Anal sex was a touchy subject. Always. Professionally. Personally. Most men wanted it but were afraid to ask about it. Many women were curious but too afraid to admit it. So even extremely experienced, sexually confident women had gone without it when they harbored a secret desire for it. Which made asking Ava about it incredibly nerve-wrecking.
“Ava...” I said when a long silence hung between us.
“I'm thinking,” she said, rolling her eyes at me.
“Alright,” I said, my hands sliding down her thighs to push up her skirt a little so she could straddle me. “Then why don't you come here and think about it?” I suggested.
She didn't hesitate, just climbed up on my lap and rested her head against my shoulder. The sweetness of it made the days full of frustration and confusion slip away. My arms went around her, holding her close.
“It's okay if you're not into it.”
“I don't know if I am into it or not.”
“That's alright,” I said, my hands sliding up and down her back, the feel of her body heat through the silky mesh material was positively erotic. “Do you think you want to try it?” I asked, attempting to keep hopefulness out of my voice.
There was a pause before her sweet lips pressed into my neck. “Yes.”
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. “Good girl,” I said, turning my face slightly so I could kiss the side of her head. “We'll start with regular sex first though, okay? Get you all warmed up.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. Now get a condom,” I said, slapping her ass playfully, trying to put her at ease. She laughed, hopping off of me and coming back with a condom that I took and laid on the bed beside me. “Arms up,” I instructed and then ever so slowly inched the material off of her body, enjoying watching her skin flush in desire. Material gone, she moved to step out of her shoes. “No,” I said, a little too firm. “The shoes stay on.”
I let my eyes rake over her body from her black red-bottom fuck-me heels to her soft hair, then back over it all again. Until she was squirming under my gaze. Slowly, shockingly, she lowered herself down on her knees before me. Her hands moved out toward my belt, unfastening it and then pulled my zipper open. I watched, already hard as fucking steel, as she reached inside and pulled out my cock. She leaned forward and quickly sucked me down to the hilt, making my hand slam down on the crown of her head.
“Fuck, baby. So sweet,” I murmured and she started to suck me. Slow. Soft. Flicking her tongue over the head at every pass. I let myself sink into the sensation for a long time until I felt the clawing need for release get closer. “Okay. Fuck. Okay. Baby, stop,” I said and she moved away, sitting back on her heels and smiling at me. Proud. She was proud of herself. And happy.
Jesus Christ.
I wanted to see her looking just like that forever.
But that wasn't in my stars.
“Panties off. On the bed,” I instructed and watched as she shimmied out of her thong and crawled into the bed beside me, lying down. I stood, watching her as I removed my clothes. “Legs straight up,” I told her. Up they went. “Cross your ankles.” She crossed her ankles, giving me a view of her perfect legs, her sweet little ass, and her pussy. “Fuck, fuck me,” I groaned, tossing aside my shirt. “This view, baby? Fucking perfect.”
I reached for the condom, slipping it on, then moved a finger up her slick folds, finding her clit and circling it. She whimpered, her legs moving downward. “I said legs up, ankles crossed.”
Her legs went up again and I moved closer, taking her ankles and placing them against one of my shoulders. In one thrust, I was buried deep in her pussy.
“Ohmygod,” she groaned, her thighs and pussy clenching.
“You can hold me as tight as you want like this, can't you baby?” I asked, kissing the side of her ankle. As if testing my theory, she tightened more. And I couldn't hold off anymore. But it wasn't hard. It was just fast. My cock buried deep and my hips slammed into her thighs over and over so that I needed to wrap my arms around her knees to hold her body still as I fucked her.
I felt the vice grip of her pre-orgasm and quickly pulled away before it was too late.
“No!” she cried, reaching for me.
“Up on the bed, baby. All fours,” I said softly, letting her legs fall.
She moved onto all fours and I pressed her legs wider with my knees as I reached for the vibrator.
“It doesn't always feel good right away,” I said, stroking her soft ass. “If it hurts, tell me. I don't want to hurt you.” I leaned down and kissed one of her ass cheeks gently. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was hurt her. “I'll be gentle until you tell me otherwise.”
“Okay,” she said as I slid my cock into place, pressing but not pushing forward. I reached for the vibrator, turned it on, but didn't put it to her clit. “Just breathe, babe,” I reminded her as I started pushing forward slowly. Her body tensed, jerked. “Ava, breathe,” I said, moving the vibrator to her clit. Her legs shook with the sensation. “Is it too much?” I asked, hoping to god it wasn't. “I just have the head in. If it hurts too much...”
“It's okay,” she said, breathing deep.
I steeled my resolve to go slow and kept inching my way in. She flinched every inch or so and I paused to let her adjust. Her ass arched up for better access as I pressed fully in. She reached for the vibrator, taking it from my hands and turning it off. “You okay?”
“Yeah?” she half-asked, half-declared.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
Thank fuck.
“Does it feel good?” she didn't answer for a moment. “Baby?”
“Yes,” she admitted a little timidly.
