by Xavier Neal
His arms cage me against him despite my attempt to lean my back onto the pillar. “You okay, Angel?”
The heaving of my chest only increases.
I’ve never been this close to a man. Ever.
Paralyzed by fear and intrigue, I simply let my eyes lift until they’re captured by his. The rapid beating of my heart increases. My breath is as shaky as my legs. While his leaned down face appears to be calm and collected, his own breathing seems to have vanished. Before I can overthink the situation, I shoot to the tips of my toes and crash my lips against his. His initial reaction seems to be surprise, but almost instantly, he flexes his arms around me to hold me tighter. Unsure of what to do, I keep my lips stilled and quietly pray he takes the lead. Blake angles his head slightly to the side as he parts my lips with his. Very softly, his tongue brushes against mine, eliciting a sweet whimper from me. He repeats the action once more then waits until I initiate the continuation. Curiosity clinks into empowerment and I push my tongue more forcefully. The moment I realize my action is well received thanks to the heavy groan rumbling out of him, I increase the speed and maintain the intensity. Our tongues roll relentlessly around one another until I’m not sure if the condensation between my thighs is sweat or wetness from my impassioned pussy.
Blake reluctantly pulls back.
The whimpering sound I thoughtlessly make tempts his lips to return to mine by the way he begins to lean forward again.
We can definitely do that repeatedly. Starting right now and ending…never.
With a playful smirk, he gives the small of my back a stroke with his thumbs. “I told you we’d find something else to do instead of sex…”
I give my bottom lip a solid bite.
After that kiss, the absolute, last thing I want is for us to have a sex replacement. If he can make me this wet and wound up from a kiss alone, I can’t wait to see what else he’s capable of. Should I feel guilty for wanting to see those things sooner instead of later? Maybe we shouldn’t take things as slow as I was insisting or maybe…maybe I should put a little more faith in Blake Shaw and let him take the lead.
“This is a terrible idea,” Abby argues with her arms folded firmly across her full chest.
I turn on my signal to switch lanes. “Angel, you have said that to me approximately ten times over the past six weeks, including when I showed up on Valentine’s Day with roses, chocolates, and all the ingredients to cook you a romantic dinner.”
“You set my kitchen on fire.”
“Just the pan.”
The heat was a little too high, plus I was a little sidetracked with being able to see the outline of the thong she was wearing with her white skirt. Her ass is already something I need a shock collar around my neck to prevent me from constantly trying to touch, but then she squeezed it into this skin-tight skirt and my nuts turned purple. Purple! As much as I am enjoying all the things we do outside the bedroom, I swear I’m starting to chafe from the constant self-jerking. But I won’t rush her. I actually really like Abby. She’s unique. Watching her discover so many of the things in life I don’t think twice about appreciating swells my heart. Over the past six weeks, we’ve done an array of random dates, all of which have been filled with such joy I wonder if I could’ve ever had more of this at some point in my life if I wasn’t so focused on just getting women off. Abby and I have had coffee dates where we pick different flavors for the other one to try. Watching me gag on an Espresso Con Panna brought her to tears from laughing so hard. And it was completely worth it to hear her laugh so freely. We’ve gone cello case shopping, though it resulted in me almost getting whipped with a bow for not knowing that’s what the stick thing was called. We’ve also hosted a ‘Tiny Dancer Dance Party’ at Big Foot’s when we babysat the boys, went to a musical where we fought about Raisinets, and had a picnic in the downtown park along with Ford, Ollie, and their pet hog. Most of our time together is carved out around her rehearsal schedule, which isn’t a problem since mine at the company is quite flexible. The cello always comes first for her. In the beginning, it silently pissed me off I had to fight for time with her over an instrument, but after hearing her play, after experiencing the passion that flows out of her while she does, I willingly surrendered. When she plays it’s as if you’re swept away to another world. A celestial one. A world so serene and so beautiful there’s comfort in the fact nothing other than her music exists. The first time I heard her play it was surreal. It sounded like an oblation only meant to be given to God. Then there was her. Everything from Abby’s expression to the placidity she clearly felt was mind blowing. She’s been committed to the cello since she was five and it shows. I’m learning my goal isn’t to try to tear them apart. It’s simply to allow her to find the pleasure in things she’s denied herself for the sake of her music.
“Tonight’s gonna be fun,” I try to reassure. “There’ll be music-”
“Country music, which I still don’t know enough about.”
“Not true. You know more than you’re giving yourself credit for.”
“I appreciate your attempt at boosting my confidence, but I detest false praise.”
I cut her a glance. “You know my two favorites.”
“Tim McCaw-”
“McGraw.”
