by Aria Ford
She had big nipples, firm and hard, and I loved the feel of them stiffening in my lips. This wasn’t a painted actress—this was a real woman, and I loved the scent and feel of her and the way she whimpered as I teased her.
My other hand caressed her breast and she let me touch her, drawing the nipple out between finger and thumb and stroking it. I could have stayed there all night except that the scent of her was calling out to my body, making me want more of her. And more.
I pushed her back lightly and she landed on the bed with a thump. She giggled breathlessly. I joined her. Her trousers were tightly fastened, and I worked at the zipper, drawing the cold, wet fabric away. Then I looked down. Her lacy panties matched the bra, a surprisingly feminine set after the more boyish way she dressed. I could smell the musk of her, and I wanted more than anything to bury my face in her sweetness.
I drew the panties aside and she gasped. I sat up.
“Okay down there?”
“Mm.” She nodded. Closed her eyes again. “Yes.”
“Good.” I moved slowly, so as not to do anything she wouldn’t like, giving her plenty of warning. This was largely new territory for me—I’d gotten used to women who knew more than I did about sex, for goodness’ sake. I listened to her breath as I kissed my way down her body, pausing when I reached the sweet indent of her navel.
“Yes?” I whispered.
“Mm.” She moaned and the sound spoke such longing that I knew it was okay. I moved between her thighs and parted them gently. I was shivering as I smelled her and then licked her, lapping at her clit and making her moan and shake. She was jerking and crying out as I sucked her and she gave a cry that made me know I’d made her climax. Good.
When I looked up the expression on her face was stunning. She was a beautiful woman, with those big gray eyes and that full mouth. And her hair, drying out now, was a soft brown that was closer to blond than black, a pretty color. I felt proud to have satisfied her the way I evidently had.
“Oh…” she moaned, her eyes flashing open as I shifted position and began, urgently, to undress. She sat up and reached out a hand, running it down my chest slowly. I smiled.
“You are sure this is okay?” I asked. Not that I wanted to do anything differently now—when I took off my pants my manhood was throbbing and thick and it was all I could do not to explode when I touched it.
“Yes,” she whispered. She lay back down again as I came to kneel beside her. “Yes.”
***
What could I say about that night? I had no idea. I only knew that I had never felt so wonderful. I looked at Scott where he knelt beside me on the bed and my whole body melted when his eyes looked into mine.
“Yes?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
Then he was positioning himself between my knees, sliding inside me. I gasped. He was so big, so full, so firm. He filled me up, grazing over all the special places inside me. When he moved, I felt something I had never felt before. Absolute longing.
I was shivering and shivering as he thrust inside me and there was nothing like it as he knelt up and made deeper, slower thrusts, each one pushing right into me. I would have expected pain—he was bigger than I was used to and he was moving firmly—but there wasn’t any. My body wanted his. I was ready for him.
I didn’t think it was possible for me to come so regularly. But as he moved inside me, his body knowing and his scent and sounds reaching right inside me.
As I cried out, so did he. Then he collapsed.
We lay like that, my arms holding him, him buried in me, our bodies relaxed, until I woke.
We were both cold and shivering, so we scrambled into bed. It was far too late by then for anyone to do anything besides sleep. So we slept.
CHAPTER FIVE
Scott
I dragged myself out of bed the next morning with immense regret. I slipped out, leaving Jackie sleeping, and went to the shower. I wanted to stay where I was, to explore further the absolute amazing gift she seemed to have for making me feel awesome. But I couldn’t stay.
As I cleaned myself in her shower, I recalled the night before. It was incredible. Thinking about her made me hard again so I stopped thinking about her. I finished in the shower and tiptoed out of the bathroom, the towel wrapping me.
“Jackie?”
She was still fast asleep. In repose, she could have been eighteen. Her face was smooth and unlined in sleep, her plush lips parted as she breathed. I felt my loins ache and bit my lip. I couldn’t wake her.
It’s Saturday and you need to get back. Besides, it’s weekend. Let her sleep: you don’t know if she’s sick or not, for pity’s sake.
I felt bad. I should have brought her up to her apartment, stayed with her until she called the doctor, and then politely left. I was an asshole. I stayed here, took advantage of her and then forgot she was ill. She collapsed in the hallway, for pity’s sake! That was why I’d stayed.
I looked down at her, wondering what I should do. I didn’t want to wake her. I should just slip away quietly. I reached out to touch her, then thought better of it. Pulled up the coverlet and left her asleep. I grabbed my things from where I’d left them—luckily I’m neat-minded, and I’d left them all on the floor in a small pile by the bed—and slipped out into the sitting room to dress. Left the towel where I’d found it and continued on—less chance of waking her if I dressed in the sitting room.
I buttoned my shirt, checked my hair in the small mirror over the dining table. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great either. Besides, who was going to see me before I got home?
