by Lili Valente
Fuck, and that’s it. All I can handle.
I haul her up my body by her hair, fusing my mouth to hers as I guide her hand back to my cock and cover it with mine. “That’s sexy as hell,” I growl against her lips as I show her the rhythm that feels right. “But not this time. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You weren’t hurting me.” She takes over, tugging on my cock as I cup her breast, squeezing it in my hand as she jerks me with the perfect speed, the perfect pressure.
“But I could have. Let’s save deep throating for lesson eight or nine. It’s advanced subject matter.” I groan as she tightens her grip. “God, yes, like that. Oh fuck, Libby, that’s perfect. You’re making me crazy.”
I thrust in her hand as she kisses me hard and deep, her breath coming faster as I catch her nipple between my thumb and palm and squeeze. “I can’t wait to feel you go,” she says, moaning as I transfer my attention to her other breast. “I want yours as much as I wanted mine. I can’t wait to feel you lose control.”
“Yes, baby,” I groan, slamming into her hand, so close my thighs are starting to shake. “Keep talking to me, Libby. Keep talking while you jerk my cock. Tell me what you want me to do to you, all the ways you want me to touch you.”
“I want you to suck my nipples,” she says, breath rushing over my lips. “I want your teeth on my breasts and my neck.”
“Yes, God, yes.” My eyes squeeze shut, pressure building to the breaking point.
“I love feeling your teeth on my skin.” Libby’s hand moves faster, and my fingers squeeze her breast tight. “And then I want your fingers inside me. Nothing has ever felt as good as your fingers and your tongue inside me, Justin. I can’t wait to feel your mouth on me again, I can’t—”
Her words are drowned out by the strangled, blissed-out, choking, moaning coming sounds I make as I explode in her hand, come shooting out of me with such force that some of it ends up on Libby’s chest. I glance down, my orgasm still rocking through me as I watch my release roll down her right tit onto the soft curve of her belly, deciding right then that I’ve never seen anything sexier than Libby naked with my come on her breasts.
My orgasm lays waste to me, leaving me so spent that I barely have the energy to pull Libby on top of me before I collapse back onto the couch.
“I’m messy.” She tenses as our chests touch, transferring some of my stickiness from her skin to mine.
“I love it,” I breathe, kissing her until she relaxes against me. “I want to lie here sticky and sweaty with you for a few minutes, if that’s all right.”
“It’s completely all right.” She props up on one arm, gazing down at me with a smile curving her lips. “So I guess that was all right, too?”
“So much better than all right.” I sigh as I hug her closer.
She taps a nail on my bare shoulder. “You promise? It was really good? You’re not blowing smoke up my butt?”
“No, I’m squeezing your butt.” I drop a hand to her bottom, gripping her right cheek tight. “You have a phenomenal ass, by the way. Almost as nice as your breasts.”
“Thank you.” She nibbles her bottom lip before adding in a softer voice. “That was only my second time doing that. But I watched some videos last night, so I was hoping it would be okay.”
“Firstly—again, it was far, far better than okay. Secondly—what kind of videos?” I wiggle my brows suggestively. “You mean porn?”
Her blush spreads from her cheeks down the pale column of her throat. “Instructional videos.”
“By which you mean porn.”
She rolls her eyes with a huff. “Fine. Yes. Porn, but it was good porn. There was a story line.”
“Because that’s why we all watch porn. For the story line.” I grin, patting her bottom. “I’ve always enjoyed teasing you, but it’s even more fun when I can watch you blush all the way down to your chest.”
“Stop it,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re the worst. And just so you know, even the porn actor I saw barely had more than seven inches.”
“I think your nipples are blushing.”
“Shut it, Cruise!” Her nose wrinkles until her face is screwed into a cranky expression that is almost unbearably cute.
“I would check the heat level of your nipples with my mouth if your breasts weren’t covered in come.”
She pokes me in the shoulder, harder this time. “And whose fault is that?”