A growl type rumbling came through my chest. “I want it to feel good,” I told her, rocking my hips into her. It was barely a movement at all, just a pulsing. My hands went around her and up her belly to cup her breasts. I pressed into her chest, pulling her backward until her back was resting against my chest. One of my arms went around her hips, the other around her chest above her breasts, holding her far too tightly against me but she didn't complain and I didn't want to let go.
My hips started dropping then moving back upward into her. Over and over. Until her breathing started to hitch. “Tell me it feels good.” I needed to hear it.
“It feels good,” she said on a groan.
“No one has ever been in here before, have they?”
“No.”
“It's all mine,” I said, sliding in again, claiming it.
“It's all yours,” she agreed breathlessly.
Fuck me.
I kept the slow, steady rocking, enjoying the sweetness of it. It wasn't sex. It wasn't fucking. It was lovemaking. And I felt completely lost in it.
“Chase?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Harder,” she said, her hands moving to my forearm and digging in.
I didn't need more encouragement than that. I gave it to her. Happily. I jerked up into her. Faster. Harder. Like she wanted it.
“Chase?” she asked a few minutes later, sounding like she needed assurance.
“You're going to come for me, baby, and I don't even need to touch your pussy. You can come for me just like this and I will feel it.”
That was what she needed to hear. To let go.
She came hard, her entire body jerking as she pulsated hard. “Fuck, baby. Yeah. Just like that,” I said in her ear. “I can feel you coming.” And I could feel myself get there too. “Fuck. Ava...”
I held her after. Just as tight as before. I never wanted to fucking let go. I kissed a trail up the side of her face, resting against her temple. Her arms went upward, wrapping around my neck. “So sweet,” I murmured, leaning over to kiss her arm before I untangled them from me and moved away from her.
She scrambled onto the bed and under the covers and I felt a rush of relief that she wasn't running out on me again. When I came back from th
e bathroom, she was curled up on her side facing the wall and I crawled in behind her, pulling her body into mine as I wrapped into her. I took her hand and squeezed. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“That was...” Fuck. There were no words that came close. “Spectacular,” I decided, still feeling that it was lacking.
She wiggled back into me and I pulled her tighter. Slowly but surely, her body got more and more stiff. “What are you thinking about? You're tense,” I told her, nuzzling into her neck. “Talk to me.”
“I was wondering about the next session,” she said and it was my turn to get tense. The next session. The next session where I was going to take her out and teach her how to flirt with other men. Other men that she might eventually go home with. Men who would hold her like I was holding her. Claim her like I had claimed her. The only difference would be that they had that right... and I didn't. “Chase?” she asked, snuggling back into me and it was then that I saw that I had put so much space between us that we were barely even touching anymore.
“Tomorrow is Friday.”
“Yeah...”
“Tomorrow I will take you out to a bar or club,” I started, my words robotic. “You will dress for it. Whoever helped you with the dress tonight, if anyone, that's what you need to wear.” For other men to look at.
“I can do that.”
“You'll meet me here and we will drive to the destination together. You can have a drink or two, but no more than that.” I, however, was going to need a fucking fifth of scotch to get through the night. “And then you will do what I tell you to approach men, or what to say when they approach you.”
“And where will you be?”
“There,” I said, pulling away from her again. “Watching.” I was barely holding her. I couldn't. If I held her, I would feel the enormity of what I was losing.
“So the purpose is...”
“To get you comfortable interacting with other men, not just me. But having me there to be a support system if you need it.” Fuck. Support her. While other men got the privilege of getting to know her. “We will go in together, sit down, and discuss how to go about... flirting,” I forced the word out and it felt slimy on my tongue. “After you get comfortable doing so with me, I will excuse myself to the bar. Then you will go to the other end of the bar.”
“By myself?”
“Yes. By yourself. Men get intimated by women with their female friends and won't approach a woman there with a man.”
“Okay.”
“Then when a man comes up to you...”
“If,” she said, shaking her head.
She had no idea, no fucking idea what a prize she was. Or how unworthy we all were to try to win her.
“When,” I corrected her more firmly, “a man comes up to you...”
“What?” she broke in. “Is this some positive thinking nonsense? If I believe in it enough, suddenly hoards of men will come flocking to me?”
I sighed, moving further away so I could push her onto her back and look down at her.
“How is it possible that you don't see how gorgeous you are?”
“Chase... really... I'm not...”
No. Nope. I wasn't going to listen to her talk herself down again.
“Shut up,” I said, shaking my head. “Don't you dare finish that sentence.” My hand moved to the side of her face, cradling her jaw. “How many times have I told you how beautiful you are? And you still don't believe me.”
“It's not that. It's...”
“It's what?”
“It's... twenty-some odd years of not feeling that way. Of no one saying that to me. It's not like I am going to transform my thinking overnight. But I'm getting better. I mean... could you picture the me who walked in here for my introductory session wearing the dress I wore tonight?”
She had me there. “That's a good point. Do you believe me when I say you're beautiful?” I asked and the look came back. The look I hoped was gone for good. “There,” I said, grabbing her face a little hard. “That look. What is that look? You've been giving it to me a lot lately.”
