God, I hope Nick is a good fuck. Some of these show business guys couldn’t get a woman off if they were given a damn manual because they never had to learn how to be a decent lay, and I’ve been spoiled by Jake. It’s a perk of paying someone for sex; you get exactly what you want. And if you don’t, there are plenty of other men willing to take your money and give it the old college try. Jake definitely wasn’t my first, but he is my favorite. And has become a good friend, too.
Even though Nick doesn’t make a living from selling sex, he is naturally generous and enthusiastic. Plus, he doesn’t seem to think of me as a plaything, but as a person who has needs and wants and preferences, which is an excellent start.
And for all his protesting about not lasting long, he’s doing quite well, even though I’ve swallowed him down and I’m bobbing my head over him with a bit of suction for good measure.
“Harder, Demps. Little harder. Please, god.”
I’m not sure whether he means the sucking or the tugging so I go with both. I’m glad he’s not shy. Usually after I’ve started off with questions, men aren’t, even if they would be inclined to be otherwise.
Nick makes a small noise of what I’ll take as slightly pained pleasure. “Fuck yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.”
He puts a hand in my hair, and while I don’t stop, I do allow some of my attention to wander to that hand, waiting for him to shove my head down or yank my hair, but he doesn’t. Just rests it there, sweet and easy, and it’s nice. Intimate in a way that sucking him isn’t, in a way that makes me want to purr.
“Christ, Demps, I’m gonna come.”
Which I can feel with the tightening of his balls in my hand and the throb in his cock. I pull off—because this is still something I can’t take—and give him a few last pumps with my fist, letting him spurt all over my chest. Some of it lands on my skin, some of it on my shirt, and the last rope of it drips onto my hand. I milk him until there’s nothing left, and then I let go, grabbing a napkin off the table and wiping off my hand.
Nick cracks an eye open, looking dazed and disoriented like he’s been asleep for a hundred years. Job well done, then. He looks at my chest, and the crests of his cheeks get a shade redder.
“Sorry about that. About your shirt.”
I shrug. “It’s fine. I could’ve moved out of the way if I didn’t want it on me. Really, I don’t mind. I just can’t… I don’t like…”
He shakes his head and leans forward to cup my cheek and give me a kiss.
“Don’t apologize. That was some of the best head I’ve ever gotten. Sure, I like to come in a woman’s mouth as much as the next guy, but that didn’t ruin anything for me. It was really fucking good. And honestly, I kinda like seeing it on you. Does that make me an asshole?”
“No. You’d only be an asshole if I told you I didn’t like something and you insisted I do it anyway. Trust me, I know from assholes.”
He frowns briefly, but then laughs. More of his mental somersaults, I’m sure, and I’m curious how he got from pensive dismay to entertained in a heartbeat, so I ask him.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Aw, man, don’t make me tell you; it’s nasty. I’m trying to be good and not gross you out, and I was so proud of myself for actually keeping the thought in my brain and not letting it come flying out of my mouth. Now you’re gonna just say fuck you to all my hard work?”
“Eh, it’s good practice.” I wink at him, and he laughs again.
“Are you sure you wanna know?”
“Yes. You know you were wildly inappropriate during your talk at Burnett, and yet here you are, right? My humor is closer to a thirteen-year-old-boy’s than I’d like to admit.”
Nick scrubs his hands over his face and rests his elbows on his knees. “Okay, you asked for it. When you said that you know from assholes, I pictured a whole bunch of people lined up and bending over with like a tablecloth or a curtain covering their legs and you had to guess who was who based on just their assholes.”
Nick’s brain is a really freaking weird place, but I’m not at all offended. The image is hilarious if a little disturbing.
“And what was the point of this? Would I win a prize if I could, in fact, identify people from their assholes? Or was it more like a police line-up because someone’s butt had committed a felony?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t get that far! You started asking me all these questions and shit.” He’s grinning now, and it’s infectious. “You scramble a guy’s brain like that and you expect him to be logical? That’s not fair.”
