“Keep doing that and all attempts at smoothness will be tossed out the window.”
“How?”
I can’t look away from his lips. He keeps licking them, wetting them for me, like he knows I’m obsessed with them and want to bite and kiss him for the rest of my life, just like I want to nuzzle his dimple.
God, his dimple slays me.
“I’ll lift you up on this table and have my cock inside you in seconds. No finesse. No foreplay. Just your tight, wet cunt gripping me. I’ll stay inside you, make you come over and over until you’re moaning my name and I can hardly breathe. I want to be loud enough the neighbors call the cops, but we’ll be so deep into each other, making love and not focusing on anything else, that we don’t hear them at the door. It’s just you and me.”
Making love.
That’s not what we’re doing. This is only sex, a fantasy we’ve both had since meeting. That’s all, right?
“What’s wrong?” He frames my face, doesn’t allow me to back away.
“Nothing.”
“You can tell me, Faye.”
He kisses the corner of my mouth, his tongue dipping out.
“I know.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“I don’t know what I want, I never know.”
“I know the way you stared at me when we first met had me jerking off within minutes of going back into my apartment. Your green eyes shined, like fucking emeralds, they’re so beautiful. Your laugh gutted me. I almost invited you over to my place that day. Promised myself I’d do it the next time I saw you.” He tugs me close, our pelvises aligning in the most perfect and unbearable way. “I’m still freaking out that I could have been with you this whole time.”
“Who says I would have said yes to you if you asked me over?”
He bends his knees, coming eye level with me. “Would you have said no to me?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“How you would have asked.”
“Shall I show you?” Without an answer he backs away and puts on the friendly smile he presents to the world, not the sultry, dominant smirk I’ve come to crave.
“Hi, Faye, how’s the new apartment?”
I laugh but play along.
“Oh, it’s pretty good.”
“Cats are settling in?”
“Yup, they’re exploring all the new scents.”
“Haven’t bought any hamsters since we spoke last?”
“If I had, the cats would have eaten them.”
“Want to come over so I can make you waffles and make love to you till you scream my name?”
Make love. Make love. He keeps saying it.
“Why yes, that sounds absolutely delightful. I could use a good waffle and a quick fuck.”
“No. Not a quick fuck, baby, a long, slow, sensuous night of making love. Your legs wrapped around me, my hand in your hair, my lips on your neck, your ear, your mouth. Then waffles.”
He has me up against the fridge, his hands on either side of my face. His groin presses into mine, the very obvious erection rubbing my hip. I can barely breathe when he’s this close, even on our walks he seemed too large to comprehend, but here he’s a giant. A Viking overwhelming me with every word and every slide of his hand, like the one inching down my shoulder to cup my breast, just holding it, one thumb playing with my nipple. It’s a proprietary gesture and I’m so lost and torn I nearly push him away, except it feels so good and I’m getting hot for him all over again.
At least more hot than the resting state of hot and bothered. This is the active state. The accelerant has been added and the chemicals are shifting into something new.
“Make love,” I say.
“Yes, that’s what we’ll do. What we’ve been doing.” He pulls back when I stay silent for too long. “Isn’t it?”
I don’t answer, just feel my face scrunch into an uncomfortable little frown, the one I make when I’m unsure of myself...or of someone else. I try to wrench my expression into something placid, but what comes out must be even worse than the scrunching because Ben backs away and leans against the counter, crossing his arms, shutting himself off.
“You don’t think we’ve been making love.” He nods, as if this was to be expected. “We’ve been fucking.”
“You had me on the floor, you tossed me onto the bed. What else is that?”
“Making love doesn’t have to be slow all the time. When I tell you I want to shove my cock in your pussy, it doesn’t make it any less important to me. It doesn’t make what we share less. What do you think we’ve been doing? No, tell me what you’ve been doing, because clearly it’s not what I’ve been doing.”
“I didn’t expect this.”
“I need more than that.”
He wants more? I give it to him.
“You haven’t spoken to me since the shower incident and I come over here and you take your shirt off and put your mouth on me and I put mine on you and things are moving so fast, after months of walks and talking, so much fucking talking. We’ve spent almost every morning together since I moved here and yes, I have wanted you from that first day, but you never made a move. Not once. I thought you could never want me. And now there are so many moves and all of a sudden we’re making love?”
“All of a sudden? What were those talks to you? Just words? Because they were much more to me.” He actually seems angry now. Possibly even hurt. His jaw is tight and his sharp cheekbones are standing out like spikes on a fence. “Verbal and intellectual foreplay and pseudo dates for months. And if I had known, if I’d had any hint that you were attracted to me, we would have happened a long time ago, saving both of us from lonely nights with our hands or toys or whatever.”
“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”
“I fucking know that. I know it was not your fault. This isn’t on you.”
“It was only a commute. Thirty minutes a day at most.”
“You’re right. What’s thirty minutes a day for four months?” He smiles, shrugs as he reaches for a bowl to pour the chips in. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s not?” I ask quietly, worried by this quick shift.
