Stronger

by Janet Nissenson

  But as he began to spread her thighs apart, intent on his stated goal, she surprised him by placing a hand on his bare chest and shaking her head.

  “My turn,” was all she said, but it was more than enough to get his pulse racing double time.

  In the few weeks that they’d been seeing each other, Dante had been more than content to take charge of their sexual relationship. He preferred it that way most of the time, if he was being completely honest, though every so often he didn’t mind at all if the woman decided to take charge. Since losing his virginity more than twenty years ago to a girl several years his senior, there wasn’t a whole lot he hadn’t done sexually - within limits, of course. He’d done a little experimenting with some light bondage, a bit of spanking, and the occasional use of sex toys, but hard on kink was definitely not his style. He’d had two women at the same time, but drew the line at sharing his lovers with another man.

  And when it had been very obvious that Cara was both inexperienced and unsure of herself between the sheets, he’d happily assumed the role of teacher, showing her different positions, encouraging her to let her emotions run wild, and taking pleasure from her pleasure.

  But he had also taken care with her, had been exceptionally gentle and patient, even during those times when he was crazy with lust and all he could think about was fucking her into oblivion. Thus far she hadn’t attempted to give him head, but from the looks of things his petite temptress was intent on remedying that situation right here and now.

  She wriggled around until she was straddling his thighs, her small hand reaching out to clasp his throbbing cock. His breath hissed out between tightly clenched teeth as he struggled for control at the touch of her warm, soft hand on his hot, hard flesh. He always insisted on using condoms, no matter how reliable a woman’s birth control might be, and therefore relished this rare opportunity to have his bare cock stroked. Even when she’d touched him like this Cara had been a little awkward and uncertain, causing him to guide her hand over his erection, showing her the exact way he liked to be touched. It had been one of the most sensual and exciting sexual experiences of his life.

  She kissed her way from his throat down his chest and past his navel, her hand continuing to pump his penis with the long, slow strokes he liked best. Once she reached his crotch, however, she paused, lifting her head to gaze up at him worriedly.

  “I’m, uh, not very - well, good at this, I’m afraid,” she confessed. “Blow jobs, I mean. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I mean, obviously I have no idea of what it feels like, or if the guy who said it was just too stoned to know what he was talking about, but I thought I should warn you in case you…”

  He clamped a hand over her mouth. “You’re doing it again,” he warned her. “And babbling right before you take a guy’s dick in your mouth is a really, really bad idea. Now, come here for a minute or two, hmm?”

  Dante pulled her against his side, stroking her long hair soothingly. “Now. What drunken, dimwitted moron told you that - no pun intended here - you sucked at giving blow jobs?”

  Cara shrieked with laughter. “Omigod, I don’t care if it’s a really, really bad pun but that’s hilarious!”

  He grinned. “It’s not bad, huh? But seriously, honey. Sucking a guy’s cock isn’t brain surgery, you know? And even if it had been the very first time you tried doing it, I can’t imagine that it still didn’t feel good to the asshole who had the balls - again, no pun intended - to complain about your so-called technique.” He threaded a hand in her hair, holding it still so he could kiss her. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “I know. But I want to, honestly,” she assured him. “You’re always such a generous lover, always making sure you take care of me. And I can’t help feeling that I’m not doing my fair share here, that I’m not returning…”

  “The favor?” he finished, shaking his head. “That’s not what this is about, Cara. I’ve told you before - your pleasure is my pleasure. I happen to like eating pussy, especially when it’s as sweet and juicy as yours. So believe me when I say that when I go down on you it’s as much for me as it is for you.”

  Her cheeks grew pink at his very frank words. “That - that’s good to know,” she stammered shyly. “But maybe I feel the same way. About giving you pleasure, that is. Will you, well, tell me if I’m doing it right?”

