Falling: A Love Story

by lesley,allyn

  Chelsea opens up for me like a blooming flower, giving me a taste of her sweet nectar as I ease into her. The feeling is too much, being inside her after all these years. She shouts my name, her orgasm coating me, but I need more. I shift, swirling inside heaven, dying a little, because I know she’ll leave me again. She follows me, muttering words too low for me to hear, tightening around my cock again as she falls off another cliff.

  My brain screams for more. I slip out of her body, ripping her underwear from her body then diving between her legs, drinking from her. She moves in rhythm, meeting each lick on her clit and pressure from my fingers inside her with moans that fill my heart and cock.

  The pistoning pace is exacting, but I need this. I need to see it and desperately need a taste of it. That will really make her mine, if only for a while. Her walls clench my fingers as my lips leave her clit. Her spongy g-spot can’t get away from my fingers, even if her lower half tries. When she comes, it coats my lips and the bed. A victorious growl leaves my throat. She writhes and makes mewling noises.

  With her taste on my tongue, I invade her body again, going as deep as she’ll let me... as deep as she can handle. When she leaves, she’ll have this memory with her. Her small hands cup my ass, pulling me into her. The tightening coil starts in my lower stomach.

  “Damn,” I moan out. It’s like her pussy is my kryptonite.

  Both legs trap me between her thighs. The falling is inevitable and welcomed. Every morsel of what I have and who I am, I give to her. I’m left empty and filled at the same time, because this is Chelsea. I’ve come to the realization this may be how it is for me with her, for however long she allows me to be with her. My orgasm has me seeing planets, moons, and the fucking stars. My toes curl like I’ve only heard happens to women when they’ve experience intense pleasure. My body is jerky, still pumping into her, and I feel her reach for me, kissing my lips. I lay on top of her, emotions smashed to hell and out of breath.

  There’s a certain wonder and surprise in her murmured, “Holy hell,” when she joins me at the bottom of the cliff. I roll off her, not bothering to hide my feelings, pulling her to my side.

  “Don’t leave me, Chels.” I don’t bother to say again because her snores are her only response.

  A groan leaves my mouth. I do my morning ritual: rub my face, scratch my chest, and palm my dick.

  I’m not surprised by the cold spot that should’ve been filled with Chelsea’s form. Déjà vu is a motherfucker and pummels my heart like a hammer. Deciding not to get up to see whatever shitty good-bye she’s penned this time, I burrow into the pillow, inhaling the remnants of her scent.

  Then, another scent hits my nose.

  Is that bacon? Then I hear music. I haul on my discarded shorts, letting my nose lead the way. What I find makes me fucking ecstatic. The loud music playing from my speakers covers my heavy footfalls on the wooden floor. She’s whipping up what smells like burnt eggs, and gently swaying to our song from the reception.

  She didn’t leave me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I’m sorry about the eggs,” Chels says for the fourth time since we’ve sat down in my dining room.

  This is the first time I’ve been inside this room, always opting to eat in front of my flat screen or at the island that separates the kitchen from the living room. I wave away her apology, taking in how the early afternoon sun shimmies over her skin.

  “And, the bacon.”

  The orange juice I’m trying to swallow spews from my mouth and onto my shirt that she’s wearing. She rushes over to me and knocks on my back while laughing. There’s not much left of her ‘surprise breakfast for lunch’ she made as her thank you for yesterday.

  “Still don’t know how to cook, eh?”

  Her hand gentles to a soothing circular motion, rubbing my back. “I know how to make a mean pot of ramen noodles.”

  I smirk over my shoulder at her. “Do I look like I eat ramen noodles?” I crane my neck, giving her room to massage the muscles.

  “Excuse me, oh great chef with money to burn.” She laughs, kneading my flesh. “That’s all us college kids can afford.”

  That’s right. She’s still in college.

  I pull her around, so she straddles me. Embarrassment punctuates my words. “How old are you?”

  Her smile is radiant. “I’ll be twenty come August nineteenth.” I add that to my mental calendar with a circle around the date. She adjusts her lower half, leaning back. “How old are you?”

  “Just turned twenty-six on July tenth.”