“Oh, please. Like you would’ve had a different thought if I’d said that before I sucked you off.”
I poke his calf and lightly bite his knee, where he’s apparently quite ticklish. He sputters and squirms, and he’s so cute. I like Nick. I can’t say for sure because we haven’t known each other very long, but he seems like the kind of guy who only has one side. He’s not hiding anything, and you know exactly what you’re going to get. I can understand why not everyone could handle what they do, in fact, get, but at least they know that upfront. No trusting and believing in something for years, only to have your eyes opened years later and… That’s not about Nick at all, and I shouldn’t lay my trust issues at his doorstep.
“Fair enough. I mean, maybe slightly different, but equally as inappropriate. But speaking of inappropriate, I would like to do some very inappropriate things to you if you’d be game for it. My mouth may be nonstop, but I swear to you my hands are steady.”
Well, then. I can think of a few activities that particular set of attributes could be useful for.
8
Nick
* * *
“You wanna go inside and get cleaned up? I was thinking I’d take Fi around the block so she could stretch her legs.”
The fool dog puts the short stubby things in the air and wiggles on her back in what I suppose could pass for a stretch. She’s been snoozing comfortably for a while. And I’m pretty glad that I’ve trained her that “in the fenced yard” still means “in the house,” so she won’t take a shit in the middle of someone’s pool party or whatever.
“Yeah, sure. You’ll, uh, have to knock when you get back.”
Right. It’s not like Dempsey’s going to just leave her gate and her door open. Which is kind of unfortunate because I started having some visions of her being in the shower and me joining her, and yeah. Okay, that’s understandable, though. I can roll with the punches. Not that this is a punch, more like a tiny nudge. Maybe a poke.
“Can do. Shouldn’t be long.” I use my shorts to wipe up and tug on my jeans. Going commando isn’t my fave, but it’s better than having dried spunk on me for who knows how long. Why do they call it commando, anyway? Is this some army-guy thing? I’d think I’d want a little more between my junk and, like, a grenade than a layer of cotton fatigues, but A) like an extra layer of cotton is going to do anything against firepower, and B) what the hell do I know? Although if you’re gonna be in a warm part of the world, I’d think your balls would get to sweating pretty good, and there’d be chafing and other unpleasant shit. Because getting shot at isn’t enough, you’d probably get crotch rot, too. Add that to the long list of reasons I’d be absolute crap at serving in the military. The whole problems with authority and impulse control are definitely the biggest ones. But we have done a USO tour before. Wonder if they’d want us back? I could ask Stan, text him while I take Fi for her walk.
Fiona’s still got her pink sparkly collar on, and I pick up her leash I left on one of the extra chairs. Demps has only got four chairs, and they look like they came as part of a set. Does she never have more people than that over? Maybe not. Must be hard to make friends when you never leave your house. But she’s so cool, I can’t imagine the people she does meet don’t want to hang out with her no matter what. Hell, I’d climb a mountain to do it, and I don’t like climbing things. No, that’s not right. I like climbing things, but that’s usually followed pr
etty quickly by me falling off of them which is the part I’m not crazy about.
When I get back to Dempsey’s house, she opens the door in a short, blue robe, and she smells like she just came out of the shower. Must’ve jumped in there real quick to rinse the spunk off because it had probably dried. Did she not have time to get dressed or did she do this on purpose? Judging by the small curl of her lip and the way she’s looking at me from under her lashes, I’m guessing on purpose, and that makes me even more excited to find out what’s under there.
I mean, I know. Obviously. Probably? But still.
Fiona flops on the floor with a lung-clearing huff, as though I made her go on a super marathon through the Mojave and not on a leisurely stroll around a nice residential neighborhood. I mean, it’s got to be rough hauling that huge head around all the time, and she’s pretty much a lady of leisure, but come on. Dempsey sets down the bowl of water we had for Fi outside and smirks when Fiona tries to drink by sticking out her tongue and not lifting up her head at all.