“Mine, all mine,” I say, grinning. “And yours, for sucking and jerking me off like a fucking porn star.”
She lifts her chin, staring down her nose at me. “Fine. If you’re going to tease me, then the next time I won’t do my homework, and I’ll probably end up tripping my gag reflex or something sexy like that.”
“No, you’ll do your homework,” I say in a stern voice. “As an educator, I refuse to tolerate shoddy study habits in this classroom.”
“Is that right?” Her lips press together as she fights a smile. “And what are you going to do if I start falling behind in class, professor?”
“I suppose I’ll have to punish you, Miss Collins.” I hold her gaze as I run my palm over the curve of her ass to her thigh and then back up to her waist, loving the spark that lights her eyes when she realizes what I’m playing at. “I might have to lift up your skirt, pull down your panties, and show you what happens to students with poor study habits. What do you think about that?”
She looks up and to the left, pretending to seriously consider my question. “Um, I think that could be…interesting.”
I arch a brow. “Interesting, huh?”
She shrugs. “I think so. Maybe for lesson five or six.”
“So, in your twisted little mind, spanking and role play come several lessons before deep throating?”
Uncertainty flickers across her features. “Maybe? Is that weird?”
“Nothing is weird as long as it’s what you really want,” I say, the teasing note vanishing from my tone. “But make sure it’s something that really turns you on, not just something you think turns me on. I know some men feel differently, but I don’t want you to do anything with me that you’re not totally into. Making you hot is the thing that makes me crazy.”
Her gaze softens. “You’re a very generous person. And lover.”
“You’re blushing again,” I say, laughing as she slaps my shoulder.
“I’m starting to think spanking you should be lesson two.”
“Then let’s hit the shower, baby, and you can redden my ass with the flat side of my back scrubber. It’ll make a great paddle.”
She laughs, pretending to still be angry with me as I carry her into the shower. But by the time the spray is warm, we’re kissing again and then there is more coming in the shower and in my bed and back on the couch, where we get sidetracked on the way to raiding the fridge for Leftovers Dinner.
I’m having so much fun that I really don’t want Libby to go, but I finally walk her down to the parking garage around ten, after extracting promises of a sleepover very soon.
“Tomorrow night,” she promises. “You can come over as soon as I get back from my knitting circle.”
“I’ll come with you to your knitting circle,” I say, not wanting to be apart from Libby or her pussy any more than absolutely necessary. “I’ve got practice early, but I’ll be free by four.”
She nods slowly, her eyes narrowing. “Okay. But you’ll be the only man. I assume that’s okay with you?”
“Totally okay. I like women. You in particular.” And then I kiss her some more, until I’ve got her pinned between me and her car door and I’m seriously considering making her come again in the parking garage. But the elevator opens before I can slip my hand down the front of her pants, and Libby pulls away with a wicked grin.
“Tomorrow,” she says. “I’ll pick you up at four thirty. Remember to bring your work in progress. And your toothbrush.”
“See you then.” I kiss her one last time, lingering on her sweet lips, and t
hen I let her go, feeling like a lucky bastard. In less than twenty-four hours she’ll be all mine again, and tomorrow night I won’t have to say good-bye.
Chapter Nineteen
Libby
Joining a knitting and crochet circle can be an empowering and heartwarming experience.
I’ve been a part of politically active circles that brainstormed ways to aid the re-election efforts of our favorite education commissioner, and charity-minded circles that knitted caps for babies in the NICU. I helped coordinate a knit-in—a group of forty women who took turns knitting around the clock for a week outside the Oregon Arts Council office to raise awareness of the oft-neglected needlecraft arts—and secured funding for afterschool knitting groups across the greater Portland area. And just two summers ago, I joined a group of handicraft-minded craft brew enthusiasts. We meet four times a year to sample the latest micro-brews selected by our fearless leader, Mindy, and spend a long afternoon seeing who can hook the most adorable beer-themed project.
