much, the odds are in your favor.” He nods and hooks two fingers into the waistband of my underwear.

  “Now, my rules. Once these panties come off, they stay off. You got me?” I nod weakly. “If you want me to shut up during sex, then you’re staying the night. There will be no disappearing from my bed while I’m sleeping. You stay until the morning, or I’m going to talk the entire time. Is that clear?”

  I can’t speak, I’m that turned on. His display of dominance is so attractive. There’s no way I’m waking up in his bed tomorrow morning, but just to suffice this nagging desire to sleep with him, I agree and allow him to take off my panties. He looks me dead in the eye and smiles. “No turning back now, Everly.”

  “Well, shit on a cracker, he does know my name,” I tease.

  “Of course I know your name. It’s one that I’ll never be able to forget,” he tells me. His hands suction to my ass, squeezing me hard as he hoists me off my feet and carries me towards his bedroom. It’s so barbaric and an incredible turn on.

  I take this time to admire my surroundings. The house is modestly decorated. He has a black sectional sofa in the living room, facing a black entertainment system. Hooked up to a gigantic sixty-inch flat screen TV is every gaming console imaginable, and beneath it is two glass cabinets full of DVD’s and video games. His living room is attached to a state of the art kitchen furnished with stainless steel appliances, and cherry wood cabinets. A bar set up in his dining area instead of a dining room table, but he does have a small buffet table set off to the side of his kitchen that is covered in newspaper clippings, receipts, and coffee mugs.

  As he carries me up the stairs I glance at the pictures on his wall. Some of them are of him boxing; others are pictures with what look to be inner city kids playing ball. I notice he doesn’t have any family pictures.

  There’s a single bedroom and bathroom at the top of the stairs and as we pass his bathroom, I notice one of those fancy showers that have four different spouts at every angle. It sits next to a ginormous Jacuzzi tub that looks like it could sit six people all on its own.

  He doesn’t bother shutting his door behind us. He must live alone. In one aggressive throw, I land on the bed. It didn’t hurt. His comforter is one of those down comforters that’s so soft it feels like I’m lying on fluffy clouds and barely covers his massive California king-sized bed.

  He doesn’t even wait for me to give him the go before my legs are spread open and he falls between my thighs. With a long swipe of his tongue, he follows the contours of my slit until it finds the sweet spot right over my clit. Even my vibrator has never had the ability to make me feel this good. It’s like his tongue is half machine. I think it’s the swiftness of his licks and the power behind each one, that has me almost coming already.

  “Fuck, Caleb. What are you, some kind of tongue magician?”

  “You like that, don’t you, Baby?”

  Ugh, why did he have to talk? I was near an orgasm before he opened his mouth.

  “No talking, remember?”

  He’s frowning, but I know deep down the no talking thing turns him on. He hesitates for only a brief second before diving back into the crevices of my pleasure chasm. There’s no stopping the orgasm when his finger thrusts inside of me and hooks up into my g-spot, he’s touching it from both sides making me howl with pleasure.

  “Oh geez. Oh yes. Oh fuck.” I breathe.

  When my body shudders through the orgasm, he stops and crawls over the top of me, reaching into his dresser for a condom. I’m not going to let him enter me until I know exactly what I’m working with. I sit up, a little light headed from the oral pleasure he gave me, and grab his boxers. I’m not sure why looking at the male anatomy always makes me nervous, but I usually have to psyche myself up before touching a penis.

  I take a deep breath. Okay, Everly you can do this.

  Releasing him from his boxers, I come face to face with the penis of my dreams: perfectly erect, long enough to get the job done, and round enough to fill me completely. Maybe, I can talk Caleb into bronzing his dick for me, or, at least, sticking it into one of those penis mold things I’ve heard about. I saw one before, I think it was called Build-a-Dong, or Erect-a-Dick. I can’t remember the exact wording on the box, but I saw it at a pleasure party that Jessi’s cousin threw a few years ago. Back then, even touching a dildo was mortifying for me.

  I think when God created man, he must’ve had a sense of humor because that’s the only way I can explain why he would adorn the male anatomy with such an unattractive appendage. To me, dicks are like those monster things from t
he movie Tremors—ginormous worms with one winking eye and way too much slimy mucus that comes out of them.

  Usually, I save fellatio for a later sexual encounter, say three weeks in after I’ve talked myself into it. Today must be Caleb’s lucky day, because I palm his length, stroking him gently before I pull him directly into my mouth.

  “Well, I sure as fuck wasn’t expecting that,” Caleb responds.

  His voice isn’t that repulsive. It’s just not what I’m attracted to. I’m not sure when I trained myself to be only attracted to men with accents, but the more Caleb talks, the less turned on I am. I definitely don’t want to keep going with his blowjob.

  “One more word and you’re going to have to get yourself off,” I grumble from over the top of his shaft.

  He makes a motion like he’s zipping his lip, but then he looks at me funny. “Can I ask one question before I go Charlie Chaplin on you?”

  “Ugh, fine, you have two seconds; otherwise I’m calling myself a cab.”

  “Can I at least moan and make noises? I won’t talk, but I want to let you know when you’re . . . oh god . . . that.” I’m making slow movements with my mouth. My tongue is lightly tracing the head of his dick; at the same time, I’m gripping him hard and moving my hand up and down his erection.

  “If you must make any noise, I guess invoking primitive animal noises is okay. I’m a little too good at this anyway. If you didn’t make any noise, I’d be slightly offended.”

  “You’re good, but I’ve had better,” he retorts. I can tell he’s serious. Well, damn it, now I have to show him exactly how good I am at this. I am half-assing this blowjob at best.

  I pull away and glare at him. “Do you want a blowjob or not?”

  “I want a good blowjob. Not whatever you’re doing down there. Shit, I’ve licked popsicles with more enthusiasm than what you’re doing to my cock.”