  I know so little about this woman, yet I feel like I know so much at the same time.

  “Nice. I like older men.” She grins slyly. “They know how to fuck.”

  I’m back to choking. When I recover, I ask, “Do you do that on purpose?” I brush my hand over her cheek then smooth out the confusion that wrinkles her forehead. “You look so innocent that when you do or say something opposite, I’m thrown for a loop.” I’m fighting to make heads or tails of which is the real Chels. Is she an ingénue, or a femme fatale? She swings so effortlessly, like a pendulum between the two extreme traits. “You confuse me,” I admit, but I don’t tell her she also keeps me on my toes. I don’t tell her she scares the fuck out of me... when she’s near and far from me. I look at her checking me out as if it’s the most natural thing. “Who are you?”

  Now, she’s the one who waves my question away as if it doesn’t make sense. “Let’s do it again before the real world tells us to stop.” She begins to unbutton the shirt that looks better on her than me.

  It’s not that simple. Nothing for me with her is ever that simple.

  My hands still hers. “Eight months ago, you told me where you stood.” My gaze bores into her soul, trying to get a read on her. “And, I agreed with you.” I let you go, I silently communicate, capturing her hands and holding them hostage over my pulsating heart. She probably doesn’t know she controls every beat it takes.

  Chels’s shoulders slump forward, and the ingénue is back in full force, all shy and modest. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  Give me answers. Give me something. “What do you want? You’re telling me you want a fuck buddy?” Tell me no, damn it. Because I want more... at least, I’d like to try something more with her. The invisible chasm widens between us when I hear the pent-up breath she exhales and see her tighten her lips as if she’s doing the same with her resolve.

  It hits me then. She’s me, how I used to be, always on the prowl for a no strings-attached fuck.

  “Isn’t this what you’re used to?” She pulls her hands from me, pushing the shirt apart and revealing her twin gems to me. And, the femme fatale is back with her move. My body responds just the way she wants. She wiggles on top of my hardened cock. “I don’t want to think about anything. You promised you’d make me forget. Just do what comes natural to you until I leave.”

  It doesn’t miss me that she never specifies the duration of this ‘forgetting’. Is it until she leaves my condo, or when she returns to SUNY Albany?

  My mouth opens with every intention to tell her, ‘Get dressed,’ but my fucking body betrays me, as do my hands. I fool myself into believing I can just fuck her and be okay. Her fingers travel up my stomach, roaming over the myriad of tattoos she sees littering my chest.

  “You’re a gorgeous man, Dyllan Sterling,” she says as soon as she settles on the ink that had shocked her a few years back: the eight inch ‘Suck my cock’. Her nail slowly curves along the edge of each letter, scraping my skin and making goose bumps appear over my body. “I want to try what this one says.” Before I can stop her, she lowers herself between my opened legs, unzipping my shorts. “Do you ever wear underwear?”

  Before I can answer that, her lips wrap around my cock, and all conscious thought flies out the window. Her head bobs up and down, tongue gliding over me like an expert. Her hand pumps where her mouth can’t reach. My ass sinks deeper into the chair’s cushion, eyes rolling to
the back of my head as I feel nirvana close in, and all because of a seductress named Chelsea Robinson.

  I’m so turned on by the slurping sounds and the occasional gagging that my dick turns to granite. I feel it coming. The same it that had my toes curling last night. I pull back with all my might, or as much strength as I’ve got left in me with Chels giving me the best head I’ve ever gotten in my life. Her mouth is like a suction cup, compelling me to stay in place. I’m not sure which I’m now more addicted to: her warm, juicy mouth, or her tight pussy. But addicted is this man to the woman kneeling in front of him.

  “I’m coming,” I kinda yell out, gently tugging on her hair and giving her the signal to move away.

  She doesn’t. She swallows every drop. I’m a boneless body. When I can, I look down at Chels, threading my fingers through her hair, cradling this mysterious beauty who’s got me hook, line, and sinker.

  Her bottom lip is trapped by her teeth, and her cheeks are rosy, like her glistening lips. Her eyes find my hardwood floors, muttering, “I saw that on a porn site.”

  I guess my shy girl is back.

