Naked

by Megan Hart

  My phone rang on the table. Sarah’s ring tone, the dance beat of a popular techno song. Reluctantly, I pulled away to answer it. Alex chased me the whole way, so I was laughing when I took the call.

  “What the hell is going on?” Sarah asked.

  “Oh…nothing. What’s up?”

  “‘Nothing’ sounds like someone’s got a hand in your panties.”

  “Umm…” I wriggled away from Alex kissing my collarbone, only to turn and have him nuzzle the back of my neck, instead. “No.”

  Sarah gave a derisive snort. “Uh-huh. Tell Alex I said hi. Or, hey, girlfriend.”

  “As if.” I’d have given her a harder time but hey, I was distracted.

  “Does he go down on you?”

  “What?”

  “See, I always figured gay dudes could get it up for a woman, but actually eating pussy was something different. I mean, putting your dick in something warm and wet seems like a no-brainer, right? But actually going pearl diving…”

  “Is there a point to this conversation?” I managed finally to wriggle away from Alex’s groping hands and teasing tongue, and even got a few steps out of reach.

  He grinned, unashamed.

  “Aside from my sudden, desperate need to dissect whether or not a dude can do a good job eating pussy if he’s not really that into the chick, or if he can fake it till he feels it, or what? Other than that?”

  “Yes, other than your sudden, twisted need to discuss oral sex. Was there a point?”

  Alex had gone back to the album by the window, though he looked over at me when I mentioned oral sex. I turned so I didn’t have to see his face.

  I checked the progress of my order, had the e-mail to show it had gone through, and started closing all my browser windows. A few more messages had come in to my business e-mail and a few to my personal—but those were Connex notifications, nothing important I needed to look at now. I started shutting down my computer. Alex hadn’t said what time we should leave, but I needed a shower and a change of clothes, and by the way we’d been fooling around earlier, I thought it might take me longer than usual.

  “Actually, no.”

  Sarah’s answer gave me pause. “No? Are you serious? You called me up to ask me about guys eating pussy?”

  That definitely drew his attention. I pantomimed asking him what time we needed to leave. Eleven. I had a couple hours before then, which should’ve been plenty of time…if we didn’t end up making out or fucking.

  “Yes,” Sarah said.

  I closed the lid of my laptop and sat in the twirly chair to talk to her. “What about it?”

  “What do you think about it?”

  “I’m a fan, obviously.”

  Sarah laughed. “Hell, yes. Who’s not?”

  “What’s going on with you?”

  “I just…Say I’m taking a survey.”

  I didn’t believe a word of it. “Uh-huh.”

  “So, what do you think? Can a guy perform adequate and/or exemplary cunnilingus on a woman he’s not attracted to?”

  “What the—” I cracked up laughing, certain she had to be putting me on. “Adequate and exemplary cunnilingus? Are you kidding me?”

  “I’m serious, Liv.” She sounded serious.

  I rocked in my chair and put my feet up on the desk. “Guys can fuck anything. I’m convinced of it.”

  “Not fuck. Eat out. I know they can stick their dicks in any hole and get off.” Sarah sounded a little more sour than she normally did. “But…cunt eating. Dining at the Y. Muff-diving. Gorging on the hairy burrito.”

  “Ew,” I muttered. “Gross.”

  “Can they? Do you think?”

  I shot a cautious look at Alex, who no longer seemed to be listening. He’d moved on to another of my albums and was flipping pages, his expression engrossed and thoughtful.

  “Do you mean just gay guys?” I kept my voice low, my back turned.

  “No. Straight guys, too.”

  “Hmm.” Patrick had never gone down on me. Disgruntled at the memory, I said, “I guess so. Why not? Why couldn’t they?”

  “That’s what I thought, too.” Sarah sounded unexpectedly defeated. She paused, then asked in a smaller voice, “Do you think it turns them on?”

  “Sarah, sweetie. Is something going on you want to talk to me about?”

  She sighed. “I met someone, that’s all.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Her laugh sounded more normal this time. “I mean, nothing. Dude’s a dud.”

  “Ah.”

