West-End Boys (Naïve Mistakes)

by Rachel Dunning

  I breathed in deep, sweat trickling down my brow as Conall, slowly, gently, licked me more, the entire length of my vulva, up. I squeaked. He did it again. I eased, relaxed, felt my shoulders slump down against the back of the leather couch and felt my head loll to the left as my eyes closed and my lips tugged into a smile so hot that all the snow of the mountains could not cool the warmth of it. I eased my fingers through his wavy hair, felt its moisture, the moisture of our sweat, of the warmed room.

  The fire crackled.

  Even though I was done, Conall licked me still, side to side, my inner lips, inside, outside, up, down, slowly, lovingly, caring, passionate. Then he pecked me below, as if he were kissing me on the mouth, kissing the lips on my face, as if both were the same.

  "I missed you so much," he said.

  My legs melted. I shifted up, pushed him back by his shoulders, ignoring the smell of burning meat from the kitchen. I pulled my legs back up onto the couch, clutched his shirt with my fists and lifted his moist lips to mine. He hesitated only for a second.

  And then I kissed him. I kissed him and our tongues caressed and greeted each other, two old friends who hadn't spoken in years, two kids rubbing their hands through each other's hair, taking a walk in the park. I eased him back onto the couch, feeling deadly sexy in black.

  He lay back. I straddled him, my left knee on the couch, my right foot on the ground, our clothed crotches touching. Conall was hard as steel, pulsing, pushing and pressing against me so that the tension began anew in me, firing within my legs, tightening me down below, squeezing my insides so that I needed him again, now, right now, inside me, filling me, making love to me.

  Finally.

  Because I couldn't wait anymore for him.

  I bent down and kissed his lips, smelled the fresh apple-scent shampoo in his hair. That was Conall: always prepared, always thinking of everything. I grappled with his hair as his own breaths quickened, still needing release, still needing completion. He lifted his pelvis against me and I whimpered. "Tonight," I said to him. "Tonight." I kissed his ear, took off his tie and ripped his shirt so that a button snapped, then another. Then I ripped all of them off. My hair covered my face, wet and matted.

  I ground my crotch against him, heard myself groan again, felt myself engorge and tighten and I ground some more. The itch, the need, was there once more, strong and throbbing. "Tonight, Conall," I said again. Louder. Louder so that the words were no longer a suggestion but a demand, a desperate demand for the man I loved to take me, finally. Because I loved him. I loved him with everything I was. And I knew, as I had known from our first days, that he completely, and unconditionally, also loved me.

  Conall rose, pushing his body up as I continued to ride him. He snapped his palm around my neck and pulled me down as I ground against him, faster and faster, fighting to satiate my own desires as much as his.

  "Tonight," I kept saying, the words now a mantra, a chant, a rhythm and pulse every time I pushed down against him. "Tonight."

  I knew he knew what I meant. "OK," he said. "Tonight. Now."

  He clutched at my waist, held me down so I wouldn't grind any further. My eyes, which had been shut and tight, shot open. Hot desire flushed on his beautiful face. I was momentarily caught in the dream of his chiseled jaw, his aquatic eyes.

  He smiled.

  He said nothing, lifted me off him gently, kissed me on the forehead, sat me back on the couch. My heart thumped, raced like wild buffalo across a plain. "One moment," he told me.

  He walked out the room, his loafers crunching over the smashed wineglass of earlier. Then he came back, fluffy pink slippers in hand. "These were the only shoes I could find. So you can walk over this damn glass."

  I felt myself go warm, looked coyly away. I took the slippers, slid my erotically covered toes into them. He held out his hand, his chest gleaming and heaving behind the ripped buttons of his shirt.

  I looked once more at my name, LEORA, inked forever on his waist. Tonight, I thought. Because there was no night more perfect than tonight. There never would be a more perfect night. Chalet or not, sexy underwear or not. When two people love each other, it's always perfect. Real love. Hot love.

  We strode past the kitchen. Conall had turned the oven off.