  She’s telling me she’s not a dick sucking professional, and her education comes from honest curiosity. I laugh, trying to put her at ease, and she looks at me with a tentative smile. I realize I’ll always give her the benefit of the doubt. Had another woman said what she had, I would’ve never believed a solitary word.

  But, this is Chels. The one I never knew I wanted. The one I’m falling for, even as I desperately try not to.

  “How about round six of making Chels forget?” I stand us up and decide to grant her wish. I’ll take her to a place where there’s no need to think, and then I’ll watch her leave me behind. It’ll gut me, but I’ll do it, because this is my Chels.

  If she only wants a fuck from me, then she’ll get it. Her grip on my hand is unsure, as if she can’t believe where I’m leading her at the moment. My bedroom door closes with a loud bang, and before she can wipe any residual come from her lips, I have Chels trussed up: legs wrapped around me, with her back to the wall.

  “Is this what you want?” Is this all you want?

  “Y—”

  I don’t want or need to hear the rest of her word. I shut her up by attacking her neck. She may want to forget the shit going on in her life, but these hickies I’m putting on her body will remind her of me. I move down to her breasts, sucking each of them in my waiting mouth. Her hands weave through my hair, and she tries to pull my face up for to kiss me, but I evade her lips. I’m saving that for when I tell her good-bye. Her shirt is on the floor, along with my shorts, and the bed is her refuge now. My tongue slides, dips, and tastes every part of her body.

  Her navel beckons me. Her hipbone tempts me. My tongue leaves a wet path along the curvature where her lower stomach and her trimmed pussy hair meets.

  “Taste me, Dyllan,” she begs, parting her thighs.

  Not yet. I flip her over. Her back is long and smooth. Getting behind her, I drag her into a position I’ve dreamed about her in for a long time: ass up, head down.

  “If you could only see what I’m seeing,” I murmur, appreciating the lushness before my eyes. One of my fingers glide from the base of her neck along her spine. Her body curves inward with my action, making me harder. My body molds into hers, masculine meeting feminine.

  I slide down farther, nuzzling the dimples right above her ass, tonguing as I go.

  “Dyllan,” she screeches, giggle-moaning when she feels my tongue between her cheeks.

  I was unsure at first, but just like everywhere else on her body, even here tastes good. I run my tongue over her rosebud, circling the forbidden hole while my fingers rub her clit.

  “O-oh,” she stammers.

  You won’t forget this, I think wickedly when I hear her moan. I delve deeper between her ass cheeks. I come up for air, slapping one of them. “You like this?” She pushes back, and that’s all the answer I need. I line my cock up to her glistening pussy lips, entering heaven nice and slow. She pushes back on me, and I slip farther inside Chels’s warmth, groaning in the process. I rest my wet thumb just at her entrance, teasing it with taps as I pull out of her tight walls. She twists her hips just as my cock eases inside.

  “D-Dyllan.” She pushes back into me with a deep groan and lets me know my dick is making her stutter like that.

  Using both my hands, I spread her ass cheeks which gives me a prime view of the two of us. I moan then pull out of her clenching pussy, liking how my cock shines with her desire. I slide back inside her heat. It’s warm, wet, and tight. So fucking tight, my balls scream. I move her hair to the side, and the tattoo glares at me. I nibble at the base of her neck while sliding into her, searching for the blissed-out feeling only Chels ever gives to me. “Tell me about the tattoo.”

  She keeps up with me, meeting each of my thrusts. Our wet, slapping sounds almost pull me under too early.

  “Huh?”

  “This.” I tap my finger on the ink, flexing my hips into her. I look down where our bodies meet, and seeing her coating my cock is almost too much. My hands tighten on her waist, not wanting to leave her body.

  “It’s... a...” Chels groans, fisting my sheet in her grips. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” Her hips swivel into me. “A date.” She shifts her hands up to my headboard, holding on for dear life.

  I hit a sweet corner, and I feel the telltale coil, twisting tighter, and a deep yearning to come is close. “A date?” Another guttural moan leaves my lips when I feel her taut muscles around me. Sweat drips from me onto her back.

