But Sebastian did. ‘I won’t. I want you. Let me have you.’
A whimper breached Jean’s lips. ‘No-oo.’
The cock in my hand jerked hard, once, and then again. All the muscles in Jean’s body relaxed and he exhaled in a slow, low moan. Beyond Jean, Sebastian gave a long, pleasured sigh. His hand settled on Jean’s hip, lubed-smeared fingers digging into the white flesh.
I thought I’d be able to tell the moment Sebastian penetrated him. I thought there’d be lots of gasping and crying out, but I was wrong. It was the insistent throb of Jean’s cock that told me, and the single teardrop that trickled along the bridge of his nose and flashed in the lamplight.
‘Are you okay?’ I whispered.
Jean didn’t answer. He let go of Sebastian’s neck and transferred his grip to mine, pulling me to his mouth in a feral, careless kiss. And then I felt it. As Sebastian pulled back a little and pressed in again, slowly. And then again. Jean’s hips moved, stroking himself through the tight cave of my fingers, his soft gasps pushed between my lips.
A larger, slippery hand covered mine, tightening my grip around Jean’s cock, before letting it go and following the line of my arm up to my shoulder. And suddenly I didn’t feel so outside looking in, I was insanely turned on.
‘Fuck. You feel so good,’ panted Sebastian. ‘Am I hurting?’
Jean’s body was trembling; his breathing was shallow and quick. ‘Yes. No. Oh, don’t stop.’
‘More?’ Sebastian pushed himself up on one arm, and curled over Jean’s side, biting him softly on the shoulder.
‘Yes. God, yes.’
When my eyes strayed from Jean’s face, to Sebastian, I watched him move, undulate, sliding into Jean. Not deep, or fast, but gracefully, beautifully. With each thrust, he drove Jean’s hips up, over and over. Until Jean was gasping frantically, shuddering.
‘Come for us, Jean. For both of us.’ Sebastian’s voice was hoarse, deep. I could tell he was on the edge himself.
I tightened my hand, stroking against the rhythm of Jean’s hips. But I needn’t have bothered, because, just then, his frame twitched and froze and the first of a series of warm spurts spattered over my skin. He was crying out, sobbing, and clutching at me desperately as he came. And moments later, Sebastian sank into his ass and groaned with pleasure, before collapsing over Jean’s body in a limp, panting mess.
When it was over, I had all the blissed-out elation of orgasm without having had one. I could have come quick enough if I had touched myself, but I was glad I hadn’t. It had allowed me the gratification of watching and feeling them, without all the cloudy-headed and distracted drive towards my own pleasure.
After, Jean was kittenish, almost childlike. But it didn’t worry me. I remembered what my first, truly enjoyable fuck had been like – I had felt the same. Overtaken with a weird sort of innocence and nameless joy. Sebastian was everything a first-time boyfriend should be: affectionate, passionate and full of praise and, I think, more than a little blissed-out himself. He fell asleep with a self-satisfied grin on his lips, his nose nestled in the crook of Jean’s neck, and with his right arm flung possessively over my hips.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:
EDGE
I left my two unconscious princes sprawled in beastly luxury and enjoyed a solitary shower in Sebastian’s parents’ bathroom. It was exhilarating to walk through the rambling old house, still dark before dawn, wearing nothing but a towel. I remembered spotting the bags of clothes I had given over to Sebastian’s care in his workspace. I rummaged through one of them and pulled a pair of jeans and a t-shirt on, shivering in the chill of the unheated room. The day was breaking and inky purple streaked the sky. I sat in the kitchen, drank coffee and stared out the window into the snowy garden beyond.
There was a riot going on when I arrived at work. A huge rig had returned from a cross-country tour, and the road crew, who had probably driven through the night, was standing in front of the loading bay, swearing at no one in particular because the shop wasn’t open. I raised the bay doors quickly and, feeling guilty for having left them to wait in the cold, debased myself by brewing coffee as they unloaded the gear.
With the equipment to check off, the cables to test and the mics to clean, the day flew by fast. I lost track of time until, at three in the afternoon, my pocket began to vibrate. It took me a moment to remember what it was, then I fished my shiny new phone out of my pocket.