“Naw, I mean, yeah we talk about everything under the sun, and we have a key to each other’s apartments and mail boxes, and I’m pretty sure we fantasize about each other on the regular, but that’s not enough for any lasting relationship. It’s just a recipe for some scratch-an-itch fucking” He whips around and removes a jar from the fridge. “Salsa?”
His smile is so fake it hurts to look at. The dimple is gone, the light from his eyes, the one that hypnotized me, is gone. There’s dull, flat nothingness. I did this to him, my impossible indecisiveness hurt him. My kryptonite has not only turned me into a bumbling idiot, but my inability to talk through my emotions and deal with what I’m feeling has hurt those closest to me. Hurt a man I’ve come to call my friend, come to dream about as much more.
He wants me and I want him, and that should be enough.
So why am I still so tongue-tied?
I twist my hands against my abdomen, looking everywhere but him. I’m an awkward person, sure, but even this amount of rigidity is beyond me. I try to go to him, touch him, prove through action what he’s come to mean to me, but I can’t seem to move.
“Say something, Faye.” He’s past anger now. His shoulders are slumped, his head dipping as he waits for my answer, waits for me to move past this stupid barrier around my emotions and just fucking speak.
“You came to me,” he says, gently, not giving up on me. And oh, I could love him for it. “You were on your way to my place when I stepped out of my apartment.”
I nod, unable to deny it.
“Can you tell me why?”
“I—I heard you break something. Wanted to check on you.�
�
His smile is sad again, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. “You can trust me with the truth.”
“I know. I know I can. You’re the most amazing, handsome, wonderful man I’ve ever met and I trust you with the lives of my cats, and that is a big fucking deal, but I can’t get the words out. They’re jumbled up inside me and every time I look at you I think, this is a man I could spend more time with.”
“That’s what you think?”
Okay, now he’s laughing at me a little.
“Yes! Yes, that’s what I think because I am incapable of thinking more when it comes to my emotions. I’m never...right around men I’m attracted to. I fumble and I can’t think straight and seduction? Ha! What the fuck is that? The only seduction I’m capable of is attempting to bat my eyelashes but looking like I’m having an epileptic fit.”
“But you do think more. You think about my body, I’ve seen how you look at me. You thought you’d come over here and fuck me. You sucked my cock, giving me the best head I’ve ever had. Baby, sex and emotions don’t have to be separate.” As he speaks he walks toward me, his gaze rooting me to the spot. “You tell me how you feel every time your body shivers as I touch you.” His hand glides down my arm and chills break out across my skin. “Every time you sigh when I kiss you.” His lips land softly on my neck, and my breath escapes in a rush. “Every time you laugh at my jokes and your smile lingers, as though it were the cleverest thing you’ve ever heard.”
He holds me close, my fingers gripping his waist, his along my back and nape.
“There are more than six thousand living languages used across the world, we can just create our own.”
He’s going to kiss me. Lord, please let him kiss me again. I know that if he kisses me I’ll be able to spill, tell him everything he needs to hear. Instead, he leans a little past me and turns the lights in the kitchen off, plunging us into darkness save the candles we never blew out.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Making love to you, in our own language.”
He lifts my borrowed shirt and tosses it to the ground.
“And we need to be in the dark to do it?”
“It went pretty well last time.” He slides down to his knees, nuzzling my breasts, mouthing the soft underside as he goes. “I figured it couldn’t hurt.”
Hot, large hands on my waist, the elastic of the borrowed shorts expanding then tripping down over my wide hips. His breath against my sex. His tongue flicking out to tease the seam. I gasp, bending over, and hold onto his shoulder for stability.
My legs start to shake with each dip and slide of his tongue. He tastes me like the finest delicacy, a sex canapé. I snort at the thought.
“What?” he asks, gripping my ankle to widen my stance.
“I had a stupid thought.”
“Tell me,” he murmurs approvingly, my new position giving him better access. He inclines his head, raking his tongue as far back as he can go then up to my clit. He stays there for a moment, presses down hard.
“I was—I had a thought that you were eating my pussy like a fancy canapé.”
His chuckle is rich, the sexiest chuckle I’ve ever heard.
“More like a cat licking cream. Your cream.” A finger penetrates, goes deep. Just the one, and even though he stretched me to my limits earlier, I can still feel the delightful pressure from his one, thrusting finger, assisted by his tongue lapping at my clit, exactly like a lazy cat. He’s twisting me up, but slowly this time, no fast and furious ride for us. No mistaking this for a quick fuck.
Without a doubt, he is making love to me. Proving, without words, what he wants and what I mean to him. And all I’ve given him is silence and pathetic excuses about being tongue-tied.
“I’m doing it again.”
“What?” He removes his finger.
“Being selfish.” I stroke his head, loving the feel of his blunt hair and perfectly shaped skull. “I want to give you more, I want—is your finger on my butt?”
“It might be.” The finger in question presses hard against my hole, it’s the one he had inside me, all slippery with my juices. “Do you want me to move it away?”
“I don’t know.”
He rubs me, circles my entrance.