Bottom line: I’m no babe in the woods when it comes to socializing with yarn.
But in recent weeks, my current knitting group has gone off the rails a bit. The introduction of two coordination-impaired newbies and a woman who insists on large-format knitting—using PVC pipe to knit massive installation pieces for her gallery—has put a strain on the usually cozy and boisterous dynamic. Tempers have flared, snark has flown, and Edna, our seventy-year-old host, threatened to put the box wine away last week if Priscilla, the self-absorbed PVC princess, didn’t stop jabbing people with her pipes every time she got to the end of a row.
I have no idea how the girls are going to react to me showing up with six feet three inches of hot hooking hockey player on my arm, but I’m imagining it’s not going to be a calm and collected affair.
“Just be super sweet to Edna,” I whisper as Justin and I make our way up the cobbled walkway in front of Edna’s adorable craftsman bungalow. “And don’t ask too many questions. The newbies are already driving her crazy. Hannah had to be shown how to cast on four different times last week.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to, Libs?” Justin rolls a crochet hook from his messenger bag around one finger like a gunslinger spinning a revolver. “This isn’t my first time at the crochet rodeo. I’m a fucking professional. A seasoned pro.”
I snort. “Is this the same seasoned pro who nearly had a breakdown working a garden trellis afghan pattern last year and called me at midnight on Christmas Eve to come over and untangle his mess?”
“That pattern was hairy as balls, Collins.” Justin points his hook accusingly my way. “And it was for my mother’s Christmas present. I wanted it to be fucking perfect, okay?”
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” I ask, lifting a wry brow.
“Not lately, but I may have kissed you once or twice.”
Before I realize he’s making a move, Justin pulls me off the path into the shadows of a giant camellia bush and crushes his lips to mine. And even though I know I should tell him to stop—I don’t want anyone in my circle to get the wrong idea about the nature of our relationship—I can’t help but kiss him back. It’s like the moment his tongue sweeps into my mouth, I lose all capacity for rational thought and turn into a simmering, bubbling, steaming caldron of happy sex hormones.
I wrap my arms around his neck and press tight against his hard chest and think salacious thoughts about how delicious he looks naked and wonder why on earth I didn’t call in sick to knitting circle and keep him clothes-less in my bed all night.
Because you’re not ready for real sex, right? Or so you keep telling yourself.
I would argue that your perpetually damp panties tell a different story, Collins…
“God, I want to eat you alive,” Justin growls against my lips between kisses. “You taste so good.”
“I’ve been thinking about last night all day,” I confess, fresh arousal surging through me as Justin’s fingers dig into my bottom through my pants, pulling my hips closer to where he’s thicker than he was a moment ago. “And how incredible you taste. I want to kiss you there again tonight, but this time I want you to finish in my mouth.”
“Are you trying to kill me?” He nips my bottom lip as I pulse my hips closer to his erection, amazed that he can get me this keyed up so quickly. “You are, aren’t you?”
I laugh, a husky sound that becomes a soft gasp as Justin captures my nipple through my dress. “Stop it.” I cover his hand with mine but lack the will power to push it away. “No nipple touching in public.”
“Oh, but you can talk about sucking my cock and grind on me through our clothes until I’m so crazy I’m ready to take you under this bush?” He kisses me again, drawing me closer to the camellia. “Come on, Libs. Let’s sixty-nine under this bush for a while before we go inside.”
I giggle again. “Gross. No.”
“Worried about mud on your clothes?”
“I’m worried about being arrested for public indecency.” I bring my hands to his chest and fist my fingers in his soft blue sweater. “Come on, let’s get inside. We’re already running late.”
“I need five more minutes of dirty talk in the dark.”
“The sooner we get inside, the sooner we can make our excuses for leaving early and head back to my place,” I say, walking my fingers up to his neck to weave into his soft hair. “And the offer to stay the night still stands, as long as we get to sleep by ten and you let me out of bed at five forty-five to get dressed for work.”
