The Test

by Fenske, Tawna

  “Take it off,” I command. “I want to see you.”

  She hesitates only a second, then flicks the clasp open. She turns her head so her ponytail slides over one shoulder, covering her right breast. The other she hides with her elbow as she drops the bra on the counter and stands looking at me.

  Her shyness undoes me, but so do her next words.

  “Your turn.”

  I grin and pretend to ponder. “Hmm, what else can I show you?” Holy hell, I’m dying to get my pants off. Having a beautiful, topless woman in my bathroom is giving me the mother of all hard-ons.

  I move a hand to my fly and watch Lisa’s eyes drop. Does she realize she just licked her lips while staring at my crotch?

  “Should I take off my pants?” I ask.

  Lisa doesn’t take her eyes off my junk, but she nods like I’ve just asked if she wants a scoop of double-fudge ice cream. “Okay,” she murmurs.

  I make it a two-for-one deal, shoving off my jeans and boxer briefs in one motion. I kick my shoes off in the process, then stand there wearing nothing at all.

  There’s a moment where I realize this is the first time I’ve been naked with this woman. Sure, I’ve been inside her, but I’ve never stood in front of her like a goddamn nude statue.

  “Sweet baby Jesus,” Lisa breathes. She lifts her gaze and meets my eyes again. “You look really good naked.”

  The earnestness in her words is unbearably sweet, but also hot as fuck. How does she do that?

  “Care to join me?” I murmur.

  Her cheeks pinken just a little, and I’m charmed by her self-consciousness. We’ve fucked like animals in her living room, but seeing each other naked for the first time is different. It’s a big deal, especially to her.

  I take a step forward, ready to back off at the slightest sign she’s not ready. Lisa studies me, then drops her arms to her sides. Her throat moves as she swallows, and I’m aching to plant a kiss on that sweet spot at the base of her neck.

  “I want to touch you,” I tell her. “Do you want that?”

  She nods and tips her chin up, baring her throat to me.

  “Yes,” she murmurs. “Touch me, Dax.”

  I don’t need to be asked twice.

  My hands slide up to cup her breasts, teasing, stroking. She gives a soft little moan and melts into my arms. I bend down to take her nipple in my mouth, and she cries out and clutches my hair.

  “You like that?” I murmur against the soft underside. “You taste so fucking good.”

  Her body arches in my hands, and I can tell my words have gotten to her. That she likes what I’m saying and the way I say it.

  I move my mouth to the other nipple, sucking the soft peak into my mouth. My thumb strokes her other nipple, gliding over the wetness I’ve left there. She groans and grips my hair.

  “Say that again,” she whispers. “I like when you talk.”

  Talk dirty is what she’s saying, or at least I think so. I give it another shot. “You have the most perfect tits,” I murmur against one of them. “Burying my face in them is like a fucking dream.”

  She groans and throws her head back, lost in my words and in what I’m doing with my mouth. I can tell she’s giving in to the sensations, letting herself go as I slide my hand into the front of her jeans and dip my finger into—

  “Wait!”

  I jerk back so fast I give myself whiplash.

  “We should shower first,” she says. There’s a bashfulness in her expression that amuses me. “I’m all sweaty from working all day and—”

  “I kind of like you sweaty.” I grin, hoping she knows it’s true. “But we can definitely shower if you want.”

  She bites her lip, and I wonder if this is part of The Test. Is sweaty, un-showered sex not part of her repertoire? Then again, maybe I owe it to her to make sure I’m squeaky clean, too.

  I let go of her and reach into the shower stall, I grab hold of the tap and twist. And twist. And twist. And twist. And—

  “What the hell?” I step into the shower and frown up at the nozzle. “Is the water out or something?”

  Lisa reaches for the taps on the sink. “Looks like it,” she says. “Did you forget to pay your water bill?”

  The question makes me bristle. I know she’s joking, or maybe she’s not. She can’t possibly know I spent my whole damn childhood having our water and electricity and everything else shut off for unpaid bills.

  I swallow hard and order myself not to let dark thoughts ruin the moment. I jerk the shower handle again. Dammit. “I’ll get dressed,” I mutter. “The main line is outside on the street.”