  He cupped her flushed cheek in his hand. “Like I said,” he replied huskily, “it ain’t brain surgery, honey. And I’m not exactly fussy when a beautiful woman has my cock in her mouth. So you aren’t going to hear any complaints from me, okay?”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  Cara slithered down his body again, her breasts brushing against his bare skin, causing him to grit his teeth in reaction as he struggled to maintain control. But doing so was damned near impossible when she took his cock in her hand, resuming the slow, sensual strokes that she knew he enjoyed, before running her tongue along its length, from tip to root, and then back again.

  “Jesus! Fuck!” he yelped, his lower body bucking off the futon in reaction. He dug his heels deeper into the mattress for leverage as her tentative but incredibly arousing licks continued.

  She drew him inside her mouth then - that lush, full-lipped mouth he’d fantasized about fucking countless times - and it was so much better than any of his dirty daydreams that he nearly shot his load off on the spot. The fact that she was both inexperienced and uncertain about what she was doing only made her actions that much more arousing. It pleased him that she hadn’t done this dozens or even hundreds of times before, that she wasn’t blowing him like she was a semi-pro at oral sex, and that she cared enough about his needs to ask what he liked best.

  Cara was gazing up at him with a rather glazed look in her eyes as she murmured that last question, and he could tell this was turning her on as much as it was him.

  “Just about anything,” he croaked. “That mouth of yours is dynamite, honey - so sweet and hot. Try this, hmm? Put just the head between your lips and suck hard - yeah, just like that! Fucking hell, that’s so good!”

  Dante had no idea how he was able to exert so much control over his body as he continued to rasp out instructions to her, especially when she followed his directives to the letter - fluttering her tongue up and down the length of his cock, reaching her hand back to lightly squeeze the heavy swell of his testicles, learning to relax her throat a bit at a time so that she could gradually take more of his thick, heavy length inside her mouth. Instructing her in the “fine art” of administering a blow job was easily the most erotic thing he’d ever done, as was propping himself up on his elbows to watch her head bob up and down, those plush lips swallowing up his dick inch by inch until he was almost fully sheathed inside her eager mouth.

  Dante prided himself on his stamina in the bedroom, and on the amount of control he could exert in order to prolong the pleasure for both himself and his lovers. But hearing the little moans Cara made deep in her throat as she sucked him off, and watching her through half-lidded eyes as she continued to lavish attention on him, brought him to the breaking point all too quickly.

  “Christ, honey, you’re going to make me come any second now if you keep that up,” he muttered roughly. “Let me put a condom on so I can come inside you.”

  But she shook her head stubbornly, refusing to budge, and only sucked him harder and deeper, her hand sliding back to cup his balls one more time.

  That was all he needed to find his release, the pleasure pouring through his body from head to toe and every nerve and muscle in between. As he came, the thick, hot bursts of semen filling Cara’s mouth faster than she could swallow, his arms and legs thrashed wildly, his hips pistoning at a furious pace. The noise that came out of his mouth was part bellow, part scream, and maybe even a little part unmanly whimper.

  He was dazed and drained afterwards, his limbs splaying out limply, as though he’d just run an ultramarathon or played soccer nonstop for twenty four h
ours. He was barely aware of Cara cuddling up against him, the long, damp strands of her hair trailing across his chest. Several minutes passed before he could summon up the strength to drop a kiss on the top of her head, his hand sliding down her bare back to squeeze her ass.

  “Hey,” he told her half-jokingly, his voice threatening to crack, “I’m guessing whoever that dim-witted college punk was who said you weren’t any good at giving head also flunked out of his classes. Because only a real idiot would ever think something like that, much less say it out loud. That was - spectacular, for lack of a better word.”

  Her hand was making slow, caressing motions over his abs and chest, and astonishingly Dante could feel himself growing hard again.

  “I give you most of the credit,” joked Cara. “I’m just good at following directions is all.”

  He laughed, and this time his voice did crack. “Yeah, that might be part of it. But you’re a very, very sexy young woman, Cara mia, and most of it was your natural instincts taking over. And I enjoyed those instincts very, very much.” He cupped one of her breasts, pleased to find the nipple fully erect, then slid his palm down between her thighs, hissing when he realized how wet she was.