“So, uh, since we’ve got the princess set up and she’ll be asleep in, like, ten seconds…”
I waggle my eyebrows because I’m motherfucking subtle. And because she gets me, Dempsey gives me these big doe eyes, pretending she’s all innocent-like.
“Hmm, what? Did you want to play Parcheesi or something?”
“Only if Parcheesi is code for getting you off. I’ve never heard that one, though. Is that what the kids say these days?”
She cocks an eyebrow. “You’re asking me? You’re probably far more well-versed in what the kids are doing these days than I am. I mean, I have TV and the internet so that helps, but it’s not like I overhear them in line at Starbucks or at Target or wherever kids go. License to Game concerts.”
“Yeah, I can’t hear them over the sound; it’s too fucking loud.”
And then we just stare at each other for a second. A second is about all I can take, though.
“So upstairs?”
“Yes, upstairs.”
I follow Dempsey’s swinging hips up the steps, and while I’m not really trying to look up her robe, it’s awfully short, and I’m pretty sure she’s not wearing any underwear. It’s cool. I’m not about to start panting or trip over my own feet, and walking up a flight of stairs with a semi is totally not uncomfortable.
At the landing, there’s only one door and Dempsey breezes right through it. I can only assume this is her bedroom, and it’s nice. Not like over-the-top glitzy and enormous like some of the starlets’ bedrooms I’ve been in, but comfortable. Greens and blues and a big huge bed and a squishy chair and a sizable TV mounted on the wall. It all looks like it goes together, like she had a vision and executed it. This is the life. My house is nice, but it also kinda looks like a tour bus, a Best Buy, and Think Geek threw up inside it. There’s no design; it’s just shit I like and didn’t get sidetracked before buying.
This is much better, and I don’t know if it’s the color or there’s some sort of feng shui or some shit going on or maybe I’m just starting to concentrate on Dempsey or… I don’t know and it doesn’t really matter, but it’s nice that my brain quiets down a little. Gives me a little breathing room.
Dempsey turns to face me and spreads her arms. “Well, here we are. Upstairs. And what did you say you wanted to do again? Parcheesi, was it?”
Then she unties her robe and lets it slip to the floor. Motherfucking hell. Even my mind, which won’t usually shut the hell up, is slack-jawed because she’s gorgeous. All kinds of smooth skin and curves and, yeah, she’s a natural redhead because the carpet matches the drapes.
Then she’s clearing her throat, and I gotta wonder how long I was staring at her. Too long, obviously.
“You okay, Nick? I kind of assumed you’ve seen a naked woman or a thousand, but if that’s not true and you need some kind of anatomy lesson—”
I cut her off by taking a few quick strides to where she is and slipping my arms around her, bowing my head to kiss her. There’s a shocked little squeak of a laugh, and then she’s melting into me, her warm skin pressed against the thin fabric of my shirt. She tastes like maybe she drank some iced tea while Fi and I were on our walk.
Sometimes kissing feels junior varsity to me, like, can we get to the good stuff already? But I think I could kiss Dempsey for a very long time before I got sick of it. So I do, running my hands all over her, her arms, her back, her hair, her butt, just every fucking inch of her I can reach. And then we’re stumbling to the bed, and we kinda fall onto it, side by side. It’s like landing on a cloud. With a hot girl. Who’s naked. Doesn’t get much better than that.
We crawl and twist and fumble, and then I can’t really handle it anymore. I made her a promise, dammit, and it’s one I aim to keep. I could fuck Dempsey, but she already got me off in a pretty selfless way—not that she didn’t seem like she was enjoying it, because she did—and I want to show her I can do the same. Not that orgasms are something you really need to keep a tally of, but still. I’m a generous guy, that’s what people say about me, and I want that to be true in the bedroom, too.
I get us sitting up, with my back against the headboard and Dempsey in my lap, and then I tip her onto her back until she’s spread out in front of me like a lady buffet. God, she’s pretty. Her hair’s all splashed out on the bedspread, and she folds her hands behind her head. She’s all flushed and mussed, and I can smell her. Not freshly-showered her, but like turned-on girl which is one of the best heady, musky scents in the whole goddamn world.
