Show and Tell

by Jasmine Haynes

  “Take that out.” She pointed to the bulge in Norman’s pants. “Play with it.”

  He couldn’t act fast enough, fingers fumbling, almost catching himself in the zipper teeth. His head was bulbous, swollen, purple, and wet.

  “You’re bigger,” she whispered to Scott as he filled her hand. She couldn’t get enough of him.

  Shoving pants and briefs over his hips, she guided him down into the chair. His penis jutted straight up, big, hard. She wanted him inside her so badly, her chest hurt with each breath.

  Yet that was going too far.

  Scott held out his palm. She gulped air, swallowed hard, then took his hand and went to her knees between his legs.

  16

  SCOTT had never wanted a woman’s mouth on him more than he did now. Her eyes were the blue of a stormy ocean, seething.

  “Suck me,” he demanded, “or I’ll come just watching you.”

  The scent of her hair rose to fog his mind. Scott buried his fingers in the texture of it as she bent her head to him. Her lips closed over his crown, and he laid his head back, losing himself in the heat of her mouth. His body surged up, pushed deeper. Her teeth raked along the sensitive underside, then her fingers closed around his balls. She rose and fell, sucking him deep, then licking him all the way back up, mouthing his tip, tonguing the slit until she backed off to swallow.

  She looked up at him, her mouth barely closing over his crown. Her gaze locked with his, her lips taking him, and his balls filled to the breaking point. With both hands behind her head, he pushed her down slowly until he was as deep as he could go. He thought he’d die with the enormity of her act.

  Then she turned slightly to glance at Norman. The sight of the man’s fat cock in his hand, beating himself while his eyes bulged, taking in every inch of her, seemed to set her off. She sucked Scott harder. Faster. Mouth and tongue caressing, her hand riding him with each outstroke.

  The orgasm built, blinding him to everything but the feel of her lips, the silk of her hair, the animal scent of her sex. She moaned, the sound quivering along his cock.

  “Christ, I’m gonna come.” His words sounded odd in his head, strangled.

  Norman reacted with a furious beat. “She’s so fucking hot.”

  She took him with a last swipe of her tongue along his length, and he lost it in her mouth, hard, heavy. She milked him to the last drop. She owned him, and he needed to own her.

  Pulling her up, he fastened his lips on hers, drank the taste of his come off her tongue, and it wasn’t enough. He tipped her down on the carpet, followed her, covered her. Wriggling against him, she cupped his cheeks in her hands, pulling his head back and forcing him to meet her gaze. Her eyes dilated, her nostrils flared like a mare’s, and the heady perfume of arousal clouded his vision.

  He tugged on the tight skirt. “You want this.”

  She made a sound, a moan, a cry, and bucked beneath him. He crawled down her, spread her legs, shoved the skirt high until he found her damp crotch, the aroma of sweet sex all over her.

  “Tell me you want it.” He tugged aside her thong, revealing her swollen pussy.

  She pushed him, her hips rising. He knew she wanted it.

  And his mouth watered with the scent of her. “Tell me.”

  “Please.” Then she yanked the skirt a little higher, pulled her knees wide, and shoved him over the edge with every sense.

  He tasted her, drowned in her, played the button of her clit, slid a finger in her depths.

  Then Scott used two fingers, pumping lightly inside her, his tongue playing her like an instrument. Her skin heated, and her nipples turned to hard beads.

  Trinity pinched them, squeezing as she’d done to him. Heat streaked down to the exact spot his lips tortured. Her body moved in rhythm with his, her breathing hard, all so good she bit down on her lip to trap the scream rising. Pleasure so intense, it almost hurt, she wanted to come, needed to. The climb to orgasm turned her entire body into one pulsing point of need, until it all spiraled down to his fingers in her, his mouth on her. She simply imploded, her cries loud and long, full-throated, strident, and so unlike her she thought it must be another woman screaming. But oh God, nothing had ever . . . never . . .

  She opened her eyes to Scott’s head between her legs and Norman’s fist wrapped around his cock, gaze on her, on Scott, mouth a big round O, tongue hanging out. Norman shouted and a jet of come creamed his hand.

  Scott lifted his head and fastened his eyes on her. His mouth glistened with moisture. Meeting her gaze, he licked his lips, slowly, relishing her, showing her how much he loved it. Finally, he blew on her, and Trinity’s body quaked beneath him.

  Norman lay boneless, arms out, head turned, pupils fixed on her. His tongue was still hanging out. Like a dog.

  She was totally exposed, her legs spread. With Scott between them and her way-too-tight skirt hiked up over her hips, she couldn’t even pull it down to cover herself.