  “Well, anyway, I’ll let you go. I just wondered what you thought about all that. I’ve got some other people to call and ask.”

  “Are you for real?”

  “Girl, you know it’s true.”

  I groaned. “Don’t start quoting Milli Vanilli tunes to me, please…”

  Too late. She was already singing. I laughed. Sarah singing early nineties pop songs was always good for a chuckle.

  “I’ll be by this week sometime to help with the studio if you want,” she said. “Have fun with Ahhhlex.”

  “We’re going to Chocolate Fest.”

  “I hate you.”

  “You don’t hate me,” I told her. “You love me.”

  “And yet, I don’t think I could eat your pussy,” Sarah said, so matter-of-factly she might have been reciting the times tables. “Not even if you paid me.”

  “Good Lord, why would I pay you to go down on me?” I had to wipe my eyes from tears of laughter.

  “Ding, ding! Survey says…! Because…hell, I don’t know why, either. Goodbye, fool.”

  “For a Jewish white girl from the suburbs of Philly, you do a mean impression of Mr. T.”

  “Liv, I am blacker than you are,” Sarah said. “Peace out, Girl Scout.”

  “Bye.”

  I thumbed off the call and turned. Alex, silhouetted in the window, didn’t move. I reached for my camera and took a quick shot. Then he shifted, coming out of the light and into focus.

  “Let me guess. Sarah.”

  “Yeah. Smile.” I held up the camera and watched him move closer. “Too close!”

  I got a picture of his eyeball, blurred, and that was it. I showed him in the view screen. “Ah, there’s one for the fridge.”

  “It’s better than the one where I have a bowl cut and a striped turtleneck on.”

  “When was that taken?” I teased. “Last year?”

  Alex curled his lip. “Ha-ha, second grade. I told my mother it didn’t match my brown corduroy flare-leg pants, but she didn’t listen.”

  “Oh, the trauma.”

  His gaze shifted for a second before a hard smile split his mouth. “Yeah. I guess if that was the worst of it, I’d be a lucky guy.”

  He said the words lightly, but they felt heavy. I put my camera on the table and took his face in my hands. I kissed him. Not hard, not sexy. Just…sweet.

  “I’m sure you looked hot even in a pair of cords and a striped turtleneck.”

  He raised a brow. “Of course I did. I was the hottest boy in second grade. And third. And fourth—”

  I put a finger over his mouth. “I’m sure.”

  He smiled and kissed my finger. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Yeah?” We were moving again, not quite dancing, but swaying. It seemed we couldn’t touch each other without turning it into something sexy. “How long? How old are you?”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-eight.” I had a strange thought. “You’re older than that, right?”

  He laughed ruefully. “Christ. Yes. I am.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  He pulled a face. “Gee, thanks. Thank God I spent all that money on Botox and pancake makeup.”

  “You don’t use Botox.” I touched the feathered lines, very faint, at the corners of his eyes. “And I don’t see any makeup.”

  His sexy smile sent tingles down to my toes. “Not today.”

  It wouldn�
�t have surprised me to know he wore makeup. Or women’s clothes. My circle of male acquaintances had been so gay-centrically skewed for such a long time I was more shocked by men who knew more about fantasy football than Fantasy Island.

  I could’ve said something then, but again I held back. “Too bad. Guyliner’s hot.”

  “Pffft. Guyliner. Is that like a manpurse, or moobs? Bromance?”

  We laughed together. I liked the way he held me, not too hard or soft. Not as if he was trying to keep me. More like he knew I had no plans of getting away.

  “We should get going,” I murmured into his mouth. “I still need to change.”

  “What, out of this exquisite fashion statement?” He looked down at my nightgown and ratty cardigan, my knee-high leather boots.

  I let him kiss me a few more times. “C’mon, I’ll be late. That phone call set me back a good twenty minutes.”

  “Sounded important,” he said offhandedly.

  “She was taking a survey about if I thought men could orally please a woman if they’re not into her.”

  He blinked, then laughed. “What? Why?”

  I shrugged. “With Sarah, who knows.”