  He eased me onto the lush white comforter on the bedroom, pressed a button so the fireplace would go on. Tonight the music would be made of the wind, our breaths, our gasps, my cries and his groans. The drums would be our skins slapping against each other; the guitar, my cries. The violins, that final release. The crescendo, the moment just before.

  I lay back. Conall stood, undid the last two buttons of his dress shirt that hadn't ripped, took it off. Sweat gleamed off him, mesmerizing me and making me all the more needy. I eased my soaking panties off. My insides were clenched and tight again as if we'd only just begun. He undid his buckle. I shot forward, my mouth dripping, hungry for him. I pushed his pants and boxers down in one movement, slid my open mouth over his manhood and bobbed and kissed him.

  Lion roars echoed against the wall as I handled him and pumped him and swallowed all of his size into me. He moved his pelvis. My saliva dripped on the ground. "Wait, wait!" he cried.

  He pushed me back, I opened my legs, my eyes on his naked body, this Statue of Zeus in front of me. My lips parted, my tongue went dry, and he eased himself above me. "Take it off," he said, referring to my lingerie. "Take it all off."

  I slid off my top. When he eased a finger inside me I stopped, trembled, melted and shuddered. "Sorry," he said. He took it out of me and I found my strength again.

  Then my stockings came off, the garter, all of it. "You don't like?" I asked.

  He paused, raised his eyebrows. "Does it look like I don't like?" He gestured with open palms to his hard-on. "I just want you as you are on our first time."

  Our first time... Oh, God. I went into a dream state. There could be no better first, and with no better person.

  Conall laid his naked body above mine. My legs surrounded his waist, knees up at the sky, wide open, ready for him. He lifted himself up and looked at me, looked me over up and down, grinning. "You're so fucking beautiful, Leora."

  I ran my hand down his muscled abs, grabbed his cocked and pulled gently once, letting the pre-come drip onto my navel. "And you," I said.

  He trickled a sizzling finger down my right breast, over the taut nipple, down to my stomach.

  "You ready?" he asked.

  My chest tightened, my eyes closed without will. Nervous tension clutched at me for no reason. I nodded.

  Conall moved his lips to my ear. "I love you," he said.

  "I love you, too." My right hand went to behind his head, waiting, waiting, waiting... I felt his butt with my left hand, smooth and hard. I pushed him down toward me, hinting for him to enter me, to finally take my virginity, because this is what I wanted, who I wanted it with. No matter what happened, he would be my first. I'd decided that a long time ago.

  His cock touched the inside of my nether lips, just the tip. I heard myself moan. My chin trembled. He touched the left lip below, then the right.

  Then he moved back suddenly. "I hate to ruin the mood, but you have been taking the pill every day, haven't you?"

  I cocked an eyebrow.

  "Sorry, just checking." He lowered himself back down onto me.

  There was a discernible pause in the ether of my mind. I felt all of me clench and tighten up. My eyes shot up to the ceiling. I held my breath.

  I waited.

  And then...he filled me.

  -3-

  "God, this is so beautiful," escaped the words from me.

  He rode me, gently, filling me and unfilling me, rocking his body into mine so that our motions combined into one, consummating each other in the most sublime, final form that two bodies can ever accomplish.

  Every thrust forced out a gasp from me. My body swayed underneath his. My hands eased themselves onto his shoulders, then his back, his hair, his nose, his lips. I
felt my own lips searching for him, hunting for his moisture and passion, kissing him as we united, back and forth, back and forth.

  The groans in my chest became louder, they became wails of human joy, clutching at all the pain my cells had felt in their history, sensing that this was an act of creation, of a new beginning.

  And still he rode me.

  My legs curled around his butt and then, instinctively, primordially, I snapped out of my reverie, and I ground my pelvis into him. And I rode him. We rode each other, ground our hips in swaying rhythm as the heat and pressure built inside us both, his groans following mine, mine following his, until they were indiscernible as separate entities, until we were one. Moaning, wailing, holding and grappling, sweat gleaming from our skins as our grips slid off each other's wet skins and the thrusts became harder, more powerful, stronger and deeper.

  "Oh, God. Oh, man. Oh, my baby." My head snapped back every time he speared me.

