by Julie Kriss
I made myself open my eyes and type. I’m watching.
Good, Jason wrote. Spread your legs wider.
I did. Okay
Put your hand on your pussy.
I did. Yes
I have my mouth on you, he wrote.
I could feel it, his warm breath, the slide of his tongue. He liked doing that. I slid my fingers into the deep wetness between my legs, and the picture in my mind was so clear I moaned. The sound was soft, but it nearly echoed in the quiet, and I bit it off short. Down the hall, a door closed and footsteps creaked. Another door closed and water ran. Someone was using the bathroom.
Anyone could hear me here. I had to be quiet. But still my fingers stroked, rubbing, sliding.
My phone buzzed. Is it good?
I had to type one-handed. Yes
I’m going slow, he wrote. So slow.
So was I, taking my time, feeling the heat build in my flesh. I imagined his tongue, hot and strong and knowing, just like it had been last night. His stubble against my inner thighs. His silky hair tangled in my hands.
In the hall outside, whoever was using the bathroom creaked back to their room. I held my breath. Stroke yourself harder, I wrote to him.
Fuck, he wrote back.
I was rising, rising. Put your cock in me, I wrote.
Dirty girl, came the reply. Here I come.
My teeth sank into my lip as I bit back the sounds in my throat. My hips lifted off the bed and I imagined Jason, his big body over mine, his hands pinning me, his cock spreading me, spreading me. I arched harder. The phone was slick in my hand. I could feel him, deep inside me, and at the same time I ached.
I writhed on the bed and made myself type. More. More.
Fuck, he wrote, and as the phone vibrated in my hand I crested over the edge and came, swallowing my sounds back down my throat, my pussy slick and wet on my fingers. I rode wave after wave, and when I finished I lay on the bed, sprawled and spent.
There was a long moment of silence. Then a text came through. Did you come?
I could barely move my wrist to reply. Yes. You?
I made a mess, he wrote.
I closed my eyes again. He was torturing me. I could picture his come, splashed on that flat stomach of his, maybe even that broad chest. Dribbling down his ribcage. It would be warm, salty. I like your mess, I sent him.
Good night, dirty girl, he wrote.
I rolled over onto my side, pulling my knees up. I was still naked. My body was humming, loose. Good night, dirty girl. I liked that.
I closed my eyes. I was still holding the phone in my hand when I fell asleep.
Twenty-Two
Jason
You idiot, Carsleigh.
I tilted my head back and stared at the blue sky as the wedding ceremony droned on and on. It was late morning, and the guests were assembled in chairs on the beach, outside the gazebo. Beneath the gazebo roof, the bride and groom were doing the thing we’d all come for. Stephanie looked nice, I supposed. Kyle looked like a generic douche in a tux. Everyone in the chairs watching was dressed to the nines. It was a lovely day, a lovely wedding, with a bunch of lovely people. And I couldn’t shut down my awareness of the woman next to me.
The dress Holly had made her was one of her specialty vintage ones, dark blue silk, sleeveless with a complicated neckline that almost but not quite showed off her cleavage. There was a narrow black belt circling the waist, and below that the skirt hugged her hips and flared a little. It was a classy dress, and still it showed off everything—her shoulders, her tits, her waist, her hips, her slim, strong calves. Her shoes were high heels. She’d tied her hair up, showing the long curve of her neck.
I’d been momentarily speechless when she’d opened her door to me this morning. I looked at that classy dress and remembered every filthy thing we’d texted each other last night. Then I’d looked in her eyes and seen that she was remembering the same thing.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
She smiled, a little shyly I thought. “So do you.”
So I leaned on her doorjamb. “Oh yeah?” I’d gone three-piece suit for the occasion—silk vest, cufflinks, tie, the whole deal. “You think you can handle it?”
Her cheeks went pink. Damn, I liked it when this woman blushed. “Behave today, you jackass.”