‘Ah, it’s the gentlemen of leisure,’ I joked.
‘Hello. I’d like to order a paid companion.’
‘How’s Jean?’ I heard shouting in the background, but it was too distorted to make out.
‘He says, and I quote, “Tell her it’s her turn next to bend over and take it like a man.”’
‘Lovely. What can I do you for?’
‘Well, it’s too late for breakfast. But you could do me for lunch.’
‘Seriously, it’s crazy busy in here. What do you need?’
‘Oh . . . specifically? I’m thinking we could start with some mutual oral servicing . . .’
‘SEBASTIAN!’
He sighed dramatically. ‘Will you call up your band members and invite them around to our house this evening? I have something to show them.’
‘Oh! Yes. Of course I can. What time?’
‘Say, sevenish? Drinks and a movie? Maybe some nibbles? Do you think I should mix martinis?’
‘Uh, they’re more like beer people, Sebastian.’
He gave another, even more dramatic sigh. ‘Why do you have to associate with such philistines? Okay, seven then.’
I was late and raced up the stone walkway. All the lights blazing on the ground floor and figures milled around in the living room. I had the feeling Jean had been waiting, building up a temper, just inside the front door. By the time I’d removed my finger from the bell, the door swung open and he met me with a look of exasperation.
‘Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you for an hour!’
‘And good evening to you, Mister Jean. You look absolutely fabulous. Like the chain mail vest! Medieval off the rack.’
He pulled at my jacket and ushered me through. ‘Don’t be silly. It’s not off the rack. It’s handmade by a dungeon-mistress in Seattle.’ But he liked the fact that I’d noticed and laced his fingers through mine as he pulled me into the living room.
The gang was, as they say, all there. Tom, Matt, Dave and Lindsey, and a very tall, decidedly sexy older man who, I guessed, was her partner. The guys looked vaguely uncomfortable, standing around with beer glasses in their hands. It might have had something to do with the fact that they normally drank out of bottles. But Lindsey and her beau were sipping something out of cocktail glasses. That, I thought, would please Sebastian greatly.
‘Where’s Max?’ I asked.
‘Who cares?’ said Dave and Matt simultaneously.
Tom gave them a look, then glanced at his watch. ‘He’s coming. He said he would . . .’
On cue, the doorbell rang, and everyone’s expression changed. As if the treasured family pet had farted.
‘I’ll get that!’
Jean stopped me. ‘Don’t be silly. You mingle. I’m playing hostess tonight.’
I followed him with my gaze as he left the room, wondering why he was suddenly doing the clubby queen thing. Then I remembered what Sebastian had said: limited roles.
‘So, you must be fucking him, because he couldn’t possibly be fucking you,’ muttered Matt, who had sidled up next to me.
It felt like a slap on the face. I rounded and glared at him. ‘What the fuck would you know? Actually –’ I mustered my rage, speaking low ‘– you don’t know. You couldn’t possibly know, because you’ve got the IQ of a slug. And, before you let the next ugly quip come rolling off your tongue, let me warn you. I will bitch slap you to the ground and kick the microscopic testicles you possess to a bloody pulp. Are we clear?’
‘So, it’s serious?’
‘Fuck you.’
‘Shira? Can you get a drink for Max?’ called Jean.
Ten minutes later, Sebastian summoned us into the workspace. All the tables had been moved out save one. A video projector sat on top of it, connected to a laptop. Other than a frozen abstract texture projected onto a sheet that had been draped over one of the bookcases the room was dark. It had the feel of a small, intimate performance space.
Once everyone quieted, Sebastian stepped out from a darkened corner and into the beam of the projector.
‘So, Shira told me you have an important gig coming up. I’ve listened to the songs, and given it some thought, and put together something I hope you will think does visual justice to your music.’
He aimed a remote at the projector and then stepped away. The screen darkened and the opening track to our demo CD began to swell and fill the room. The band’s logo slowly, fuzzily resolved in the centre of the screen. Then, just as the drums kicked in on the first track, the image on the screen burned to white, replaced with a syncopated deluge of images. Some abstract, some concrete, and some I recognized as the photographs he’d taken of Jean and I the night before. It was like watching our music made into light and shade. A stunning visual feast. I stood mesmerized, my eyes glued to the screen.