Then, with a mixture of regret and guilt, I slipped out of the door and silently away.
I was sitting behind the wheel of my i8, thinking about her and the evening before, when I groaned.
“You idiot, Scott.”
I should have woken her. Should have thanked her. Should have at least said something! It was wrong to just slip away. But what could I say to her? Thank you for letting me take advantage of you when you were sick and helpless? Thank you for the most amazing sex of my life thus far?
You can’t say anything, Scott.
On the surface, I’d done all I could do. I’d run away. I put my foot to the gas and headed out into the street.
The traffic got heavier as I neared the center of town, then thinned off as I headed in the other direction, driving through the business district and through the suburbs until I got to the one where I lived. Leafy, green and tranquil, it was a far cry from where I’d been. All the same, as I headed up in the elevator to my stylish, penthouse apartment, I couldn’t help thinking of the other night, in the small, rattling elevator where I’d kissed her.
I wish I understood what the heck happened. It was the most remarkable thing of my life.
It was going to remain one of the mysteries of my life. The best mystery, admittedly. But a mystery nonetheless. Back at home I changed my clothes, did the laundry, had breakfast. I was ravenously hungry and remembering why made me smile. I always was hungry after a night like that.
Not that I ever had a night like that. Not exactly.
I couldn’t have said what it was that made that night so remarkable. It was just…her. She was natural and down to earth and trusting. Everything I’d never had before in a life that was, I must admit, contrived.
I sat down on the white-leather couch and opened my laptop, checking my emails. There was one from work, finalizing the details of the meeting on Monday. I scanned through it, awed at how quickly the details of my everyday life had become secondary.
Who cares about meetings, stocks, shares? I want to be with her. All I want to do is sit here and remember that night.
I laughed at myself. I had so much to do, so much to think about. I couldn’t let myself get lost in memories of a night that, though remarkable, would never happen again.
“Come on, Scott,” I told myself harshly. “Get busy. Do work. You’ll forget.”
I didn’t.
I u
npacked dishes and took the laundry out of the washing machine and tidied things. I checked my slide presentation for Monday and watered the cactus and cleaned up. I went to the gym. Everything I tried to distract myself with only brought me back to memories of her. Even in the gym, it seemed as if my body itself held memories of her, each little pull in my muscles—stiff from the cold and soaking weather the night before—reminded me of exercising the previous evening. With her.
I found myself in the shower with a silly grin on my face, thinking about her breasts. This just wouldn’t do.
“You know, Scott,” I told myself crossly, “you need to go out.”
I decided to call a friend.
“Hey! Art?”
“Scott! How’s life?” a happy voice replied on the other side of the phone.
“Not bad,” I said mildly. I hoped he hadn’t noticed the warmth in my voice as I said that—it surprised even me. This girl might have confused the hell out of me but she’d clearly made me happy as well. “I was wondering if you had lunch plans?”
“Why not?” he said. I could hear he was smiling too. “Let’s meet at Artichoke.”
“Great.”
As I drove to our favorite restaurant—a new concept place a block away from where we worked—I found myself thinking about the fact that Art and I were both free on the weekend. Neither of us had families, while some of my buddies actually did. I am twenty-nine, I thought with some surprise. I guess a lot of people my age are thinking about that stuff.
Seeing Art banished such serious topics from my mind. A skinny accountant of medium height with a crooked smile and masses of curly hair, Art was a great friend ever since we met five years ago. Now, he sat in the usual place in the restaurant, grinning manically up at me. I took in a deep breath, reassured by the sight of him.
Just what I need now when I’m so confused.
“Hey!” I greeted him.
“Hey!” he smiled up at me with that skittish grin he always has, a bit like he’s permanently wired, except I know he’d never touch drugs. He doesn’t drink or eat meat either. I look up to him for that.
“How’s life?” I asked, sitting down opposite him at our usual table.
“Great,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth. “End-of-year reports coming up, boss driving me crazy about tax…nothing to see here.”
I laughed. “That’s rough.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said thinly. “Now, what are we having today?” he pulled out the menu and gave it a brief glance. He always does that and he never orders anything new. It was a ritual I’d gotten used to over the years.
We ordered what we usually ordered—I ordered salmon and he ordered the quinoa burger with tahini sauce. While we sat chatting and catching up, I noticed him giving me an odd look.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re different,” Art observed thoughtfully. “Something’s up.”
“Different, me?” I asked, then laughed. “I’m probably just stressed, Art. There’s a big meeting with my dad’s investors on Monday and I don’t want to make a mess of it.”
“The stress is normal,” he said with a grin. “I’ve known you what—five years? Never seen you not stressed…this is different.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I kept quiet. I had a good idea of what might be different, but I wasn’t letting on. Is it so obvious how happy I am?