“I will if you will,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Now she was sitting next to me, those sexy legs crossed, listening to the ceremony. The chairs were shoved so close together that her shoulder touched mine. If I angled myself just so, I could see the soft cleft of her breasts disappearing into the dress. So I looked away, and the minister droned on. I pictured Megan naked last night, rubbing herself, coming. Making those little sounds she made.
You idiot, Carsleigh.
I looked up at the sky again. I’d had to mop up with a towel last night. Not my usual style, since I was normally a shower guy.
I wonder what kind of panties she’s wearing.
I should have jerked off again in the shower this morning.
This was a perfectly nice wedding, and I could not stop thinking the dirtiest thoughts imaginable. I could not stop.
I need to get that dress off her. Or at least get under it. I could just push it up and—
It bothered me that I was looking at another guy who had seen Megan naked, even if he was getting married. It bothered me that she’d chosen him, even if it was a long time ago. I slid down in my seat and leaned in close to her ear. “Seriously,” I whispered. “That guy?”
Megan looked blankly confused. “What guy?” she whispered back.
I motioned softly to Kyle, standing in front of the minister. “That guy. The guy we came all the way here for. I don’t get it.”
“What?” She frowned. “Oh. I told you, I didn’t come here for him.”
I watched her for a minute, still leaning close, waiting to see if she would elaborate. She smelled good. When she didn’t say anything, I faced forward again.
She sighed, then leaned up to me. “I don’t remember why I liked him,” she whispered. I shifted in my chair, and she put her hand on my thigh. “You’re fidgeting.”
We both went still. It was right there, out in the open, in public under the bright sunshine, her hand on my thigh. I felt its warmth all the way up my leg, felt it throb into my balls. I glanced at Megan and saw her jaw was set, her gaze fixed unseeing straight ahead. She left her hand there for a long moment before she slowly pulled it away.
The ceremony finished. Music started. Everyone was standing, clapping. I stood next to Megan and we clapped politely as the bride and groom walked back down the aisle.
Enough of this.
I leaned down, close to her ear again. “Where can we go?” I asked her.
She blushed again. She was still clapping, still not looking at me. But she answered. I saw the throb of pulse in her neck.
“My room,” she said. “Five minutes.”
Twenty-Three
Megan
I had no idea how he made me do these things. Actually, yes—yes, I did. He did it by wearing a suit. An expensive, perfectly tailored, three-piece suit.
Half the girls at prom passed out when he walked in, Holly had said.
And Jason: I look boss in a suit.
Good freaking baby Jesus in heaven. I’d turned into an idiot the minute I’d opened my door. I’d spent the entire ceremony—my cousin’s wedding, the wedding that had been so important to me that I’d recruited a fake boyfriend and driven for two days—pretending to watch and listen while my brain was numb in a fog of lust because I could smell him, and his shoulder was brushing mine, and he had shaved, and he had cufflinks in his shirt, and that tie, and God, those legs—I’d just sat there like a statue. When Jason mentioned my ex, I’d had no idea who he was talking about. None whatsoever. I had literally forgotten my ex-boyfriend, who I was watching getting married in that very second.
I had forgotten Kyle’s existence in the middle of his own wedding.
This was not how it was supposed to go. We were supposed to be well-dressed and respectable, just like everyone else. That was the whole point of this. We were supposed to be polite, like they were. We were supposed to fit in.
Dirty-texting each other in our B and B at night was not part of the plan. Me writhing in my bed, arching my back and coming while I tried to be quiet, was not part of the plan. Me picturing him naked while I got wet during the ceremony was not part of the plan. But I couldn’t be the person I had planned to be, the person I was supposed to be, when I was with Jason.
He was my weakness. Which he proved once again when he leaned down seconds after the ceremony finished and said, “Where can we go?”
I forgot everything when he did that. So while the guests were milling about on the beach, shaking hands with the bride and groom, and the caterers were coming out with chilled drinks and snacks, and the photographer was getting ready for an hour of post-ceremony photos, I yanked Jason’s arm and we retreated to the B & B, which was empty. I pulled him up the stairs to my fussy little single-bed room, shut the door, and kissed him like I was drowning.