“No. Don’t move away.” My voice is a high-pitched squeak.
He returns his tongue to my cunt, lapping up every bit of my slickness that he can before sucking on my clit. I groan and the tip of his finger dips inside my ass. Not gonna lie, I’ve done this before, but Ben’s finger is thick. Like immensely thick. As he pushes inside the dual sensations of a finger in my ass and a tongue on my clit sends me spiraling into the stratosphere.
“Think I’m gonna come.”
“Just think?” He works my clit harder, rubbing with the tip, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but fast enough to wind me up.
“I know. I know.”
He pumps his finger in me, hard enough that I’m writhing back onto it, the extra sensitive nerves of my asshole clenching around him, anticipating what’s to come. Or who’s coming.
“I’m coming,” I gasp, gripping his shoulders with all my might as he pushes me over the cliff with a final pass of his tongue and I’m falling, the crest rising to catch me. My belly rolls in waves, my shoulders quake as I pant with each jolt and aftershock.
He pulls his finger out, slowly. He presses a kiss to my pussy lips, then tugs me down to the kitchen floor again.
We don’t speak. I barely have the energy to keep my eyes open after that massive orgasm. I rest my head on his shoulder and he rubs my bare back, soothing me, holding me, asking for nothing in return.
I really am a selfish bastard, but I’m a selfish bastard with a clear mind for once. I take full advantage of the moment.
“I want you.”
He takes my hand and places it on his cock. “You have me.”
“No, well, yes, I want this.” I squeeze him through the fabric of his shorts. “But I want all of you. I want more than thirty minutes a day. I want making love. I want more than you making love to me. I want to make love to you as well.”
His breath is choppy, his hands gripping my hair and neck.
“You’re welcome to start at any time.”
I take his hand and find the energy to walk to the couch. He removes his shorts then sits and lays back, thinking I want to be on top. But I smile and turn him onto his side, then crawl onto the couch, our fronts pressing together. I hitch one leg over his and position his cock at my seam.
“Put me inside you,” he mumbles, kissing everywhere he can reach, his hands gripping my waist. He doesn’t wait for me to slide down his shaft, instead he pulls me, knowing I have him in the perfect spot. The joining is intense this way, every inch of our bodies are touching, rubbing, scraping.
Our moans are lost in one another’s mouths, my breasts are pressed against his chest, the curling hair abrading my nipples yet stimulating them to aching rightness.
I lick his dimple, making him laugh. He grabs my ass, dipping his fingers between the cheeks, but only playing with the sensitive skin there, not breaching.
“One day,” he says past a gasp as he moves his hips, coming in and out of me. “I’ll use my cock there. Would you want that?”
“Fuck, yes.” The curse is long and drawn out as he pushes inside me in a hard thrust.
“Maybe I’ll use a plug there to stretch you while I fuck your cunt. You’d be able to feel me and the toy at the same time, keeping you stuffed till I filled you with my come.”
“Keep talking.”
“No.” And with that denial he holds my waist away from him, preventing me from taking him completely inside. The head of his shaft a bare centimeter within me, driving me crazy.
“Please,” I beg for more than one thing.
“It’s time to use your w
ords, baby.”
“You know I can’t.”
“You did before.”
“I was mindless after the orgasm. Relaxed. I’m so on edge right now I can barely breathe.”
“You’ve gotta tell me what you want at least. Just give me one thing. One little thing. You’ve done it before.”
Not when he’s so present, not when my emotions have been laid bare and he can feel every inch of me. But opening my eyes and looking into amber turned golden with candlelight, it’s all of a sudden easy to say the first thing that comes to mind.
“I love you. I’ve loved you since our first BART ride.”
Now he’s speechless, but his eyes and body begin to speak our secret language, the one couples build and weave over time with secret glances and private gestures. We’ve been creating ours since that first day. We just hadn’t learned to speak it until now.
He pushes inside, his rhythm harder but no less perfect for it.
“Not enough.”
His voice is a growl as he spins us, pulls me onto my knees and braces my hands on the back of the couch. He makes love to me from behind, his cock taking me at a rapid pace, one hand gripping my breasts, the other on my pussy, keeping me stimulated beyond anything I’ve felt before.
His teeth grip my shoulder, primitive and fundamental. The connection of our bodies as essential as air.
“Fuck, not enough.”
He pulls out just as I feel the crest of my orgasm start to breech. I whine in frustration, but he has me on my back, my legs on his shoulders, and his cock deep inside me once more. He springs on top of me, no longer thrusting at a brutal speed, but giving it to me as hard as ever. Giving himself to me.
He pushes his hands in my wild hair, makes me open my eyes and says, “I love you, Faye. I love you so damn much. Say it again.” He trails his fingers down to my pussy, but on the way his knuckles trip over my breast, he squeezes my hip, then digs his fingers into my thighs. He takes a road trip across my body, ending at my clit, rubbing it light and fast.
“I love you,” I cry out as my orgasm hits. “Ben, yes.”
“Love you,” he grunts and his semen splashes into me, the rigidity of his back almost violent beneath my fingers.
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