“Who came onto the country music scene in the early 90’s and has more recently taken roles in movies like The Blind Side-”
“Which you loved despite your…constant confusion about football terms.”
She knows even less about sports than Oliver. And that’s impressive considering he mixes up the basic terminology like screaming penalty when he should be shouting foul.
“And your other, more recent favorite is Rascally Cats.”
“Rascal Flats.”
Abby humphs at her mispronunciation of both words.
Perfectionist some days would be the sweeter way to describe it. It’s one reason I hate for her to cook. She’s not above rehearsing the making of our meals before I actually come over. It’d be a bigger problem if the food went to waste, but whatever I don’t finish, I take with me and toss it back for lunch.
“There will also be beer-”
“I don’t drink.”
“Yes, but they have this non-alcoholic vanilla root beer that is fucking incredible. Pop used to buy us cases of it as kids.”
Her face slowly turns to mine. “I’ve never had root beer.”
“This I know, which is why I wanted the first time you had to be the best there is.”
She offers me a small smile.
From what I’ve gathered about her parents, they have to be the most boring, most horrible parents on the planet. Who doesn’t let their kids have sodas or sugars…ever? Who denies their children for the entire span of their adolescence the right to fun? Abby didn’t have a childhood filled with laughs or imagination. She was basically at military school until college where Dana, dear, sweet, thank you for pushing us together Dana, helped carve away some of her shell. I don’t mind doing the rest. I actually love it. Watching her discover there are awkward comedy shows she can relate to and learn to laugh at herself more than criticize, is intoxicating. Those are the moments that push our lack of sexual progression to the bottom of the list of things to care about. Hate to say it, and refuse to say it out loud, but my mother was right. Letting someone see who I really am while I get to see who they really are is much better than I thought it would be.
Finally, I take our exit off the highway. My eyes catch another glimpse of her face that has yet to master the art of lying.
What she’s thinking is always clear as day. She’s incapable of hiding her hatred or her excitement. Most importantly, she’s incapable of hiding how turned on I constantly make her. Just because we’re not acting on it yet doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy knowing she wants us to or that I still have the skills I have prided myself on for over a decade.
“Relax, Angel.” I stretch my hand to fold with hers. “It’ll be fun. They’ve got great food.
There’s pool and darts. There’s the mechanical bull I can’t wait to see you on...”
Her head snaps my direction. “Excuse me?”
A mischievous smile crosses my lips.
“I’m not riding a mechanical bull, Tiny Dancer.”
The unusual nickname receives an eye roll. “Yes, you are.”
“No. I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
We pull up to a stop light, and I present her with a cocky grin. “I will bet me seeing you in nothing but that bright red lacey thong you’re wearing, that you will.”
She glares. “Really? You want our first time together to be the bases for a bet?”
“Never said anything about our first time together, Angel.”
Her glower deepens.
“Just because I see you almost naked doesn’t mean we’re going to have sex.”
It should mean that. It’s always meant that in the past…
Abby slowly shakes her head, which is when I add, “Besides, if you are so convinced you won’t be riding it, where’s the harm in making a little wager that you will?”
“You’re an asshole.”
I grin wider.
When she reverts to name calling it means her levels of frustration and fascination with me are colliding in the most furious ways.
“Fine,” she snips. “If I ride the stupid mechanical bull, which I won’t-”
“You will.”
“If that happens, you can see me in nothing but my panties. However, when I don’t you have to sit through the Classical music documentary I discovered on Hulu yesterday.”
A loud groan of disapproval joins the conversation.
Sure. Classical music has definitely grown on me, but an entire special on it? No. No thank you. The stakes are now too high.
I cut Abby another glance just as she slowly wets her lips.
Fuck, I love her mouth. Every. Inch. We may be stuck in the serious tongue fucking phase, but it’s hardly anything to complain about. She enjoys hours of simply being pressed against me and letting our mouths explore everything possible. She’s also discovered the hot spot on my neck and right underneath my jaw bone line. Constantly being brought to the edge from having her mimic sucking my cock on my neck has me debating on visiting the doctor for a pill to assist in my newly established celibacy. I’ve kissed a shit ton of women in my life, but never one so hell bent on making me come from a few well-placed sucks on my bottom lip and well timed grinds against my crotch.
Impulsively, I agree, “Deal.”
She gives me a premature victorious sneer.
Oh she’s getting her ass on that mechanical bull. Never said she had to do it voluntarily.
Once we arrive at the hole in the wall country themed bar, the two of us immediately hop out of my truck and head for the front entrance, which is painted like old saloon doors. However, before we slip inside, I grab Abby’s hand to tug her towards me.
“What?” She instantly asks, uncertainty in her eyes stronger than ever.
