Wanted: No Strings

by Brandy Ayers

  Dispensing with words for the time being, I let our bodies communicate for us: the slap of our bodies meeting echoes in the alley, panting and moaning escape even after I clamp my hand over her mouth to quiet them. It doesn’t take long for her second orgasm of the night to come fast and hard. Her whole body shakes in my arms as the pleasure bursts inside her. She bites my hand, and for some reason, that sting of pain is what sets me off, coming harder than I ever have before, straight into her pussy. Some hidden, calculating part of me wishes she were off birth control, that I could get her pregnant right now so she would be forced to stay with me for our baby’s sake. It is a sick thought, I know this, but that doesn’t make it any less hot.

  After every aftershock subsides, I pull out of her tight pussy, groaning and growing hard again when I see my cum drip from her used hole. It is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Slowly, I bend to pull her jeans back up her legs, redressing her as she slumps against the wall, totally spent. Once we are both decent, I sweep her into my arms in a bridal carry.

  “No, I can walk. I’m too heavy for you to carry.” Her voice is weak, and there isn’t a force in this world that could make me put her down.

  “Stop it. Let me carry you. Let me take care of you.” I’m not ashamed to admit my voice cracks a little at the end, my emotions raw and on the surface after the fucked-up night we’ve had. “Please, let me care for you.”

  Francie’s only response is to lean her cheek against my shoulder, nuzzling into the spot that feels as if it were made for her. I walk the five blocks to her apartment building, and she doesn’t even notice when I unlock her door with my own key. Or the newly upgraded security door and cameras in the alley. She’ll find out tomorrow she has a new landlord.

  Chapter Ten

  Francie

  My mind has been running nonstop since the alley incident, as I’ve started calling it. I’m so confused I’m starting to question every single decision I make. Oatmeal or Cheerios for breakfast? Well, oatmeal will keep me full longer. But the cereal box says Cheerios are heart healthy. My heart has been hurting lately. Maybe I should go with that? I can do with some heart healing right about now. Though I don’t think the makers of Cheerios intended for their tasty little Os be the cure for a mixed-up heart.

  It has been a week since my disastrous date and subsequent alley sex. After carrying me home, Trent and I silently cleaned up in the shower together, then crawled into bed and fell asleep within minutes. Sometime in the middle of the night, we both turned to each other and had the most intense, quiet sex. Words weren’t needed, only the slide of bare flesh against bare flesh. It felt like making love. But that scares the ever-loving shit out of me, so let’s just stick with sex for now.

  Since then he’s texted me every single day, sometimes jokes and memes, sometimes asking about my day. My first instinct was to text back every detail of my day, but I beat that down, instead ignoring the texts or sending short answers. My rapid attachment to this man is petrifying. The last thing I need is to become reliant on another man for my happiness. But he makes it impossible to ignore him.

  Meg is no help either. When I try to talk to her about everything, she just tells me to go on another date with Trent. One where we don’t end up banging each other’s brains out. But I don’t need to go on a date with him to know that we would have an amazing time. So much chemistry exists between us I already know a night spent with him would be one of the best of my life, in or out of bed.

  There doesn’t seem to be an easy answer. I can ignore the pull toward Trent and our invisible connection, continue to date and sleep with other men to satisfy my curiosity. But then I run the risk or hurting and losing Trent, which makes me physically ill. Or I can give in to everyone and everything telling me to run toward this strong man, to hold him close so he can’t escape. But that thought brings a different kind of panic. A kind of claustrophobia that grew over the eight years I was stuck in a stifling marriage to a petty man.

  But maybe there is a third option. Maybe I can explore my desires and curiosities while also exploring what Trent and I could have together. If there is one thing I’ve learned from the women I call clients, it is that I don’t need to give up who I am to be with the right man. And I truly believe Trent could be the right man.