“Well, now that you’ve got me like this, what are you going to do with me?”
I put my hands on her knees and slide them up the inside of her thighs, my thumbs heading right for her pussy. But I stop short and stroke her in that sweet spot where thigh meets pelvis.
“I know this is going to shock you, but I don’t read a whole lot of books?”
She shrugs.
“I just have a hard time focusing for that long and I get sidetracked. But I fucking love the internet. It was built for people like me because I can read a post or a blog or whatever and then just keep clicking or searching and I can learn or read about the next thing or the next. It’s even better than when I was a kid and I would read the encyclopedia. I mean, I can surf the internet for hours upon hours and not even realize it. Like, go from light to dark and don’t notice until I stand up and trip on something because I can’t see a damn thing. So anyway, this one time I was watching porn—”
“Just this one time, huh?”
I pinch her on the inside of her thigh, not enough to hurt at all, and she laughs. “No, I mean, I watch tons of porn. Like, I’ve probably directly funded several cam girls’ kids’ college educations. But that’s not my point. My point is that I got kinda mad that the dudes weren’t really paying any attention to the chicks’ clits, and like, most of the girls I’ve been with need some, you know, contact there. So I totally fell down this rabbit hole about clits.”
“Um, okay?”
She’s definitely amused but probably also baffled by why I’m telling her about this. I’m showing my work, okay? I’m also rubbing her labia, from the sides up to her mound because I learned some really cool shit.
“For the longest time I thought clits were like these tiny little things you kinda had to search for? Not that it’s super-hard once you know what you’re looking for, but still. Not as obvious as a dick, you know what I mean?”
“Uh, yeah,” she says, starting to breathe a little shallower and squirm a bit. Uh, yeah indeed. Just you wait, Dempsey Lawrence. I’m gonna show you a thing or two. I might not have a head for much, but I pay attention to shit I read on the internet.
“You probably know all this because it’s your own body and all that, but I had no idea that clits are actually fucking huge.”
She snorts, and it’s adorable. “I did know that most of the clitoris is not visible, yes.”
“How cool is that? I mean, it’s like a secret. Like if you give a shit a
nd take a minute to google it, you can find out all this cool stuff and sex tricks.”
“Nick Fischer, sex magician? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? The internets have shown you how to wow your audiences?”
“Nah, I didn’t actually get that far, because…” I shake my head. I don’t know why. “Honestly, I probably went and watched more porn. But I did learn a few things before I got distracted. Like, this feels kinda good, right?”
I haven’t actually touched her clit or any of the other slick, wet parts. Just rubbed and stroked and massaged the outside of what dudes usually pay attention to. I don’t know a whole lot, but I know that is a mistake.
“Yeah.” Her voice is breathy and her eyes are getting glazed with pleasure and her chest is rising and falling, and yeah I do, I feel like a fucking magician. Maybe I should get a top hat and a cape. That might be kind of a creepy role play, though, so maybe not. Not as creepy as a clown, though. I’m sure that’s someone’s kink so I shouldn’t be a dick about it, but it isn’t mine.
“And maybe it’s a little frustrating, too, because it feels good but maybe not as good as it would if I was actually touching the external part of your clit, but it’s, I don’t know, more spread out. It’s like turning up the heat slowly instead of all at once. Maybe?”
She nods and bites her bottom lip, her fingers clutching at the bed covers. Yeah, Dempsey’s looking kinda hot and bothered, and her flush is spreading from her face down her chest and her hips are starting to buck. Plus, that sweet smell of her. Hell, my dick is straining at the zipper on my jeans, but I’m not gonna make this about me even though I wanna dive face-first into her pussy and slide my cock inside her after I make her come. Wow, should not be thinking about fucking Dempsey unless I want to splooge in my jeans, and I don’t have shorts on, so that’d be a super-awkward walk out to my car.
The Inside Track: A License to Love Novel Page 8