“What look?” she asked, but there had been a guilty pause.
I let go of her face, rolled onto my back, and raked a hand down my face. “You're killing me, woman.”
“I'll go,” she said, already moving to the far end of the bed.
“That's not what I meant,” I said, trying to reach for her, but she was too far and too determined to move away.
“I know,” she said in a small voice. “But it's late.”
“Baby...” I said, my voice a distinct plea.
She paused, grabbing her dress, and turning to me. “Yeah?”
There was so much to say: I want you. Don't leave. Don't leave me here like this, with my heart in my hands. Not one moment of this has been therapy for me. I fucking love you. I want to stop this facade. I want you to know the truth...
But none of it could be said.
“I'll see you tomorrow,” she said once she slipped into her dress and tentatively touched my foot for the barest of seconds.
“Seven,” I agreed, watching her move to grab her keys and wallet.
“As usual,” she said, going out into my office.
I didn't follow. I couldn't.
I just had to let her go.
I needed the practice.
For when I needed to do it for good.
After the Session
My mother got me back briefly when I was twelve. It was my third time being pulled out of the system and put back in her care. She pee tested clean for six months. She went to her weekly meetings. She got a place that wasn't crawling with roaches. In the system's eyes, she was fit again.
Unfortunately, the system didn't know that her problem wasn't the booze or the drugs. Her problem was her own head. Her problem was she was severely bipolar. They just so happened to catch her on the mania side. The side where she was full of life and energy. The side where she was hyper goal-oriented and able to speak rapidly and never ending-ly about her plans for the future.
They saw the good mom. They saw a woman trying to get her life back on track. They saw someone determined and excited.
What they didn't see was the sleeplessness. They didn't see that she could go three days without nodding off once. They didn't see that her judgment was off and her goals and plans became more and more grandiose and unattainable.
Then they didn't see as the mania gave way to the depressive side a short six weeks later. They didn't see her curled up under her covers on her bed for weeks at a time, crying, telling me how hopeless it all was. They didn't listen as she would sit up late at night talking about horrifying, morbid stories she had read about suicide. About how jumpers finally felt free of stress because their fate was decided, there was no going back. How cutters could feel a surge of indescribable euphoria when they sliced into their skin with a razor.
Then they definitely didn't see when she started having her drug dealer come to the apartment. They didn't see her sitting at the dining room table while he tied her off and loaded up the needle. They didn't see the needle slide into the bruised crook of her elbow or watch as her head rolled back as she stared at the ceiling while the heroin worked its way into her system.
I got those constant ups and downs for a year. Because I was older. Smarter. I washed my own clothes so I didn't go to school dirty. I had perfect attendance. I got good grades. I did everything right. There was no cause for concern.
That was until I got home after soccer practice one night and found my mom at the dining room table (nothing new), her arm tied off and a needle in her elbow (normal sight), her head titled up to the ceiling with unseeing eyes (again, typical).
The differences came on me slowly. Her dealer wasn't there. He always hung around afterward. I didn't know (and frankly didn't want to) if it was the euphoria from the drugs that made them want to do it or if was the way my mother paid for the dr
ugs in the first place, but they always screwed when they got high.
Him being gone was not normal.
Neither was the fact that she hadn't turned to greet me with pinned eyes.
Neither was the fact that her chest wasn't rising and falling.
My backpack hit the ground with a loud thud as I ran over to her, instinctively reaching my hand toward her neck to feel for a pulse. But my palm found cold skin.
She was dead.
She was dead and I was going back into the system.
And there was nothing I could do about it.
The feeling of hopelessness I felt in that moment was akin to how I felt as I sat in my office after hours on a Friday night waiting for Ava to arrive. Knowing that when she did arrive, I would be taking her out and teaching her how to invite other men into her life. Men who weren't me. Men who might treat her badly. Men who wouldn't understand her limitations. Or, somehow worse yet, men who would. Men who would give her everything she needed. Men who would take the memory of me and blur it completely until I might as well never have existed for her.
And there was nothing I could do about it.
Ninth Session
Seven rolled around and she wasn't in my office. Ava was compulsively on time or early. I felt nerves seep into my system, making my skin feel foreign and electric. What if she didn't show? What if she thought she had learned enough? What if that cold dismissal from the night before was the last I would see or hear from her? What if...
The door swung open and in she walked.
“You're late,” I observed.
“Yeah,” she said, completely unapologetic. She turned to lock the door, then remembered the plan for the night and stopped.
“Good for you,” I said, smirking, nodding my head at her. I was proud that she didn't rush to say she was sorry. “Let's see that dress, baby.”
She took off her jacket.
Head to toe- she was screaming 'take me!'
First, there was the dress. It was less of a dress and more of a bra and ridiculously short mini skirt connected with more of that see through black-mesh stuff that dresses seemed to be made with more and more often. Her hair was straightened. Someone went at her eye makeup with a heavy hand, making her brown eyes pop. She had on semi-opaque stockings that highlighted her shapely legs and led down to black heels that criss-crossed over the tops of her feet.
Dr. Chase Hudson (The Surrogate Book 2) Page 14