  Which is why I am sitting in a bar, shredding the poor label off my beer. Okay, truth time? I am so nervous I might puke. I’ve been nursing this beer for the better part of an hour. It is one of those craft brews filled with fruity notes of something or other. I don’t know. But it barely tastes like beer, which is why I like it. It took me forty-five minutes to work up the courage to text Trent and ask him to meet me here. I’m going to pitch him my idea.

  I’m not sure how he will react.

  Just as I take the last sip of my now warm beer, a warm body smelling of sawdust and sweat slides onto the stool next to me. God, why does he have to smell so fucking amazing, even straight off a jobsite? He had wanted to go home and shower, but I insisted he had to come immediately. Otherwise, I might lose my nerve.

  “Hey there, angel. What was so important I couldn’t even wash the wood shavings from my hair?” There is humor in his voice, but also concern.

  I pull as much oxygen as possible into my lungs, getting a little woozy from the pure masculine smell of the man I can’t stop thinking about. “I’ve come to an important realization. You are pretty much perfect in every way. I know I’m an idiot for pushing you away and wanting to try dating other men. The other night with Joe, plus some conversations I’ve had with other guys online, has proved that you are one in a million. I knew that from the beginning, but I was so stuck in this idea that I shouldn’t settle down right after getting divorced. That I should be out there sowing my wild oats or something equally cliched.”

  The bartender interrupts my diatribe when he drops off another beer for me, even though I didn’t ask for it. I must just have that desperation hanging around me that begs for more alcohol.

  “Francie, I understand your reasons. I wish I could say I was sorry about the other night, for crashing your date, but I’m not. That guy was a major asshat. He didn’t deserve to even sit at the same table as you.” Trent sucks in a breath, obviously trying to even out his sudden burst of anger about Joe. His protectiveness makes me smile a little, though I try my damnedest to hide it from him.

  “I’m not sorry you showed up either. But Derek, my ex, was the first boy I ever dated, and that turned out to be a disaster. Now, only a year after separating from him, and weeks since officially divorcing, the first man I date is making me want to take that risk all over again. That scares the shit out of me.” Finally, I hazard a glance at Trent. It isn’t fair that he can look sexy even with paint-splattered clothes, his hair a complete mess, and a smudge of dirt down his jawline. But he does look sexy. I want to drag him to the nearest shower, clean him off, then get him dirty in a totally different way. “Part of the fear is that you will change after we’ve been together for a while.” Trent opens his mouth to say something, but I barrel on, knowing I need to get this all out now. “But a bigger part of the fear comes from the unknown. I’ve had all these fantasies when it comes to sex, but the two nights with you are the most adventurous my sex life has ever been. I don’t want to be old and wish I had experienced more. I want to be one of those old ladies who talk inappropriately about the time she sucked some guy’s dick while watching the latest Star Wars movie in theaters.”

  Trent laughs, but I can tell he isn’t laughing at me in a mean way but in a she’s-so-adorable way.

  “So, I have come up with a plan that I think might work. And I’m hoping you will go along with this plan, because there are things I need to explore before I can settle down or be in an exclusive relationship, or whatever the hell adults call the whole being boyfriend-girlfriend thing.”

  “Okay. Do you want to tell me about this plan?”

  The time has come to woman up, gird my loins, and tell this raging hot man
exactly what I need from him in order to move forward. Because the reality of the situation is I do want to move forward with Trent. To do that, I have to be embarrassingly honest.

  “I want to date you.” Trent smiles so big his white teeth almost blind me. “But I also want to see and experience things that might involve other people. I have made a sexual bucket list. Things I’ve read about. Things I’ve seen in porn. Things I’ve fantasized about. I want to explore them. With you. But also date. I don’t want this to just be sex. I want to see if we can be more. But I don’t want to regret missing out on the things I’m curious about. So, I propose for every normal date we go on, we also check off something from my bucket list. Not necessarily at the same time as dates, but just to keep things even and everything.”