  I start to reach for my pants, but Lisa grabs my wrist. “Wait.”

  I stop, pants dangling limply from my hand, even as my dick still throbs like an over-eager python.

  “What?” I ask.

  Lisa licks her lips. “You know what I’d normally do right now?”

  “Run screaming from the building?”

  She giggles, then nods. “Maybe not that dramatic. But I’d probably get all prissy and insist we’re not engaging in any sort of sexytimes until we’re both freshly washed.”

  “I see,” I tell her, a little weirded out that she used the words “sexytimes” and “freshly washed.” But I can see wheels cranking in her head, and I like where they’re going.

  “I guess the opposite of that would be—”

  She doesn’t finish the sentence. Not with words, anyway. Instead, she gives me a wicked grin, then turns and grabs a towel off the wall. I’m speechless as she drops it onto the shower floor, then meets my eyes and grins wider. “Here’s the new plan.”

  Holy shit.

  I stare in stunned silence as she drops to her knees on the towel. Then she grabs the base of my cock and smiles up at me. “I’ve always kind of wanted to do it like this.”

  Her tongue flicks out and grazes the tip of my cock, and I practically lose my mind. I have to grab the soap dish to stay upright as Lisa forms an O with her mouth and slowly sucks me in.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  Her mouth is the softest thing I’ve ever felt in my life, warm and wet and so sweet that I might actually pass out. She takes me in deep, giving a low little moan as she sucks me in.

  When she draws back, her green eyes flash as she tosses her ponytail over one shoulder. “Oh, I definitely think I’m going to like this.”

  Chapter Nine

  Lisa

  I’ve given blowjobs before, okay?

  Tidy, post-shower fellatio with my hair pulled back and the perfect synchronicity of suction and tongue action. Minimal slobber, thank you very much.

  But this is different. My own private test, if you will.

  I suck Dax in as deeply as I can, seeing how far I can go, pushing my limits. I’d forgotten how huge he is, and there’s a moment of panic where I think I might gag and embarrass myself.

  But I don’t gag. Instead, I relax. And in relaxing, I realize I like this. I love it, actually.

  I love the way he fills my mouth, threading his fingers through my hair as I move slowly up and down his shaft, taking my time to explore every ridge with the flat of my tongue. He gasps when I graze a spot near the tip, so I focus more attention there, licking and sucking and making soft little circles. There’s slobber on my chin, but I don’t even care. How nuts is that?

  His fingers tighten in my hair, and he groans. “Lisa,” he gasps. “You’re so fucking good at that.”

  His words send a rattle of pleasure through me, and I love this version of myself. The one who can kneel on an unfamiliar shower floor and suck a guy off like a goddamn porn star. It’s empowering. It’s liberating. It’s—

  “Delicious,” I say, easing back to wipe a corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. A flutter of embarrassment wiggles in my chest, and I wonder if that’s really what the porn star version of myself would say. But it’s true and it feels right in the moment, so I say it again. “I like the way your cock tastes.”

 
The words sound weird and stilted, and for a moment I’m afraid my first attempt at dirty talk has fallen flat. But Dax stares at me with undisguised pleasure and tightens his grip in my hair. “God, you’re nothing like I expected.”

  I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not, but I’ll take it as one. Truth be told, I’m surprising myself, too.

  I’m also surprised to realize I like it when Dax talks dirty. I love it, actually. I love when he tells me what to do, and I really love hearing how something feels to him.

  “Can I ask you for something?” The words spill from my mouth before I have a chance to think them through.

  Dax grins. “You’re gripping my dick right now. You can ask me for a fucking pony if you want.”

  I laugh as those words ripple through me. Not pony—I mean dick and fucking. Guys don’t talk to me like this, or at least not the ones I’ve dated.

  I want more.

  And while pre-Test Lisa would count on passive-aggressive cues or subtle moans to get what she wants, this one is going to ask for it.

  “Talk dirty to me, Dax,” I say. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

  He stares at me a moment, then nods. “I want you to suck my dick so hard your cheeks hurt,” he says. “See how much you can take.”