  And then I heard it, that sound I'd heard from Conall so many times before but never like this. Never as close as this. The moment just before, hanging off a cliff, teeter-tottering, ready to burst but not quite. His voice hummed, his skin shone, his manly sounds grew as his neck tensed and his brow furrowed.

  "Yes, baby," I said, my mind completely focused on him. I'd forgotten myself. Despite the burgeoning surge of emotion that was about to snap in me, I'd forgotten my own body. I'd forgotten my tensing legs, the tightness of his manhood inside me, rubbing me, scraping my tensile nerves so that they veritably burned with desire down below.

  "Come in me, baby. Come inside me." I stroked his hair and looked at him, examined every contour of his face.

  His chest muscles tensed, his eyes clenched, his jaw firmed up.

  Then he opened his eyes, looked me deep in mine.

  And he exploded.

  I felt it deep in me, spasming, thrusting, pushing so far inside me, so far for life itself. I flinched back, swallowed once as his tip caressed the very limits of my insides. He roared, shattered the windows with his growls, climbed the Swiss Alps and cried out from the top of them.

  I growled with him, joining him as my body forgot about its soul, forgot about its mind as I travelled up with him, writhing in ecstasy, feeling him impale me like there was nothing else, no one else, only us, now, together. One.

  We clutched each other as we both came. I bit into his massive traps, heat swarming up in clouds to my face from our mutual friction. We rocked, we ground.

  And then, together, we slowed.

  He swayed in me, and I held him. Held him by his shoulders as he continued to move inside me, gently, softly. I eased my legs from his back, let him move in and out and around me. But I clutched him with my arms still, never letting go, holding him, holding him while he moved.

  Our breathing became slower, but remained deep. Conall said nothing, kept his temple pressed to mine, still moving in and out of me. His left hand slid to my waist, my butt, caressed me, then to my belly button, and back up behind my shoulder. Again, now with his right hand, down to my butt-cheek.

  He lifted me, lifted me into him as he continued to rock himself in me. I was done, satisfied. Not satisfied with a smile but with something so much deeper as if all the world had disappeared and there had only existed this boat and the ocean of our bed...and our swaying.

  I felt him thrust again, thrusting into me as if we hadn't just completed. He thrust more. Sped up. My eyes shut, heard his breathing quicken, his manly moans deepen.

  He was going again, I could feel it.

  I held him, held him as he rode and began to get hard once more. His movements sizzled my fraught nerves down below. He clutched my own traps, lifted his head until my eyes met his.

  And then...he pumped me.

  -4-

  It lasted minutes. The movement was so fast. His pelvis pumped in a total blur in and out of my loosened areas because I'd already come and the tightening was gone.

  I saw it forming, his second orgasm, in his eyes.

  I rubbed his hair as my head slammed back and forth on the pillow from his motion. And when he started coming again, so did I, caught by surprise. Slowly, then faster.

  His shudders were uncontrolled, visceral, shaking and trembling inside me. My own were rapid, razor-sharp so that I whimpered and felt a momentary expulsion into the heavens as we came together for the second time, his orgasm lasting many seconds more than mine. But mine being no less beautiful as I watched him pleasure himself through me.

  His seed warmed me. Our mutual moisture crawled out of me, down my inner thigh. I clutched his butt, my ankles interlocked, pushed him into me even though now, finally, he was softening. And I moved, feeling him, sensing him.

  He kissed me, first on the lips, slow and gentle and wet and passionately. Then on my neck, my breasts, my right nipple, softer now, the right areola. He cupped my breast in his hand, squeezed it, buried it in his entire mouth. As he eased himself out of me, he moved down, kissed my abs, pecked my belly button, my pubis. His right hand slid between my legs, rubbed my moisture around me, massaged me gently. Then, with his hand still there, his fingers teasing the inside of me, he moved his head back up, eased himself onto my left side, and kissed me on the lips while he continued to massage me down below. Slowly, gently, in, out, around.

  He kept his hand there while we kissed. I put mine around his neck, kissed him back, my eyes now completely unable to open. I smelled him, us, the room. Rubbed my nose against the curls of his chest hairs.

