by Alex Lucian
“Oh no, I know exactly what I’m asking for here, because the only one of these that I’ve seen and felt before,” she curved her fingers and squeezed, smiling when I cursed, “was much smaller than this. And he did not know how to use it.”
“I sure as fuck do.”
“I know you will,” she said quickly, leaning up to place a kiss at the bottom of my jaw. “And I need you to give me sex that does not suck.” She kissed my chin. “Plus, you owe me for that naughty, naughty thing that you said to me earlier.”
For three long seconds, our eyes held. Three seconds that felt sexier and more important than my last dozen sexual encounters combined. My hands released the shirt covering her and slid down until I met warm skin. Then I curved them around until I cupped Scarlet’s ass and yanked her forward. I tugged the cheeks apart, rocking myself against her, and she dropped her forehead onto my chest with a moan.
“Please, Leo,” she begged on a whisper. Like I’d say no right now. I pulled in a deep breath of her hair. Scarlet lifted her head to look at me, our lips so close that the damp breaths from her mouth hit my lips in short, heavy bursts. “Make me feel good.”
So I did.
I let my lips rest on hers while I took one hand up her side, smoothing over her rib cage until I met the curve of one breast.
She whimpered when I didn’t move right away, and when the sound moved through my lips and into my mouth, I fucking snapped, shoving my tongue into her mouth, wanting to absolutely devour her.
Scarlet wrapped her arms around my neck, meeting the thrusts of my tongue with wet, frantic ones of her own. I palmed her breast, groaning at the hardened pebble of her nipple against my skin. My other hand left her ass, coming around the front of her thigh until I could drag a finger through the wet crease of her cunt. It felt crude to think that about her. And when I pushed a finger in, hooking it inside of her and grinding my palm against her clit all while our mouths ate at each other, her knees buckled and I barely caught her.
Swinging her up in my arms, I moved toward the stairs.
She laughed, running her hands through my hair while I made my way up. “The couch would have worked fine.”
I cleared the landing and dropped her legs, letting her slide against me while I lowered her. Then I shook my head and grabbed the edges of the shirt she still wore. I don’t know why I thought I could do it quickly and not about die at the way she looked underneath it. But the action made her stretch up, revealing her flat stomach that felt as soft as it looked. It did particularly amazing things to her tits—lifting them up when her arms were raised over her head, bouncing back down when the shirt came off. I pressed both thumbs to her nipples, then pushed them together. This didn’t feel like the rushed, groping drunk sex I’d expected, but I didn’t know if it felt like that for her. Knowing the couch would have ‘worked fine’ for her swamped me with white heat, making me want to prove her so fucking wrong. I gripped the sides of her face and dragged my nose along her cheek until I reached her ear.
“No, it wouldn’t have,” I said, licking along the shell of her ear. “Because the things I want to do to you require more space than that.”
“Oh my God, yes,” she said in a rush, stroking my stomach again and moving down to my belt buckle, which she eagerly opened before ripping down the zipper. Scarlet dipped her hand into my boxers, wrapping her small fist around my cock.
“That’s it, right there. Oh fuck, Scarlet.” She twisted, tightened and gripped harder, only loosening her grip to trace her thumb over the slit where I’d leaked a drop of pre-come. “Where’s your room? Or else you’re going to find out what it’s like to get fucked against the wall next to your parents’ bedroom.”
With a small smile, she grabbed my hand and led me down the hallway, then turned around and backed into the dark room. When she went to close the door, I stopped her.
“No way. I want you to fill every room in the house with your screams.”
I watched her eyes darken before I gripped her hips and backed her onto the bed. Never breaking her stare, I shoved my jeans and boxers off. Her legs fell open and I pumped my cock a few times, loving the way she licked her lips. When I grabbed behind her knees and yanked her to the edge of the bed, she moaned, throwing her head back on the mattress.
I smoothed both hands up the inside of her thighs, dragging both thumbs along the edge of her pussy, then sank to my knees on the floor in front of her. She lifted her head, brows bunched in confusion.