I felt a jostle. Jean nestled beside me, sliding his arm through mine. ‘Good, isn’t it?’
‘Oh. I don’t know what to say,’ I whispered back, my lips pressed his ear. ‘It’s brilliant.’
On my left, Sebastian draped an arm around my shoulder. ‘Will it do?’ he said, casually, as if the whole thing bored him.
I knew better. I elbowed him gently in the ribs. ‘You know it will do. It will more than do. It’s fucking perfect. Thank you so much, Sebastian.’
‘I would have used the shot of you impaled on my cock with my fingers up your ass, but I thought that might not go down too well with your lesbian following.’
I stared at him, horrified.
He smirked. ‘Joking.’
That was the night I fell in love with Sebastian. It wasn’t all the flirting or the hot sex. He’d done something – made something – special just for me. The back-projection reel seemed like recognition of the fact that I was more than a fuck or an inconvenient emotional burden that Jean had dragged into their relationship. In creating the video, he’d acknowledged me and the things I cared about. Was that superficial?
Later, I would think I’d been selfish, miserly in my affection and begrudging in my allegiance. But I admit, at the time, it was the gift of his creativity that persuaded me to suck up my fears and my inhibitions and give myself over.
After the last of my partners in musical crime had praised Sebastian’s video and departed, and over bowls of microwaved risotto and the leftover martini pitcher, we planned our late evening excesses like generals before a battle, or a group of CEOs strategizing a corporate takeover.
Jean saw it as plain old horse-trading. He’d allowed Sebastian to take his ass and now it was his turn to take mine.
‘That’s a little bloodless. I don’t think you can tit for tat anal sex,’ I protested.
‘To be honest, your tits don’t really interest me all that much.’
I looked over at Sebastian, hoping for some support. He shrugged. No comfort there.
Switching my focus back to Jean, I decided to say what was on my mind: ‘Admit it, you don’t like my vagina either.’
‘I love you, Shira.’
‘Admit it!’
He fidgeted and looked down at his empty bowl. ‘Well, I find it a little alien.’
‘Great. You don’t like my tits. You don’t like my cunt. So basically, everything that makes me a woman.’ It was hard to keep the hurt out of my voice. ‘But I am a woman, Jean.’
‘I let Sebastian fuck my ass. Does that make me less of a man?’ said Jean defensively.
‘You know,’ interjected Sebastian, ‘it occurs to me that we’re hung up on parts and gender here. I don’t think the genitals we have or what we do with them should determine who we are.’
Jean and I stared at him. It took me a few moments to take that in.
‘But . . . I am a woman. I have female parts.’ It sounded repetitive and whiny, but I was feeling rejected. ‘I don’t simply dismiss your dicks as an inconvenience and overlook them.’
The worried look on Jean’s face informed me that he felt perhaps he’d gone too far. ‘It’s not that I hate your vagina. I just don’t feel all that comfortable around it. Maybe I will someday, but I don’t now. I can relate to your ass better. That’s the honest truth.’
‘Damn, I wish I had a cock,’ I muttered.
‘Me too,’ sighed Jean.
I couldn’t hold Jean’s lack of interest in my womanly parts against him. It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t been brought up on a steady porn diet of splayed beaver and double D sized tits. And in a way, that’s one of the reasons I loved him so much. There was no point in being offended. The question was, could we all find new ways to be together? Could we bring ourselves to bed and find a way to bridge the gaps of our anatomy? I was starting to understand what Sebastian had said.
‘I could get a strap-on,’ I offered.
Jean raised a finely arched eyebrow and licked his lips. ‘Oh, you could! Now, how would you feel about that?’
I rolled the idea around in my head for a moment. ‘I think they look stupid, but sure. I could see my way past that.’
Sebastian cleared his throat. ‘I think we’ve digressed. Back to your ass.’
‘What about it?’
‘Why don’t you tell us why you’re so averse to anal sex? We know what Jean’s hang-ups are. What’s yours?’