  “And it sure feels that you enjoyed it nearly as much as I did,” he whispered, his fingers slipping inside the slick opening to her body.

  Cara gasped as he bent his head to draw one of her nipples into his mouth, his fingers continuing to pleasure her at the same time. “I - oh, God! I did, yes,” she panted. “Your - your pleasure is my pleasure.”

  He laughed softly. “That’s my line,” he teased, his thumb rubbing over her clit. “But,” he added huskily, sliding down her body so that he could replace his fingers with his tongue, “I don’t mind in the least if you borrow it.”

  Chapter Ten

  Mirai re-capped the bottle of pale lilac polish she’d been using to paint Cara’s toenails, a frown on her pretty face. “Excuse me. He took you where for dinner two nights ago?”

  Cara sighed, having anticipated that her BFF would have this sort of reaction. “A sports bar. You know the kind of place I mean - big screen TV’s, cold beer, greasy burgers. Oh, and some pool tables in the back room.”

  Mirai looked as though she’d just squashed a really nasty insect. “Actually, I have no idea what you’re talking about, girlfriend. Because that’s not the sort of place I’ve ever set foot in. Or ever will. Or date someone who would have the balls to even suggest that I should.”

  Cara shrugged, trying to make it seem like no big deal. “You’re a snob,” she declared teasingly. “The place was a lot better than some of the dumps we went to over in Berkeley.”

  Mirai sniffed in distaste. “Correction, Cara - the dumps that you went to. I do remember one occasion when you dragged me out with some classmates and tried to make me have dinner at some third-rate sushi restaurant. I refused to set foot in the place, took a cab home, and ordered takeout from a real restaurant. You, on the other hand, had food poisoning for three days straight from whatever garbage you ate there. I’ve told you more than once - do not ever go to a place that advertises an all you can eat buffet. Especially when the buffet serves raw fish.”

  Cara shuddered a bit in recollection of the really, really bad case of food poisoning she had indeed contracted. “Well, we didn’t eat anything raw on Friday night, just these tri-tip sandwiches that were delicious. And I’m happy to report that I felt just fine yesterday morning.”

  Mirai still didn’t look convinced. She took a healthy swig of the glass of Pinot Grigio she’d poured for herself before starting on Cara’s impromptu pedicure. “Hmm. Thought you told me that you were starting a new diet - one that sure as hell doesn’t include tri-tip sandwiches. Or the fries I’m guessing accompanied it.”

  “Well, they didn’t exactly have salads or grilled fish at this place,” replied Cara defensively. “If it helps, I only ate about two thirds of the sandwich and hardly any of the fries.”

  Mirai shook her head. “It doesn’t help. Not if you’re serious about dropping some weight. And why does this guy keep bringing you to these borderline dives anyway? Sweetie, if he owns a dozen cars - including an Aston Martin, a Beamer, and a Maserati, just to name a few - and wears a Patek Philippe watch, he sure as hell can afford to take you someplace a whole lot nicer for dinner than - than Tony’s Sports Bar!”

  “Tommy’s,” corrected Cara in a meek tone. “The place he took me on Friday is called Tommy’s.”

  Mirai glared at her. “It could be called The Waldorf Astoria Sports Bar for all I care, girlfriend, but guess what? It’s still a sports bar. Where they serve cheap American beer and chicken wings. Uggh!”

  Cara made a face as the other girl pretended to gag. “I already told you, Mir. It doesn’t matter to me what sort of restaurant Dante takes me to. I just like being with him, you know? We have fun together, he makes me happy, and you know better than anyone how hard it’s been for me to feel that way these last few years.”

  “Hey, it’s great that he makes you happy. Great that he’s a stud in the sack and gives you some really great sex. That doesn’t mean he can’t take you someplace a little trendier for dinner once in awhile. Someplace where you can actually dress up and that has valet parking. And where they wouldn’t even dream of serving something so bourgeois as French fries or nachos. Have you ever asked yourself,” added Mirai pointedly, “why he only brings you to places in out of the way neighborhoods? Until you showed me on Google maps, I would have sworn that half of those areas weren’t even in San Francisco.”