“What are—”
“Shut up, Scarlet.” I dragged the flat of my tongue up along her length, groaning at her taste, at how wet she was. Dropping a kiss over her clit, I flicked my tongue against it, fucking loving the moans that were coming out of her mouth. I dipped my tongue inside of her, making lewd movements and sounds until she was moving her hips in tiny circles. The pitch of her voice rose, and I moved a hand so I could rub against her clit in short, fast movements with my thumb. She screamed, detonating instantly, and I could feel it around my tongue. I just might die when she did that around my cock. I gentled the motions of my tongue and took my thumb away from her clit.
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” she said, breathing hard, her rib cage and chest heaving. My heart raced, my head spun, and I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath while I kissed up her body. Stopping to suck on one tit, I rubbed my mouth against her so that I could lick the shining wetness from her pussy off of her skin.
Her hands flew up to grab my head and I laughed when she dragged me up so she could kiss me. I gripped under her ass and shuffled us higher on the bed, the soft pull of her lips and tongue raising goosebumps along my skin.
“You taste so fucking amazing, Scarlet,” I breathed in between kisses.
“I’ve,” she stopped to pull back and look me in the eye, “I’ve never felt anything like that.”
With a grin, I reached down to fist my cock, rubbing the tip over her clit. “Just wait,” I promised and notched the tip inside the tight fist of her.
“Don’t make me,” she said with a fierceness that took me by surprise. I could still taste the vodka and lemon on her tongue and it gave me a brief pause. But then she gripped my ass and pushed me until I was in. Not fully, but enough that we made matching sounds of relief and desperation. Then I snapped my hips forward until our skin met with a slap.
“Holy fuck, Scarlet,” I said, overcome and overwhelmed, my whole body tense with the wash of heat that was crushing me, the wet slide when I pulled back and did it again. Over and over and over until I was sweating and she was dragging that sweat down over my chest with her fingernails. My muscles screamed at me, but Scarlet never stopped touching me. Soon enough, I couldn’t discern where she was touching me and I was touching her, or who was making what sound. She was close, I could feel it around my dick, so I propped on my elbow and pressed down on her clit in fast circles.
And then I died. Absolutely fucking died.
Chapter Nine
When I was in my junior year of college, I pulled a legitimate all-nighter, doing labs from seven at night until eight the next morning. I must have consumed eight energy drinks and briefly considered taping my eyelids open at one point, and around the time I crawled into bed, my head hurt so bad that I couldn’t have told you my own name.
But that experience paled in comparison to the way my head felt now, as I opened my eyes and squeezed them shut, as if the mere presence of light was a drill into my skull by way of my corneas. My mouth tasted like I’d eaten dog shit.
This must be what it’s like to be hungover, I thought as I breathed in some courage and opened my eyes again. My memory was like the tide, coming in before hurling back out. I saw shots of milky liquid, clear liquid, Leo’s hands.
Leo. I opened and closed my mouth, attempting to get my tongue to work normally, despite the very foul taste it drummed up.
My stomach revolted and I pressed a hand against it under the blanket, which caused my eyes to widen in alarm. As my hand slid up
my chest, the realization hit me quickly. Yup, that was bare skin.
I was in bed completely naked.
I dropped my arm, coming into contact with another very warm limb and my stomach clenched.
I didn’t need to turn my head to confirm who I knew to be in bed with me, because my memory was catching up again, staying longer. Visions of me standing on my kitchen counter, stripping my clothes from my body in front of Leo. And the most embarrassing of the three; begging him for sex.
“Oh God,” I whispered, but it came out cracked and growly.
Memories of his face between my legs burned my vision and I closed my eyes, absolutely out of my mind with embarrassment.
Slowly, I moved myself to a sitting position, refraining from making any noise lest I disturb him as he slept. But once I was sitting straight up, my back popped from having slept in one position all night and I groaned.
I wasn’t sure if Leo always woke up like that, shooting straight up like someone had set off a fire alarm. But it startled me nonetheless, causing me to clutch the comforter to my chest as I stared at him with absolutely no expression on my face, despite the revolt in my head.
When he saw me, his jaw dropped and he repeated, “Shit,” over and over like a mantra, peppering each instance with a grip of his head, a search around the room, an uncomfortable glance at me, over and over on repeat.
As he muttered one very long, “Shiiiiit,” he finally hopped out of the bed only to fall immediately to the floor, saying a very loud and angry “Shit” in the process. When he stood up again, he looked around like a wild animal looking for its escape.