  The blinding smile Trent had at the beginning of my explanation fades a little but doesn’t go away entirely. He seems to be truly considering what I’ve said. “Okay. I can understand that you want to experience new things. Especially given the nature of your marriage. Um, can I see this bucket list and we can talk about it more?”

  With shaking hands, I pull the folded-up piece of paper from my purse. I’ve been thinking about some of these things for years. Hell, some even before I got married. But this morning marked the first time I ever sat down and wrote them out. I thought I would feel like a deviant once I saw the stark black words against bright white paper. But I didn’t. I felt empowered. I am taking control, while also giving in to the possibility of something deeper with Trent. I trust him, even after our short time together. I know he will take this seriously, won’t judge me.

  Smoothing the paper out, I slide it facedown to Trent, as if it holds the secret code to disable a bomb or something. His fingers graze mine as he takes the paper from me, and I can see him actively trying to hold back a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

  Then he turns it over. Watching his eyes as they skim down the page, I bite my thumbnail, waiting anxiously for his thoughts. The beginning of the list is admittedly pretty tame.

  Make out for hours with no sex expectations, sixty-nine, role-play, get blindfolded, phone sex, spanking, masturbate in front of a man, watch a man masturbate for me.

  But as I warmed to the idea this morning, the list started going a little off the rails from there.

  Get covered in his cum, watch other people have sex in person, have people watch me have sex, rough sex, anal sex, double penetration, get tied up, tie someone else up, forced submission role-play, learn to deep throat, sex toys, threesome with two men.

  Altogether there are about fifty items on the list. They range from the most innocuous things that I assume most people in their early twenties have done, to things I know even my most adventurous of friends wouldn’t even consider. But the thing is, I have considered them. Even before starting my editing business, sex always fascinated me. But being a little shy about my body, I never felt comfortable asking for them. The few times I worked up the courage to ask for my ex to come on my tits or to try a new position, he would look at me as if there were something very wrong with my head.

  So maybe I’m testing Trent a little. Will he be okay with the list? Help me achieve the items on it? Indulge my wants and needs as much as his own? Or will he shut me down? Will he belittle me for the things I want?

  The longer he stays silent, looking at the list, the more I feel like a fool. I’m just about to snatch the paper back and tell him to forget it when he shifts in his seat. His hand disappears from the bar, and I know he’s adjusting that giant cock of his. That is a good sign, right?

  “Wow.” He takes the same hand that just made things downstairs a little more comfortable and runs it over his face. He looks up at the ceiling. Back at the list. Back at the ceiling. Signals for another drink. “I can’t decide if I’m happy you did this here, so I can’t maul you and cross a few things off the list, or mad because I can’t maul you and cross a few things off the list.”

  “Well, that is why I did it in public. We need to talk about this, not just screw each other’s brains out. Though, I’m not opposed to doing that after the talking.” I squirm a little in my seat as well, the pulsing between my legs getting stronger from just the knowledge that my list excites him in some way. “So, the list doesn’t freak you out?”

  Trent laughs a little, his eyes burning with humor and lust. “Freak me out? No. I’m not going to lie. I’m not crazy about everything on here. But most of it I am more than down for.”

  “What parts are you not a fan of?” I have a feeling I know which items he isn’t going to like. But I want to talk through them with him. Explain my reasoning.

  “I want to know how rough exactly you want sex. I’m down with a good hard fuck, but I don’t want to get too far into pain territory. Also, the forced submission stuff freaks me out a little. We would have to talk about that a lot before we even attempted something like that.” Shock must show on my face because he turns toward me with an earnest expression. “My top priority will always be your safety, so that is why those items are first on my list of concerns.”

  Swoon. Seriously, it feels as if my heart has just melted, along with my panties. “Okay, I don’t want pain per se. I just want to be manhandled I guess. A little biting, spanking a little harder than we did the other night.” I bite my lip, looking around to make sure no one is listening as Trent takes another sip of his beer. “Um, maybe a little choking?”