  I rolled on top of him, straddled him, ground my pelvis and wet crotch over his own, rode him softly, sensually, worming my butt back and forth, grinding down, spreading my moisture on him. My hands were on his chest, tickling, teasing, fanning over his pecs and rubbing. I rode him slowly, deliberately. Rode him for a half an hour at least, saying nothing, smiling, my eyes mostly closed, opening only occasionally to see his own equally as shut. He smiled back, tickled and fondled my breasts, rubbed his hand against my waist, my clit... My clit again, and again, pressed a thumb inside.

  I gasped quietly, bit my lip trying to control myself, smiled at him as the heat began again to flush over my skin, opening my lungs to him. Every time he touched me below I sizzled, rolled my head back, thought of him again inside me. Eventually he was hard again. And then I grabbed his cock with my hand, let my hair drop in front of my face, put him inside me.

  And I pumped him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  -1-

  "I guess this is when people in the movies light up a smoke, right?" I said, my head resting on his right arm. We were both naked, looking up at the wooden ceiling, warm from the fires in the cabin and those that burned inside of us.

  Conall shrugged. "I do believe it is."

  I nestled my nose against his shoulder and neck, grazed my hand over his chest.

  "It's so good to see you," I said.

  He kissed my forehead.

  I appreciated that he hadn't asked the idiotic question of, So, how was your first time?

  But it was all I could think of, stuck in its reverie, its absolute perfection, replaying the moment of him entering me in my mind over and over again, feeling his warmth, his throbbing hugeness pushing up against me, filling me.

  "It was so much better than I'd expected," I said, half in a dream.

  Conall knew what I meant, but said nothing. He pulled me closer to him, hugged me.

  "It was...not like I expected at all. It was...wow...freaking amazing," I continued.

  "That's how it's supposed to be," he said, his eyes on the ceiling above, his fingers twiddling my hair aimlessly.

  I saw now that his mind was on something. As if he'd forgotten everything on seeing me but now life was encroaching again.

  I fished. "Everything OK?"

  His finger paused momentarily on my head, then continued. He cleared his throat. "Sure, um, of course it is." He got up, sat on the side of the bed. Looked out the sliding door at the dark blue mountains.

  My
eyes wandered to his massive back, the poem inscribed across it, thinking of how he'd said it was for me.

  I let him have his peace. He'd tell me when he was ready.

  My fingers moved over to his traps, trickled down his snaking muscles. He bowed his head, sighed, then turned to me and lay down, kissing me wetly and completely. We breathed together and my skin warmed once more. "I love you with everything I am. Do you know that?" he said.

  I watched him for a second before answering, my hand behind his neck. I wondered what could be bothering him, what secret he was keeping from me, probably 'to keep me safe.'

  "And I you," I said quietly, feeling the fear in those words. Sensing the importance of loving another so much that losing that person could mean the end of your own world.

  "So how's the skiing?" he asked, changing the subject.

  I paused for a second, decided I'd fight this battle later. "I hate skiing. I know every fashion store around here. I've made friends with all sorts of cheese-loving people, drank lots of Gluehwein, but don't get me out on those slopes, man. I suck at it!"

  He laughed. "So do I."

  "Really? I would've thought you spent endless winters here as a kid, pampered by your rich family."

  "My family never pampered. But I have spent time here, mostly for business."

  I remembered that he'd mentioned he'd be doing some business while we were here as well, but that he'd only be gone a few a hours a day. I saw my opportunity. "Business in the US okay?"

  He sat up and looked down at me, smirked. "You're sly."

  "Is it working?"

  He shrugged. "Let's eat."

  -2-

  "Great roast," he said, sitting shirtless across from me at the kitchen island. "I didn't know you could cook." He harpooned a piece of steamed broccoli, chewed it voraciously.

  I couldn't cook. I'd cooked and burned this meal four times before tonight. I wanted to do it for him and had practiced.

  I sat there blankly for a while, my eyes glued to his muscled body.

  "Yes?" he said.