  “Yes,” he said after a second. “Absolutely.”

  I gave him a look. “You sure about that?”

  “Not from personal experience,” Alex said. “But yeah. I’d say definitely. A man can do a lot of things for sex with a lot of people he’s not really into.”

  I made another face and pulled away a little. This time, he let me go. When I turned to fuss with my laptop and camera, my phone, Alex stayed quiet. I didn’t want to think about the things a man would do to get off, even at the expense of someone else.

  “Olivia.”

  I didn’t turn. “Hmm?”

  Alex took my shoulder and turned me until my butt bumped my desk. He put a hand between my thighs. Parted them. He didn’t look away from my eyes as he did it, or when he stepped between my legs. Or when he lifted the hem of my nightie an inch on my naked thighs.

  I drew in a breath.

  He smiled. He looked down, then, to his hands. “I got a hard-on the first time I saw these boots.”

  “New Year’s Eve,” I found the voice to say, though it came out weak and hoarse and full of longing.

  “No.” He shook his head. “The first time I saw you, you had these boots on. The Chrismukkah party. Patrick’s house.”

  I’d worn the boots to that party, but not the next morning when we’d met in the kitchen. I let him push me back against the table. Let him push my nightgown up to my hips. “But why didn’t you—”

  “Hmm?” His question hummed over my thigh.

  If he’d seen me then, if my boots had turned him on, if he’d wanted me that way, why had he gone outside to get head from Evan? I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to know.

  He moved my panties aside with a finger and stroked. I shifted to let him pull the material down over my hips, and off. The table was big enough to hold all of me, and I stretched my arms over my head. Arched my back. I gave it up to him, right there, without question or worry about the size of my thighs, the thickness of my bush. Not a damn thing.

  Alex leaned over me. He spread my legs, slid his hands beneath my ass, lifted me to his mouth. I was already wet. He made the sort of noise I make biting into a piece of double chocolate cheesecake…mmmm.

  I gasped again when he sucked gently on my clit. Then he fluttered his tongue, oh so softly, before circling it. I rocked into his mouth, urging him on.

  It was the fastest I’d ever come. With him. With anyone. With myself, even. I shot off hard. My hands slapped at the table’s slick, polished surface, squeaking. I shook and shuddered. It was over in half a minute, nothing drawn out about it.

  With the aftershocks rippling through me, I opened my eyes and smiled up at him. “Mmmm.”

  Alex slipped his hands from beneath me and stood up straight. I sat up to grab the front of his shirt and kiss him.

  He laughed into my mouth. “That was unexpected.”

  I nipped his bottom lip. “Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t that much of a surprise. Not for the hottest boy in every single freaking grade.”

  His hand cupped the back of my neck. “Careful. You might have me thinking I’m pretty good at that.”

  I pushed him to the side so I could hop off the table, and shook my nightgown down over my thighs. I picked up my panties and headed for the door, saying over my shoulder, “Oh, it was fine. But with a little practice, you could be really damn good…”

  I started running when he growled and lunged.

  I made it all the way to the front door of my apartment before he caught me. We didn’t get much farther than that.

  Chapter

  11

  “You were right. This was worth it.” I looked around the half-empty ballroom. The one other time I’d gone to Chocolate Fest the crowd had been cheek to cheek—not the ones on our faces. Today, people circulated freely to sample from the fifty or so booths lined up in aisles.

  And it was good stuff, too. Not just cookies or cake, but homemade candies from local gourmet shops and bubbling fountains for chocolate-dipped fruit. The champagne was cheap, but cold, and the hors d’oeuvres fancy but unnecessary, as far as I could see.

  “Nothing but the best for you,” Alex said gallantly.

  I rolled my eyes, though his words were sweeter than any chocolate I’d tasted. He gave me an utterly satisfied smile and squeezed me closer as we walked, hand in hand. We both glowed with the radiance of the freshly fucked. I’d gone on my knees for him in the hall outside my door, taken him in my mouth. Sucked him hard until he came. Chocolate couldn’t chase away the memory of his taste flooding me.

  Not that I wanted it to.