  Scott rose slightly, tugged her panties back in place, then pressed a kiss to her soaked crotch. Her body tensed in anticipation of another mind-blowing orgasm. Norman rolled on his side and started stroking himself again.

  Oh my God. Trinity suddenly felt sick. Why couldn’t he at least keep his tongue in and his mouth closed? She could not get that image out of her head even when she closed her eyes. And it was horrible. Crass. Sleazy. What would people think of her?

  She squirmed from beneath Scott. Rolling onto her knees, she yanked her skirt down until her butt was at least covered. “I have to go.” Standing awkwardly, her high heel slipped out from under her, and only Scott’s hand on her arm saved her.

  “I need to get out,” she whispered.

  Zipped up, shirt buttoned—how did he do that?—Scott held her, his grip unrelenting. “We go together.”

  Trinity let him come with her because it was the only way to leave. If she didn’t get out, she’d expire right on the spot.

  “I can’t believe I did that,” she muttered to herself as she straightened her clothing. “I can’t believe it.” Teetering on her high heels, she stabbed the elevator button.

  “It was hot.” Scott’s head still swirled, steeped in her scent. It was all over him. When he breathed, her aroma filled his head. He licked his lips, and her flavors shot him to the moon again. She’d tasted so good.

  She whirled and stabbed a finger to his chest. Her mouth open, she stopped before she got a word out, as if suddenly she had no clue what she wanted to tell him. Or how to tell him.

  “It was good,” he whispered. “You loved it.” She’d come so hard, her legs tight around him, taking all he had to give.

  Norman made it all that much hotter.

  She closed her eyes.

  “Admit it.”

  “It was good.” Then she gulped air as if the words had stolen something from her. “But you shouldn’t have touched me.”

  “You were so fucking ready to come.”

  “That wasn’t the rule.”

  “We didn’t have a rule.”

  “I did.”

  The elevator dinged, and when the doors opened, she climbed on. He made to follow, but she held out her palm. “No.”

  “But—”

  She pushed him, he stepped back, and the silvered doors closed in his face. His own reflection stared back at him.

  It was the absolute hottest, most fucking alive thing he’d ever experienced. The moment he spent himself in her mouth, he’d been as high as he thought sex could take a man, yet he’d needed to taste her to be complete. With another man watching, he wanted her to know she was his, no one else’s, ever. He wanted her to be in that moment with him.

  Not ten minutes later, she’d let the elevator slam in his face. The woman was two steps forward and a giant step back.

  He had no idea how to regain the ground he’d lost. Hell, he couldn’t even pinpoint when he’d lost it. Friday night with his daughters? Or tonight when he put his mouth to her and made her come in front of a tot
al stranger?

  Maybe it was a bit of both. He wanted to pound his fist into something, so instead he punched the elevator button.

  Yet it was far too late to chase her down. She was already gone. It was a matter of gone for how long. And if he’d survive until she returned.

  TRINITY didn’t make it home before she had to pull over. A fast-food lot, its lights far too bright on the hood of her car.

  For a moment, she couldn’t catch her breath. She couldn’t get Norman’s face out of her mind. His gaze all bug-eyed, his hand touching himself, his mouth open and his tongue hanging out. It was like all the bad clichés you ever see about horny men addicted to porn on the Internet. Seedy and sleazy.

  She’d been fine until Scott pushed her down on the carpet. No, correct that, she’d wanted Scott to throw her down like that, she wanted his mouth, the orgasm . . . everything.

  It was the whole morning after thing. You get up, your makeup’s a mess, your clothes feel grungy, the guy isn’t nearly as good as you thought he was the night before. Everything is plain old sordid, and you realize you slept with him for all the wrong reasons. Because you wanted to punish your boyfriend for an infraction, or you couldn’t back down from a challenge.

  She’d have felt better if she hadn’t ended up naked. That was more than she’d wanted to do. She’d gotten carried away, exhibited no control. She’d exhibited herself. What if someone found out? That was the problem with getting carried away. If you weren’t careful, someone discovered what you’d been up to.

  Trinity climbed out of her car, slammed the door, and leaned against it. The greasy scent of fries drifted on the night air. A posse of teenagers hung about the newspaper racks outside the food chain’s door.

  She hugged her arms around her middle.

  Will the real Trinity Green please stand up?

  She’d lost sight of who Trinity Green was supposed to be. She’d walked into that hotel room feeling power in the palm of her hand. She’d soared with it when she took Scott in her mouth.

  But when she came down off that orgasm, she’d lost it all.

  Was it Norman’s doggie tongue hanging out? Or what Faith would say or think? Or her father? Not to mention her mom looking down from heaven. Trinity closed her eyes.