Dismissing Jean’s childhood sexual trauma as a hang-up struck me as a little blithe, but I let it pass. It was time to be honest.
‘It’s icky,’ I said, flatly.
‘Icky?’ Sebastian looked amused.
‘Unhygienic.’
‘Oh dear,’ muttered Jean. He glanced at Sebastian, who nodded. The expression they both turned on me was, to say the least, patronizing.
‘What?’
Pursing his lips, Jean interlaced his fingers and leaned forward. ‘You don’t surf the net a lot, do you?’
‘I didn’t own a mobile phone until yesterday, Jean. So no. Not extensively. Certainly not in pursuit of the pleasures of taking it up the butt.’
‘Will you do the honours or shall I?’ asked Jean primly, his head tilted towards Seb.
‘You’re the one who doesn’t like her pussy.’
‘All right.’
I was glancing from Jean to Sebastian and back, trying to make some sense of what the hell was going on. ‘Oh for God’s sake! Will someone spit it out?’
Jean smiled at Sebastian. ‘I think this might be better discussed . . . just entre-nous.’
He groaned and slid off his seat. ‘This is me leaving my own kitchen again. Second time this week. One day, I’m going to need a passport just to get in here.’
But Jean just dismissed him with the flick of a well-manicured hand. The secrecy and intrigue were freaking me out. Jean swivelled to face me directly, which did nothing to quell my apprehension.
‘What? What is it?’ I pleaded.
He inhaled and let out a purposeful breath. ‘Miss Shira. Let’s talk about sex.’
‘Okay,’ I said nervously.
‘Ass sex.’
‘Right?’
‘It’s generally thought polite to prep for it.’
‘Prep for it? How do you fucking prep for it? Drink until you’re unconscious?’
‘Hygiene-wise. You – ah – you cleanse yourself beforehand.’
I found myself at a loss for words. Instead, I blushed. Why didn’t they teach you this sort of stuff in sex-ed? As close as Jean and I were, as much as we delved into the finer points of personal grooming, this was over the line and way into the too much information zone. Except, of course, it wasn’t. It was information I needed. I just desperately wished it we
re anyone else in the world telling me.
‘Oh God! I’m so dense,’ I groaned, dropping my head to the counter and covering it with my arms. ‘Oh, shit!’
‘Well, yes, precisely.’ Jean giggled. It was catching. We cackled like the witches from Macbeth.
‘Okay, okay. So, what do I do? I mean, not in detail,’ I rushed to add. ‘Just give me the overview.’
After he’d run through the basics with me, I was torn between wanting to claw my way into a deep dark, but thoroughly flushed crevice, and feeling a good deal more informed and prepared.
It also meant that, at least temporarily, I was off the hook. ‘Well then, it’s off for tonight, because I don’t have anything like that. I’ll have to pick something up tomorrow at the drugstore.’
Jean smiled blandly. ‘There’s at least five disposable kits in the cabinet in Sebastian’s bathroom. Under the sink.’
I felt stricken, my mouth went dry. ‘I guess I’d better go do that now.’
Again, Jean smiled. But this time, there was a naughtiness and a warmth to it that went some way to calming me down. ‘You know, it’s generally not necessary. And you’d probably be fine without doing it. But if it’s the “icky” aspect that’s scaring you, that’s your solution. No muss, no fuss.’
‘Also . . .’
The perfect eyebrow arched again. ‘Hmm?’
‘Please don’t hurt me.’
His face broke into a huge grin. He slid off the stool, came around to my side of the counter, and wrapped me up in his arms. ‘Oh, Shirakins, I’d never, ever hurt you. And –’ he cupped my face and looked into my eyes ‘– I’m going to repeat exactly what Sebastian said to me. I want this because I want to possess you, in the way I know how. I want you to be mine.’
My heart melted into a puddle of chocolate ice cream: sweet, sticky and muddy in the bowl. I kissed him with all the gratitude and tenderness I felt in that moment. In all the ways I could think of to say that I loved the idea of being possessed by him. I wanted very much to be his.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:
Beautiful Losers (Modern Erotic Classics) Page 19