  I had Alex all over and up inside me. Smell, scent, all of it. He didn’t have to touch me for me to feel him.

  We got looks, of course. Even after America elected a black man as president, people still saw skin color. Alex didn’t seem to notice. I’d lived with it my whole life and still I could never not notice the second glances.

  We walked past the cakes decorated for the competition. People oohed and ahhed over the creations of sugar and almond paste and fondant. My favorite was the cake shaped like a lake, the ice made from melted hard candies, the snow of crystal sugar and marshmallows. Tiny fondant figures skated on top. It was a simple design compared to some of the more elaborate ones, but had been expertly crafted.

  I was still looking at it as I moved on, not paying attention. I bumped into Alex. Stepped on his foot because he’d stopped all of a sudden.

  “Ouch,” he said mildly, staring at the scene in front of him.

  I burst into laughter I quickly hid behind my hand. “Wow.”

  “There must’ve been a theme,” he said, nodding toward the next three cakes. “But damn if I don’t think it’s wrong to take a bite out of Jesus’s face.”

  All three were life-size re-creations of Christ’s head, complete with the crown of thorns and agonized expression. Small pieces had been cut, I guessed for the judges to taste, and all I could think of was the phrase “this is my body, that shall be given up for you.”

  “Why would anyone ever want a cake like that?” I studied it, wondering.

  Alex laughed. “First Communion, maybe?”

  I shuddered. “No, thanks.”

  “Did you have one?” he asked as we moved away from the cakes and toward the center of the ballroom, where the raffle prizes and silent auctions were showcased.

  “A Jesus-head cake?”

  “A First Holy Communion.”

  “No. Nor a Bat Mitzvah. You?”

  He nodded. “Yep.”

  “Good Catholic boy,” I teased. “When’s the last time you went to confession?”

  “Long time ago. Hey, look at this one.” He pointed to a basket stuffed with picture frames and other photography goodies. “Want to bid on it?”

  I looked at the basket, wrapped in crin
kly, translucent paper, and then the card attached. “Oh, cool. I know Scott Church. I took a couple of his classes.”

  Alex peeked at the basket’s contents, too. “Digital camera. Nice. I should get me one of those. Gift certificate for a full glamour photography session. Ha. Don’t need one of those.”

  He slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me close for a kiss. “I’d rather have my picture taken by you.”

  “I think we could manage that.”

  “Liv?”

  I looked up at the sound of my name, just as a tiny figure tackled my knees with a squeal. Laughing, I peeled her away before she could knock me over. “Pippa, hi. Watch out. Devon, hi.”

  Devon gave Alex a curious glance, then stuck out his hand. “Hi. Devon Jackson.”

  “And I’m Pippa.” Today she wore a ruffled gown, her curls tied back with a matching bow. “I have a pretty dress.”

  “Yes, you sure do.” Alex bent a little to admire it, then straightened. “Alex Kennedy.”

  “Where’s Steven?”

  “Home with a cold. Told me to get out of the damn house,” Devon said with a grin. “I have friends who work for the New Horizons Adoption Agency. They told me to come on by, man the booth for a little while today.”

  “You can make a Valentine’s Day card,” Pippa said. “With glitter, and lace and glue!”

  “We’ll have to stop by and check it out,” I told her.

  She tipped her head back to give Alex a sly once-over. “You could make one for Olivia. If she’s your valentine. Is she?”

  Alex put his arm around my waist again. “She sure is.”

  Pippa laughed and danced. “Do you guys kiss? Do you? Ha-ha! That’s funny!”

  Devon laughed, too, and shook his head at her. “Pippa, you run back to the booth and take charge over there.”

  Giggling, she launched herself into my arms for a hug and a kiss, then darted off through the crowd.

  Devon’s once-over of Alex wasn’t quite as blatant as Pippa’s, but I saw it.

  He looked over the basket display. “You bidding?”

  “It’s for a good cause. Yeah, I think so.” Alex’s fingers tightened on my hip before he withdrew. “Olivia, I’m going to go get some tickets, okay? I’ll be right back.”