  Cara wiggled her bare feet, then touched a fingertip lightly to one toenail to see if the polish was dry. “Of course I’ve asked myself that,” she admitted in a small voice. “And I could only come up with two logical explanations, neither of which are exactly flattering. One, he thinks I’d be uncomfortable or feel out of place at a really fancy restaurant, either because I’m too young or naïve or just not sophisticated enough. That reason actually bothers me less than the second possibility.”

  “Which is?” prodded Mirai.

  Cara exhaled sharply, reluctant to admit the truth, both to her BFF and to herself. “That he’s afraid of running into any of his friends or family members if he took me someplace trendy. Because he’d be embarrassed to be seen with me. You know, because I’m more than ten years younger than he is, and I have exactly two nice dresses, both of which I’ve already worn several times in his presence. Oh, and because I’ve got a big butt and look nothing like his ex-girlfriend who’s drop dead gorgeous. I told you that I figured out who she was after Leah mentioned her name one day, didn’t I? And, omigod, Mir, I have zero idea why Dante would want someone like me after her because..”

  Mirai held up her index finger, her longstanding way of letting Cara know that she was talking waaay too much. “Enough with the Cara-bashing, okay? God, you know how crazy it makes me when you keep putting yourself down! But let me ask you this, hmm? If you’re so sure that the reason Dante’s taking you to out of the way places is because he’d be embarrassed to run into some friends, then why the hell are you still seeing the asshole? Not to mention fucking him twice a week?”

  Cara had asked herself the same question at least a dozen times over the past few weeks, and hadn’t been able to come up with a reasonable answer. “Because I’m pretty sure that I’m in love with him,” she replied miserably. “And I’d put up with a lot just to keep being with him.”

  Mirai gave her a scornful look, then did a complete about face and hugged her instead. “What am I going to do with you, Cara?” she asked in an exasperated voice. “I thought you outgrew mooning over hot guys after the naked pictures incident. Why do you keep letting them just walk all over you? Believe it or not, you are worth a whole lot more than that!”

  “Dante’s not like that,” Cara replied defensively. “He’s not a jerk like every other guy I’ve dated was. And maybe he doesn’t take me to the hottest restaurant in town, or out dan
cing to the new club everyone’s talking about, but so what? I told you before - I just like being with him. And he’s plenty generous, you know, always bringing over wine and dessert and stuff. And he helps with the dishes. I’ll bet you can’t say the same about any of the guys you’ve dated!”

  Mirai smirked. “That’s because I don’t cook for them.”

  Cara shook her head. “And after you spent almost six months at culinary school. Do you even remember anything you learned there?”

  “I’m still pretty good at chopping stuff. I figured since Daddy paid a small fortune for that set of professional grade knives I ought to use them once in awhile. Overall, though, I don’t remember much. What in the world was I thinking of when I enrolled in that course, anyway? Can you just see me slaving over a hot stove?” asked Mirai in disbelief.

  “Not even for a minute,” declared Cara. “And I seem to remember telling you exactly that while you were filling out the application. Just like I told you that you probably weren’t going to like fashion design school, either.”

  Mirai sighed. “Yeah, I admit it - I’ve got commitment issues. Both to men and to school. Though at least I’ve stuck with school for longer stretches than I have with men!”

  Cara knew that wasn’t saying a whole lot, though. Mirai, who at twenty-three was a year older than Cara, had already spent a year at community college before transferring to Berkeley. Even with her mega-rich father’s influence and monetary donations, the university still hadn’t been willing to offer her admission as a freshman, and the admissions officer had strongly suggested she take some core classes at community college first.

  Mirai had drifted for a few months after her ill-fated year at Berkeley, before declaring that what she really wanted to do with her life was become a chef and open her own restaurant someday. Cara, who knew her friend could barely boil water, had suspected that Mirai’s sudden enthusiasm for cooking had been the result of watching way too much Food Network, and had tried to talk her out of enrolling. Mirai had lasted less than six months at culinary school, which was twice as long as Cara had quietly predicted.