  “Co-coming.” Her upper body drops to the bed. “I’m coming again, Dyllan.” She never stops moving with me, breathlessly telling me, “Our first time.”

  I pull out, coming on her lower back and screaming Chels’s name at the top of my lungs. I fall asleep playing with her hair, still marveling at her surprising confession. She marked her body with the date she gave herself to me.

  Well, shit!

  It’s been a few days since I’ve seen Chels. Right after we’d gone another round and showered, we got a call that Emma was out of the coma. Before we’d even left my condo, I felt the change between us. She’d gnawed at her lips like she was a naughty child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. When we’d reached the hospital, the Chels who asked to ‘make her forget’ was nowhere around and was replaced by Chelsea... closed-off and solemn.

  On one hand, I was glad the phone call had come, but on the other hand, it was a harsh reminder of her prophetic words about the interruption from the real world. By the time we got to Emma’s bedside, it seemed to me that she had come to some kind of conclusion, transforming into the docile woman who quickly snapped to her mother’s side with one glare from Laura. I smiled at JC, who held Emma’s hand, and then not much longer said my good-byes. No need for me to hang around a place where my feelings would be trampled on like they didn’t matter.

  A whistle nearby breaks through my melancholy memory.

  “Incoming, boss,” one of the mechanic yells.

  Right after EC’s run-in with his crazy ex-girlfriend who told him about her abortion in front of a garage full of workers, my brother came up with this code of using whistles for unwanted visitors of the female persuasion who show up here from time to time. The whistle gives us enough time to duck and hide. I can’t run, not with this Maserati in front of me that must show up at a photo shoot in two days.

  “Can we talk?”

  Chels’s request is straightforward. Her kind of gruff tone tells me ‘no’ isn’t an option she’ll accept. I know there’s a grimace on my face, because she looks taken aback when I lower the car’s hood. I point to the staircase, and she follows me up to my office. I let her walk ahead of me once I open the door then inhale a deep breath away from her scent that drives me mad.

  When I get inside, she’s wringing her hands with her sight cast to the floor. I guess today I’m getting a skittish Chels.

  “I can’t do this.”<
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  Mentally, I roll my eyes. Fuck my life. “Can’t do what exactly?” I should keep my mouth shut, or tell her to get the fuck out of my office and out of my life, but I’m sick and tired. Of missing her. Of thinking of her. Of basically having a piece of her, but never ever coming close to capturing the whole woman. “Can’t do what?” I hiss out. “Can’t fuck me with no strings? Because guess, what? You did that just fine days ago? Or maybe it’s that you can’t go another day talking to me? But wait, we already don’t talk. So bring me up to fucking speed as to what can’t the great Chelsea Robinson do specifically?”

  Yeah, I’m ranting like a woman, even threw my hands up in the air too, but I don’t give a fuck. Like I said, I’m sick and fucking tired. She jumps back then finds her footing only to stand, a little wobbly, across from me as if she’s surprised by my outburst and don’t know what to make of it, or me.

  But, I’m the one who’s always surprised by her!

  She’s wringing her hands still, as if she’s really distressed. The color in her cheeks is heightened like she stayed in the sun too long since the last time we saw each other. “I thought I could do this.”

  “Chelsea,” I grate out through my teeth. Because I really don’t have time for this. I’ve orders to deliver, papers that need my signature, and still about another six hours of fucking work left before I can go home and forget that I listened to her low plea in the hospital of: ‘take me away from here’. Yeah, I don’t have time for this. I open my mouth again, but she holds up her hand in my direction, pausing my soliloquy.

  She begins pacing. “I wanted to act the way I assume you act with all those other women and how you were with me. I lied.” Like the restaurant, her brown eyes are directly on me. “I lied at condo,” she tells me, opening up to me. “I want you. And not just as a...”

  “Fuck buddy?” I ask just to be clear, or to make sure she’s certain with her declaration.

  One of her hands sweeps through her hair, ruffling her curls. She looks at me as if I understand what she wants. I do, but I need her to say it out loud. I remain silent. A groan that sounds frustrated leaves her lips, and I do my best not to laugh. I think she mutters something like, ‘He’s going to make me say it.’