  I groan and shift on my knees, conscious of the pressure between my legs. His words have me dripping with need, and I wonder if he knows it.

  “Okay,” I say, and lick my lips.

  Then I lick him again, starting slowly with the head. I swirl my tongue around him, then move down the shaft, sucking him deeper and deeper until I feel him touch the back of my throat. I see stars, but they’re not stars of discomfort.

  They’re the good kind of stars.

  His hands are back in my hair, rougher this time. He must sense that’s what I want. “That’s it, baby,” he groans. “You suck me so good.”

  Yes!

  I’ve been praised for many skills in my life—the perfect soufflé, my knowledge of wine pairings, my knack for holiday decor.

  But being praised for BJ skills sends a rush of pleasure through me that’s like nothing I’ve felt before. It’s exhilarating.

  So are the throaty moans Dax is making, an audible sign of how good this feels to him. How good I’m making him feel.

  “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “Lick the tip just like that. God, you’re so fucking good.”

  I grip the base of him, loving how much control it gives me. I lick him like a perfect scoop of cherry gelato and wait for my next command.

  “Fuck,” he groans, which isn’t exactly a request. Or maybe it is.

  “You like that?” I slip my hand between his legs, cupping him in my palm. “You like it when I touch you there?”

  I can’t bring myself to say testicles or balls or whatever a real dirty talking woman might say, but I can see my words are getting to him anyway. Or maybe it’s what I’m doing with my fingers.

  “Yeah,” he groans. “Use your nails just like that. Fuck.”

  I suck him in deep again, drawing him back into my throat. His fingers tighten in my hair as I start to slide back, ready to do it again.

  “Stop,” he groans.

  I pull back, fighting a wave of disappointment. “Did I do something wrong?”

  He shakes his head and gives a soft little laugh. “You’re doing everything right. That’s the problem. I’m not gonna last if you don’t stop.”

  “Oh. Oh.” My face heats up, and I think about telling him not to stop. That I want to get him off like this.

  But that’s not the only thing I want.

  He grabs my hand and hefts me to my feet, reading my mind. “Take off your jeans,” he commands.

  His words send a surge of lust through me, but also a twitch of nerves. I take a deep breath and peel off the jeans, shucking my shoes and panties, too. As I straighten up, I realize it’s the first time he’s seeing me naked. I fight the urge to cover myself. Part of me wants to put an arm across my muffin top. To press my palms against my breasts so he doesn’t notice they’re not very big.

  But I do none of that. I square my shoulders and throw my ponytail over one shoulder, determined not to be that Lisa. The one who arranges her body at the most artistic angle like she’s posing for a boudoir selfie.

  Dax is silent as he takes me in. I hold my breath, not sure how to read the stoniness of his expression. The tic pulsing beside his right eye.

  It’s the heat in his eyes that gives him away, followed by a slow blink like he’s trying to clear his vision. He rubs a hand over his jaw, the stubble making a scritch-scritch sound that sends pleasant goose bumps rippling up my arms.

  “God, you’re beautiful.” His voice is thick and gravelly. “So fucking stunning.”

  It’s the sexiest I’ve ever felt.

  “Jesus, look at you.” He takes a step forward, and turns me around so I’m facing the mirror. He’s right, I do look pretty good. Not perfect—not by any stretch of the imagination—but my whole body radiates desire like it’s been painted with candlelight.

  I watch myself in the mirror as he skims a hand over my breasts, bringing me back to the present. I’m aching for him to bury himself inside me. I don’t even want the shower I came here for. I just need Dax. Now.

  “What do you want?”

  I think about what I want, what I need, what instinct is telling me I should do. They’re all different things, and the options whirl in my brain in a pink-tinged mist of lust and desire and longing.

  But there’s one thing I’m sure about.

  “I need you inside me, now.” I lick my lips, then add as an afterthought, “Please.”

  Dax smiles, then tips me forward against the counter. I grip the edge of the sink, eager for what comes next.

  “I want you to watch yourself,” he says. “I want you to see how beautiful you are.”