  Coughing and sputtering, Trent looks at me and his wide, shocked gaze locks with mine, but I can’t read what is going on behind those beautiful brown eyes. “Jesus, are you trying to kill me?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Trent

  I’m not sure it is physically possible for a pair of jeans to strangle your dick, but right now it feels as if my cock has decided to give it a shot. The image won’t get out of my head, no matter how hard I try. Me pounding into Francie’s pussy full tilt while my hand is wrapped around her pretty throat, not really choking her, just putting a little pressure there, reminding her who is in control.

  Goddamn, that is hot. “I can work with that, yeah.”

  I shift a little in my seat again, trying to give my dick some breathing room, but at this point, nothing is really going to help. Nothing but getting inside Francie.

  From the onset of this whole thing, Francie made it pretty clear she was curious about things of a kinkier nature. I mean, she did admit that she sometimes watched gangbang porn, though she insisted that she didn’t actually want to experience that. But looking down her list, I realize I underestimated how kinky she truly could be.

  “You know, there are things on this list that I haven’t done. Things I’ve never even put real thought into doing.”

  “I figured. And I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything you aren’t comfortable with.” Francie can’t stop fidgeting. The label on her beer is just a pile of scraps at this point, and I’m a little afraid she might bite her thumbnail down to the cuticle. “Is there anything on there that you really don’t want to do?”

  “I think you know there is. I’ve never been into sharing my partners, not even ones I didn’t have feelings for. The idea of sharing the woman I have a lot of feelings for with another man . . .” Red seeps through my vision at just the thought of another man touching Francie. I don’t think I could do that, even for her. “I want to punch whatever hypothetical man would be touching you in the way only I should be.”

  “I had a feeling you would say that.” The disappointment on her face is unmistakable, and I can’t help but wonder whether this is going to be a deal-breaker for her. “Would you feel the same way if it was another woman in the three-way with us?”

  “Yes, I would.” I picture it for a moment: Francie, me, and another faceless woman. I don’t feel quite as violent, but it still makes me uneasy even considering someone kissing what is mine. “I’m not going to lie and say I’ve never thought about what it would be like to have two women at once. It is a spank-bank s
taple for most men, myself included. But this isn’t about the gender of the parties involved. This is about me wanting to be the only person in your life who is bringing you pleasure. The only one taking care of your needs inside and outside of the bedroom.”

  Francie nods, staring unseeingly at her now empty and bare beer bottle.

  “Why a three-way? What about that in particular interests you?” If we hope to have even half a chance of making it together, I need to know everything. Maybe there is a way we can get the feeling of a three-way without having to actually go through with it.

  Even during what has to be one of the weirdest conversations I’ve ever had, I still can’t help but notice how beautiful the woman sitting next to me is. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a floor-length flowing cotton dress that is simultaneously sweet and sexy. I’m guessing she doesn’t have much makeup on, because a few small freckles are visible across her tan skin. She’s all soft curves, and I want to press her up against my hard edges, see how she molds to fit against me in the most perfect way.

  After a few long seconds, Francie finally turns to look me straight on. Since I sat down ten minutes ago, she’s mostly been avoiding making eye contact, instead giving me quick glimpses before turning back to her drink. But she seems to have gathered her courage and is now diving in headfirst.

  “I’ve read a lot of ménage romance books, and I know I couldn’t do a relationship like that, split my affections between two men. But the way they describe being filled up in every way possible, how intense it is, that intrigues me. But it isn’t just that.” Francie leans in a little more, looking around to make sure no one in this dingy little bar is listening. “But more than that, I want to know what it is like to be worshipped by men. To have multiple men dying to please me, but also wanting to get their pleasure from me. I know, on a psychological level, this particular fantasy probably stems from my marriage and the fact that Derek seemed to not care at all about my pleasure, and really didn’t seem to take much pleasure of his own in being with me. Just once, I want to be the focus of all the sexual energy of two men, if only to prove to myself that I’m worthy of that.”