  “Hey, lady, can I bum a smoke?”

  She didn’t even see the teenager until he was right there. Her heart skipped a couple of beats. “I don’t smoke.”

  His oversized sports jersey hung down to his thighs, yet his pants rode so low, the crotch was at his knees. A pimple reddened the tip of his nose.

  “Do you got any change I can bum for a pack of smokes?”

  Despite the whiskers on his chin, she was sure he wasn’t eighteen. His cohorts hung back by the newspaper stand waiting to see if he scored.

  Dragging in a breath, she held it a moment, gazing at him. He wasn’t a scary gang kid, just a slightly unkempt normal kid. She didn’t feel threatened, as if he and his friends might jump her like a pack of hyenas. But he was too young to smoke.

  She, however, didn’t have the right to judge what anyone else did. She exhaled in a whoosh. “I was going to say that smoking is bad for you.” She sighed. “But you look like a smart kid, so I figure you know that.” Nodding her head, she indicated his gaggle of friends. “I also figure you want the cigarettes so you can impress your buddies, but I’m pretty sure they all smoke to impress, too, so what’s the point? And if I had any cash, I’d keep it instead of giving it to you, because as an adult, I shouldn’t be encouraging you to smoke.”

  “Lady—”

  She held up a finger. “I’m not done yet.”

  He slapped his lips shut.

  “As I was saying, I won’t give you the money, but I’m not going into the smoking thing either because”—she smiled, because here was her brilliant and profound point—“you’re going to have to learn from your own mistakes.” She waited for him to see the light, but he merely rolled his eyes, so she went on. “Like when you’re hooked on nicotine and coughing with that bad taste in your mouth”—she knew that from her one cigarette out back of her middle school’s gymnasium—“and you’ll hate yourself because it’s embarrassing to be asking strangers for money so you can support your habit. Yet, you can’t give it up as hard as you try.” At least that’s what she’d heard. “And going cold turkey?” She blinked. “It’ll kill ya.”

  “Lady—”

  “Shh.” She waited a second, giving him a chance so she could shh him again. “Quit”—she lowered her voice, and he strained closer to hear—“while you’re ahead.”

  He stared at her, the lamp overhead beaming down on his dark hair and turning it midnight blue. Then slowly, one step at a time, he backed up, never taking his eyes off her. As if she were a member of the hyena pack.

  “Quit while you’re ahead,” she repeated.

  She couldn’t say she was ahead. She’d lost her sense of who she was. For thirty years, she thought she’d known, yet she’d lost even that. In searching for the new Trinity, she’d ended up in Norman’s hotel room. As exhilarating as some of those moments were, as good as that stupendous orgasm had been, she wasn’t gaining power or self-respect with Scott. She was losing that last final ounce of herself.

  Tell him your name.

  She couldn’t. What would it solve anyway? While breaking it off with him would hurt like hell—the thought made her sick—in her heart, she knew it was better to walk away. She’d sacrificed her self-image to men like Harper, men in lust with her body, her looks, or her money.

  It wasn’t Scott’s fault, but he got her to do more than she wanted to do, expose more than she wanted to expose. She had the sinking feeling he would always get her to do more than she could handle. If she gave him her name, she’d have to be Little Miss Perfect again, except that Little Miss Perfect in Scott’s case might have a whole new meaning. Whatever, he’d have all the control. There was one lone choice. Scott was an addictive habit she had to quit before anyone found out about him, and going cold turkey was the only way.

  Even if it killed her.

  THE third day into Operation Cold Turkey, Trinity hit the DTs. Her hands shook, she couldn’t concentrate, and she was seeing things that weren’t there, like e-mails from Scott that never came. Or maybe it was too much caffeine.

  She’d left him a voice mail the “morning after” and told him sayonara, baby, though in much nicer words, taking all the blame. Yet a teeny-tiny part of her kept hoping he didn’t believe her.

  Trinity slid her dollar across the counter. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” The countergirl ka-chinged on the cash register and snatched up the bill.

  The company subsidized the cafeteria, and the bagel and cream cheese was a buck. In addition to her caffeine and Scott addictions, she could now add bagels and cream cheese. Since it was a bit before the normal break hour, the place was relatively empty. Trinity picked a seat by the window. Once again, it was raining, and the lawn was riddled with puddles.

  She set her cell phone on the table beside her plate, and oh goodness, the first bite of that bagel was darn near . . . orgasmic. She closed her eyes, and an image of Scott popped into her mind. Scott always popped into her mind, and this time, it was that night. With Norman. And Scott between her legs.

  She shouldn’t have thought the word orgasm.

  “Your brother is driving me insane.”