  I meet my own gaze in the mirror, then his. His eyes hold mine as he strokes a hand over my ass, caressing it like a cashmere sweater. One hand glides forward to cup my breast, and my next breath catches in my throat. My face in the mirror is like no version of Lisa I’ve ever seen. She’s wild and wanton and flushed with pleasure.

  I think I like her.

  His cock bumps into the ridge above my tailbone, and I press back against it without thinking.

  “You want that, baby?” he asks.

  I nod and meet his eyes in the mirror. “Yes,” I whisper. “Please, Dax.”

  Please fuck me is what I’m thinking, even though I don’t say it. He hears the words anyway, and his eyes flash with hunger. It’s like telepathic dirty talk.

  There’s a crinkle of cellophane behind me, and though I can’t see his hands in the mirror, I’m relieved he has a condom. As mind-numbed as I am with lust, I might have forgotten.

  “Watch yourself in the mirror,” Dax urges. “I want us both to see me sliding into you.”

  I do as he says, pulse throbbing in my ears. I can’t see everything, not from this angle, but I can see enough. I can see the hard, latex-sheathed length of him vanishing slowly into me.

  But, oh God, I can feel it. I’m dizzy with pleasure, aching from the delicious intrusion. He’s hard and huge and oh-my-god, he’s bigger than I remember. I cry out as he fills me completely, and he goes still.

  “You good?”

  I nod and meet his eyes in the mirror. “I’m better than good.” I bite my lip. “Talk dirty to me again?”

  He laughs, but not like he’s making fun of me. Crinkles of pleasure frame his eyes, and he smiles at me in the mirror.

  “Oh!” I gasp.

  “You like that?” he growls, and I grip the counter tighter. “You like it when I’m balls-deep in that tight little pussy?”

  His words yank the breath from my lungs, and it’s all I can do to nod. Nod and grip the counter and pray like mad he keeps doing what he’s doing. My God, I’ve spent a lifetime cringing when I heard words like these in movies. Why are they the hottest th
ings on earth when they’re tripping from Dax’s tongue?

  “Dax, please,” I manage to gasp.

  “You want it harder?”

  How does he know that? It’s like he’s reading my mind, which scares the hell out of me and thrills me all at once. “Yes,” I whisper, and Dax obliges, turning my whisper into another groan of pleasure.

  There’s an audible smack of flesh against flesh, and I clutch the counter harder. Years ago, I had one of those Clapper things to turn off my bedside lamp, and I think of how the goddamn lights would be flashing like a strobe right now.

  “What’s making you giggle?” Dax growls. It’s not a mad growl, though, and he smiles as I meet his eyes in the mirror.

  “This,” I gasp as he slams into me again. “You. All of it—I just—”

  I stop myself there, too giddy to trust myself with words. My brain has switched off, overpowered by lust and pleasure and whatever voodoo magic Dax is working right now.

  I giggle at the thought of Dax fucking me in a magician’s cape, earning another snort from him.

  “You’re lucky I have a healthy self-esteem,” he says. “Otherwise, I might wonder why you keep laughing.”

  “I can’t turn my brain off,” I admit. “I keep having silly thoughts, but ohmygod—” I suck in a breath as he drives in deep and hits something really good. “Don’t stop!” I squeak out.

  He grins at me in the mirror. “Let’s see if we can’t shut off your brain, hmm?”

  He drives in hard again, gripping my hips, and I wonder if I’ll have bruises tomorrow. I hope I will. I want physical proof of the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.

  “I want you to come for me, baby,” Dax murmurs. “You think you can do that?”

  I nod, even though I’m doubtful. The man knows female anatomy, clearly, so he must know that in this position, the friction isn’t happening in quite the right spot.

  “Touch yourself,” he murmurs.

  I blink at him in the mirror. “What?”

  “You heard me.” Dax drives into me again. “Rub your clit, just like you would if you were alone in bed thinking of me fucking you like this.”

  I swallow hard, turned on by the words even as they terrify me. Sure, I’ve touched myself plenty when I’m alone. I’ve even had boyfriends stroke me there when the situation called for it. But touching myself in front of someone else?