“Done.” He releases me with a final squeeze of my bottom. “I have to be at practice at seven anyway. It’s allegedly optional, but after my crap ass performance at practice last week, I know coach expects me to be there.”
“But you had an amazing game.” I straighten my clothes, doing my best to look like I haven’t been making out in Edna’s bushes.
“One amazing game. I’m not out of the woods yet.” He takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine as we start up the path. “Though, I think those dirty texts were my good luck charm on Tuesday. You should sext me during the game on Saturday, and we can test my hypothesis.”
I smile. “I think that could be arranged, but we probably shouldn’t walk in holding hands. We don’t want to give people the wrong idea.”
“Oh, right.” He drops my hand with seeming reluctance. “Sorry. I didn’t realize we were keeping this a secret from your knitting friends, too.”
“It seems best to keep it a secret from everyone, don’t you think? I mean, if we were both normal people, it might not be a big deal, but you’re famous. People like to talk about your love life, and when people talk about your love life, Laura is one of the first people who gets the memo.”
He grunts. “True. She texted me about you today, by the way. Wanted me to call you and convince you to come to the game on Saturday. I didn’t realize you were on the fence about it.”
I stomp up the steps to the front porch with a little more force than necessary, wishing Laura had picked another time to get militant about herding me back into the dating pool. “I wouldn’t be on the fence if she would just let me come watch you guys play. She’s determined to put me in a room filled with single men on top of it. And you know her. I’m sure the plan goes deeper than simply putting me in close proximity to several eligible penises. She’s got something else up her sleeve—like setting me up on a blind date without my knowledge, the way she did last summer with the guy who delivers beer to the restaurant below her apartment—and I’d really rather skip the embarrassment and stress.”
“Then I’ll get you a ticket down near the ice.” As I ring the doorbell, he rests his hand at the small of my back before he seems to remember we’re on a no-touching basis for a few hours and pulls it away. “I want you to come. I mean, assuming you want to.”
“Of course I do.” I glance up at him, wondering at the odd note in his voice, but before I can ask if something’s bothering him, the door opens and Edna loudly anno
unces—
“Well, now, look at this! Who is this tall drink of water, Elizabeth? And where have you been hiding him?”
“You must be Edna.” Justin leans down, moving into Edna’s open arms for a hug. “I’m Justin, Libby’s friend. She taught me how to crochet when I was in high school.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Edna pats him on the arm as he pulls away. “I don’t think I could handle another newbie, especially one with big clumsy hands. No offense.”
“None taken, and my hands aren’t clumsy, I promise. Are they Libby?”
Thoughts of all the inspired, deft, erotic things his hands did to me last night shimmy through my thoughts and my cheeks flush. “No, they aren’t. They’re quite clever hands.” Clever and kind and so skilled at making my body come to life that I’m starting to feel like a completely new person. A sexier, more self-assured person who managed to wave at Roger in the cafeteria today and wish him a happy Wednesday without any weirdness or self-conscious mumbling.
For more people, that would be a sad milestone, indeed, but in my world it’s definitely progress.
“Excellent.” Edna traps Justin’s palm between both of hers and nods seriously. “In that case, we might invite you back next time, assuming you’re house trained.”
Justin laughs and assures her that he is, and Edna leads us into her spacious, wood-paneled living room, where an odd but comfortable assortment of chairs are arranged in a big circle around the refreshment table. The Frank Sinatra Pandora channel is working its warm, croony magic in the background, and the air smells of wool, firewood crackling in the fireplace, and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
It would be a purely welcoming scene if it weren’t for the blond girl near the piano who looks like she’s about to cry—a newbie, I can’t remember her name, but her stress levels make me look positively laid-back in comparison—Dana the drag queen scowling at Priscilla with murder in her dark brown eyes, and Priscilla wonking away with her giant pipes by the fire, taking up so much room that three of our older members are practically sitting on top of each other on a green loveseat, hemmed in against the far wall.