Meeting Jackie had made me happy. It had also disturbed me a lot. I had never had such an overwhelming reaction to someone on first meeting them. It was weird. I was half-tempted to confide in Art, except that we were in a busy restaurant and it wasn’t really a subject to discuss where the next table could hear everything we might say.
“So, plans for tomorrow?” Art asked, taking a sip of water. Our order had arrived and I was eating methodically, enjoying the rich taste of the salmon, cooked to perfection as always.
“Not really,” I confessed, swallowing a mouthful of the buttery salad of wilted greens that always came with the salmon. “Catch up with things, go work out, check work…”
“The usual cheerful weekend, eh?” Art chuckled.
“It’s peaceful,” I said defensively. Peaceful and way healthier than what I used to spend my Saturday nights doing, but I didn’t say that to him.
“Well, I’m heading out of town for the day,” he said. He went on to detail his plans about driving into the countryside to go hiking. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to get myself talked into joining him or not, so I kept my replies neutral. He didn’t press me for information, or to accept his invitation for tomorrow, but I could see those clever eyes observing me and I knew he was trying to work out what was new in my life.
Well, there’s not much point in guessing, Art. She’s not part of my life.
I surprised myself with how much that thought hurt me. I regretted that she couldn’t be part of my life. Which was crazy, since I barely knew her. We finished lunch and when I drove back home I got a call from my father. I sighed.
“Son?”
“Yes, Dad?”
“We have to meet Stuart Jutland tomorrow. The business lunch? The proposition? Don’t forget.”
“Okay,” I said, sighing. I actually had forgotten. That put paid to any ideas I might have had about going hiking with Art. “I’ll be there.”
“Don’t forget.”
“Okay, Dad.”
I sighed and hung up. Leaned against the steering wheel for a bit while I thought about my life. My dad owned the company—an international transport company for goods—but I was supposedly a leading executive at the place. All the same, my job description seemed to be as flexible as Dad’s needs were: from entertaining business guests to keeping lists of freight ships and their different capacities, Dad had always drawn me in wherever he needed me.
I guess the research about ships and engines and things probably shaped my love for cars. That was the only good thing I could think about it. For all that he ran me down almost every day, Dad did tend to use me.
I guess it was tough for him after Mom left him. Dad had never gotten over that. I loved both my parents devotedly, and the divorce had been hard on me too.
I hadn’t thought about all that stuff for years. It felt as if, after that night, my heart was slowly thawing out. All the little things I’d put on ice over the years were coming to the surface to be felt and considered for the first time.
“Why did she do this to me?” It was weird. I wasn’t sure I wanted my heart to start waking up.
Come on, Scott. You’re being silly. Just go home and do work and get some sleep. I pulled off into the traffic.
As I walked up from the garage and into the sleek, elegant building where I lived, it occurred to me that, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t pursue things with Jackie anyway. I hadn’t asked her for her number. I had no way to contact her. I knew her address, but I didn’t even know the number of her apartment, for pity’s sake!
I had no way of finding her again.
After the gym and checking my slides and sorting out my wardrobe and cleaning the bathroom cabinet—things I’d been putting off for months—I found myself on the couch with my phone in my hands, browsing Facebook. I found myself typing her name into the search bar—I knew it was silly to try and go backwards, to try and make something happen, to hope she’d want to see me again after I just walked out and left her—but I couldn’t help it. I also couldn’t find her.
Lots of Jackie Jeffersons popped up, but none of them were her. I tried Jacqueline, too, but no one like her showed up.
Hell. She isn’t on Facebook. I shook my head. Come on, Scott. Stop it. Forget this. How many girls have you had in your life? Move on.
But it wasn’t the same. That was the whole problem. It was completely different and I couldn’t forget. I would have to make myself try.
CHAPTER SIX
Jackie
I woke up and groaned. It was Thursday—the day after my day off. I should have felt re
freshed and ready for the rest of the week. But I didn’t. I felt horrible. I rolled over and managed to get myself into the bathroom just before I was sick. I leaned over the toilet, retching dryly and thought angry thoughts.
Great. This is exactly what I need. Now I’m sick too.
As if, I thought, brushing my teeth firmly, I hadn’t had enough horrible surprises this month. Three or four weeks ago, I’d had that whole issue with the gang. Then the guy who’d picked me up. Then dad had got sick and I’d had to take him to the hospital. He was fine now after treatment for his lungs. Now I was sick, for Pete’s sake.
I put the toothbrush down and stared at myself. As I often did, my mind wandered back to that night. The weird night, four weeks ago, when I’d met the guy. Scott. I thought of him often.
“He’s probably the first guy who’s actually made me feel pretty.”
I sighed. That explained why, every time I caught sight of myself in the mirror, or more often than not, I thought of him. I brushed a strand of mousy hair out of my eyes and rinsed my face.