Part of me wants to just stroke her cheek while telling her she’s fine. That there’s nothing to worry about. That my brother and his wife are fun to be around. But if I’m learning anything about this woman, it’s that she hates being coddled. She prefers being pushed. Again. I blame her parents.
I pin my eyes in hers as I slide my hands past her hips to the small of her back. Abby remains still until my fingers gently graze the skin just underneath the black t-shirt she bought specifically to wear tonight. My touch toys momentarily with the top of the lace from her underwear she didn’t realize I caught a peak of earlier.
Heat tries to overwhelm my system from the contact with the delicate object, but I push past it to taunt, “Just wanna make sure no one else gets a glimpse at what I’ll be seein’ later tonight.”
She grunts her disgust, pushes me away, and tugs down the shirt to ensure her panties are indeed hidden.
Another playful chuckle leaves me at the same time I open the door for her to enter the building.
Best part of being a gentleman? Getting to drink in the sight of your girlfriend’s bodacious ass in a pair of tight jeans when she walks by. Pop taught us many manners, but hands down I believe holding the door open is by far my favorite.
We enter the building and are immediately engulfed in loud music and a lively bunch. The building is divided into four distinct areas. Closest to the entrance is the bar and dining area while furthest from us in the back corner is the dance floor. To the left is the pool table area that can be sectioned off if the sliding doors are closed and to the right is the area Abby will be getting very acquainted with in due time.
“Over here!” Sienna enthusiastically waves from where she’s sitting beside my brother in the dining area.
With my hand on the small of Abby’s back, I guide the two of us to where they’ve already made themselves comfortable with bottles of the Runt’s Beer.
We’re an overly supportive family. We all promote each other’s businesses when possible. Unlike Big Foot, Ford and I, Eddie doesn’t have his own. Claims he doesn’t have any interest. Personally, I think the lack of stability for his family is what actually scares him.
“Sienna, Eddie, meet Abby.” I motion my hand towards them. “Abby meet my older brother Eddie and his wife, Sienna.”
“It’s good to finally see you in more than just pictures!” Sienna exclaims as she extends her hand out for shaking.
Abby’s face immediately flashes confusion. “Pictures?”
“Oh, Blake is notorious for posting his entire life on Facebook,” she sells me out with a smile. “Did you…not know that?”
The two of us sit at the same time Abby confesses. “No. No. I did. I guess I chose to ignore it because I don’t like social media.”
“And you’re dating him?” Eddie tries to hold back his chuckle while they shake hands. “The king of selfies.”
“Fuck off,” I insert. “I’m not that bad.”
“Last week your face showed up so many times on my feed, I was beginnin’ to think you were a fuckin’ ad for somethin’,” Sienna snickers. “I had no goddamn clue what it was for but was smart enough to know whatever it was, it damn sure wasn’t somethin’ I’d ever want…”
Sweet country girl face, attitude of a drunken pirate. I understand exactly why my brother didn’t even wait three months to marry her. She keeps him on his toes. All Shaw men crave women who do that. Pop has always sworn the best women in life keep you smiling and drinking, usually for the same reasons.
Casually, I say, “It is not a crime to take pictures of yourself, Sienna.”
“It should be when you do it over five times a day,” Eddie argues between sips of his beer. He moves his attention to Abby. “You have no idea how much of a relief it is to see more than just his big ass forehead in pictures.”
“My head is fucking normal sized.”
Eddie and Sienna make a small hum of disagreement, which sends Abby into a fit of giggles behind her hand.
I fight the urge to continue to defend myself only because it has my girlfriend smiling and I never want to be the reason it stops.
The four of us settle in, the conversation beginning with basic questions towards Abby. Knowing her typical response to being around strangers, I keep an arm draped around her chair and my thumb stroking the side of her arm for support. She’s told me numerous times in the past my touch has a way of easing the nervousness inside of her. What’s wild is she has a similar effect on me. I don’t have any problem talking to people and charming my way into their life, but staying focused is a skill I struggle with constantly. Sometimes it’s staying on one topic. Sometimes it’s not getting distracted while engaged in another activity. My apartment with poorly painted walls and half assembled furniture is a testament to my creative aspirations, but lack of attention. I have a tendency to let my mind wander and my body follow, but when Abby’s around, her presence has this un
deniable power of keeping all the jumbled pieces lined up accordingly. It’s impressive as well as terrifying.
After a couple beers, praises over the choice of drink I picked for Abby, a few shared appetizers, and conversations about popular movies that my girlfriend is obviously clueless about yet tries to hide it, we circle back around to a topic I knew we would.
Sienna leans into my brother’s embrace. “You’ve really never ridden a mechanical bull before?”