He kissed me back. He put his hands on my shoulders, and he cupped my jaw while I rose on my toes and slid my arms under his jacket. He smelled like man-heaven, and because he’d shaved this morning his mouth was warm and smooth and expert. I explored the sensation while I palmed his back, then moved my hands to his front again and worked the buttons of his silk vest, bottom to top.
When I popped the top button, he broke the kiss and gently grabbed my wrists. He glanced down at me with his dark, long-lashed eyes. “I’m picturing you on that bed last night,” he said.
I looked over my shoulder to the bed. “I was there,” I said. “Picturing you.”
“I know you were.” His voice was a little hoarse. “I’m going to ruin this dress if you don’t take it off.”
I lifted my arm and indicated the zipper, which was sewn into the side of the dress instead of the back. Holly called side-zip dresses “single girl dresses,” because you could zip yourself in and out of them without a man’s help. Which I’d done two hours ago.
But now he helped me with the fussy little hook-and-eye setup, and then he unzipped it for me, while I took off the belt and lifted my arms and let the dress fall away. It felt decadent, having a man help me out of my glamorous dress. I stepped out of the skirt wearing only my black bra, black cotton panties, and black heels. I felt like the sexiest woman alive.
In that moment, Jason agreed with me. He tossed the dress onto the bed behind me, his gaze taking me in. I felt a thrum of excitement that he was dressed and I wasn’t. He ran his fingers over my waist, my belly, and up to cup my breasts through the bra.
I pushed his jacket off, and then the vest. Now he was in his white shirt and tie, his dress pants, his big, muscled body hard beneath the expensive fabric. I had no idea who had tailored this suit for him, but it must have been someone who appreciated his body almost as much as I did, because there wasn’t a stitch out of place.
He kissed me again, and he tasted so good I melted into him. Instead of putting me on the bed, he backed me up against the dressing table, a low, waist-high thing made so that ladies of the past could sit and do their makeup. It had an antique mirror in an ornate frame and a few small drawers. When the lip of the table hit my ass, I paused long enough to slide my panties down my hips and then I hiked back onto the table, kicking the panties off my high-heeled foot and opening my legs.
Jason watched every move. “Jesus, Megan,” he said in a choked voice when my legs opened.
I grabbed him by the belt and tugged him forward. “Come here,” I said.
He braced his hands on the table on either side of me and kissed me again, pressing my shoulders against the cool glass of the mirror. I slid my hand down over his pants below the belt, feeling how hard he was. I had pictured this last night. I felt the ridges of him beneath the fabric and drew my knees higher. I started making little begging sounds into his mouth. Last night felt like extended, torturous foreplay. I couldn’t wait.
“Jason—please—” I whispered.
“I know,” he said.
“I just—” I squirmed. “Just—please—”
“I know.”
His hand traced along my inner thigh, and he slid his fingers into me. I made a guttural sound and locked my hands on the back of his neck, bracing myself against the mirror and holding on. I wanted all of him, everything, but in that moment what he was doing was exquisite. Jason—nearly fully dressed, one hand braced on the table, the other fucking me between my open legs as he pressed me back against the mirror—was going to make me come. I could hear his breath in my ear and the quiet of the room and, outside the window, faint laughter and the tinkle of glassware. I pushed my knees up, spreading myself wider, and he ran his teeth over my bottom lip, rubbing me rhythmically in and out, his thumb sweeping expertly over my clit.
I pulsed hard, coming against his hand, crying out softly in the empty room. I tried to be quiet, but the walls were thin, and anyone standing in the hall, or in the next room, would know what was happening. That I was being fucked, pleasured, that I was being brought to an orgasm. The thought only made me come harder.
When I started to come down, I didn’t even hesitate. I knew exactly what I wanted. I closed my knees and nudged him back. When he stood and stepped back, breathing hard, I slid off the table and onto my knees in front of him.
“Megan,” he said.
“Be quiet.” I made quick work of his belt, the button and zipper of his pants. I tugged down his boxer briefs and his cock sprang out, painfully hard. He was already halfway there. I ran my hand up it once, admiring it up close, and then I slid it along the flat of my tongue, closing my mouth over it.
He made a sound that, I thought, I would likely remember for the rest of my life, a surprised grunting exhale of pleasure that made me feel all-powerful. I relaxed my jaw and took as much of him as I could, which wasn’t all of him, and closed my eyes for a second, savoring the heat and the flavor of him, the pulse I could feel lightly beneath his skin, the lines and ridges on my tongue. Then, slowly, I started to move.
He made another sound, this one almost helpless. I braced my hands on his slim, muscled hips, and he put his hand lightly on the side of my head, his thumb against my temple. I hadn’t done this a lot of times, and I had no fancy moves, but as with everything to do with sex with Jason, with his body and mine, it was easy. And intense. And fun. He tasted good. I already knew this wouldn’t take long, and I kept my pace deep and even, enjoying every breath and twitch.
He was breathing harshly, and through the haze of my lust I realized two things. One, he could see us in the mirror on the table behind me. And two, Charlotte had never done this with him. Not once.
The thought made me greedy, and I took him deeper, feeling him bump against my throat as I closed my eyes and ran my tongue over him again. His cock was amazing. I could do this for hours.
“Megan,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Don’t stop. Just give me one more minute. Don’t—Fuck.” His hand flexed in my hair. “Keep going. Keep going. Fuck, don’t stop.”
He came in a hot rush, and I swallowed it, running my hand along him and my tongue, licking him clean. I glanced up to see his eyes were closed, his head bowed. I tucked him back into his boxer briefs, pulled them up, and zipped and buttoned him, re-buckling his belt and putting everything to rights again before I rose off my knees.
As soon as I was standing, he took my hips in his hands and pushed me back against the wall next to the dressing table. He pressed into me and kissed along the side of my neck, hot and sweetly urgent. I touched his chest, feeling his heart pounding as hard as mine was. I was almost dizzy in that moment. I was turned on—still—and vulnerable and safe and free. I was wicked and pure. I was ready for anything.
I let my hands drop to his hips and confessed, “I want to do that again.”
He groaned against my neck. I c
ould smell clean sweat and sex and the tang of his skin. “My cock worships you right now,” he said.
My breath stopped for a second. I pulled him closer, letting my naked skin brush his clothes. My belly against his shirt buttons. My thighs against his pants. I rested my cheek against his collar and closed my eyes. He had given me so much pleasure, any kind I wanted. I liked that I’d done the same for him. I was about to undo his pants again, taking apart all of my careful cleanup work, when from outside the window the band started playing, a classical waltz, and there was a smattering of applause.
“Damn,” Jason said, lifting his head from my neck. “The reception. Someone’s going to notice.”
I looked down between us, at the bra and shoes that were the only things I was wearing. “Do you think I’m dressed okay?”
He laughed, a vibration in his chest against mine, and cupped my bare ass. “I think you’re dressed nice.”
“I’ll bet you do,” I said, grinning.
“Then again, I take it back.” He kissed me below my ear and ran his hands up to my lower back. “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”
Something inside me went still, waiting. Balanced on the edge.
“You know what I realized?” Jason said, his fingers running along the dip of my spine, his breath on my neck. “I realized that for the last four years, I’ve been with the wrong woman.”
My chest squeezed. My breath came short. I put my palms on his chest, but I didn’t push him away. Not this second. I couldn’t.
“Have you ever thought that?” he asked. He lifted a hand and stroked my jawline gently, his voice thoughtful. “If I’d remembered what happened that night… Just that one thing. If I’d remembered, it would have been you and me ever since.”
I made a strangled sound in my throat. “Jason.” I pressed my palms against him, and he lifted his head, looking me in the eye.
“What?” he said.
“I have to get dressed.” Panic made me push harder, and when he stepped back I found my panties on the floor and pulled them on. No. No. The feeling of intimacy, of sexy-siren power, was gone, and there was only fear in its place. I grabbed my dress and sorted through the folds of satin so I could put it back on. I kept my eyes down and didn’t look at him. I couldn’t.