He walked around the bed and grabbed his jeans from the floor and I averted my eyes. What was the protocol for this sort of thing? Was I allowed to peruse his naked body, now that I could see him clearly? Or was that creepy? I rubbed my lips together and tried to think of what to say.
“Your parents are out of town, right?”
I looked up, eyes colliding with his bare chest as he buttoned his jeans. He was focused on his task, not meeting my eyes, so I replied. “Yeah. For six weeks.” And then I swiftly, mentally kicked myself for adding that on when he seemed so intent on getting the hell out of my room.
He walked into the hall and I waited until I heard the click of the hallway bathroom door closing before standing up from the bed and carefully putting on clothing while my mind raced.
A flash of him rubbing his face over my chest hit me like a train as I put a bra on, my nipples sore against the lining.
“Shit is right,” I murmured, wanting to hate myself for letting it happen but not completely able to.
It wasn’t until that moment that I acknowledged what had happened.
Leo had made me realize what was so great about sex. Finally. Or maybe it was just sex with Leo that made it great, all that simmering hate brewing into a sort of teeming passion.
I couldn’t see the whole picture, and my memory flashes were synchronizing with each place on my body I touched—in no way was I able to grasp the entire night in chronological order.
Lots of begging—I knew that. I saw it at the bar and at home, though at home I’d taken a more direct approach by getting completely naked in front of him.
Okay, if I could hate myself for anything, I could hate myself for that.
* * *
After brushing my dark copper-colored lion’s mane and scrubbing the sweater of gross from my teeth, I walked past the closed bathroom door, thankful for small mercies when I still wasn’t sure what to say. So far, I’d said a whole four words to him. And those four words weren’t, “Thanks for the orgasms,” which is what I wanted to say, but would never be able to say.
I put a pot of coffee on to brew and pulled the cardigan around me tighter as I stared out the sliding glass door that led to our backyard. Just twelve hours earlier, Leo had knocked on that glass and I’d invited him in.
I couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing in the bathroom that was taking so long. Maybe he was examining his body for needle holes, imagining that I would have had to drug him to make what happened possible.
And why did I keep saying, “what happened” instead of just announcing “the sex”—because that’s what it was.
What happened was Leo put his giant cock inside of you and you liked it a lot, but not before you begged desperately for it.
I winced, realizing that I’d never be able to erase that memory of me begging for sex.
I started clearing up our shot glasses and discarded lemon peels. As I replaced the giant bottle of vodka in my mom’s cupboard, I felt the ache all the way down my spine. Was this normal? I tried to remember how I’d felt after having sex with the chicken legs guy, but the sex itself was so unmemorable that I shouldn’t be surprised that the morning after was even more unmemorable. A sound from behind me caused me to turn after closing the cabinet.
He was standing in the doorway, one hand tucked in his pocket as he looked at me. I couldn’t read his expression, so I busied myself with doctoring up a cup of coffee.
“Scarlet.”
“Hmm?” I didn’t look up from where I stirred the spoon in my mug.
“Hey.” He said it more solidly, clearly desiring a reaction from me. I raised my head, met his uncertain gaze.
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
What a question to ask. Part of me wanted to reply, “Well, besides the aching between my legs and the fact that I do not know how I’ll ever get over begging you to sleep with me, I’m just peachy.” But I brought my coffee to my lips, holding its warmth against my flesh for a few seconds. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
He blinked and frowned. He turned his head toward the stairs and I took in his wrinkled clothes and messed up hair. He still looked hot. And even though I now knew him in a very Biblical way—sorry, Dad—I didn’t think I could easily switch gears from hating him to gushing over him, panting after him.
“Did you…” he started, before rubbing a hand in his hair and stepping forward, placing his jacket on the counter. “Do you…” he tried again, still unsuccessful in completing his question.
I made a decision then to fake amnesia. “What happened last night?”
His eyes widened and then narrowed as he stared at me, like he was trying to decide if I was genuinely unsure. I kept my face cool, emotionless, steadying my breathing. I was in complete control of my external reactions to him, even though my insides were quivering, wanting me to reach over and touch him, to prove to myself that this was real. This had happened.
“You don’t remember?”
I took a sip of my coffee and shrugged. I wasn’t ready to admit that I’d begged for what had happened. I’d give him this easy out, so he didn’t feel some kind of obligation to talk to me about how he wasn’t really a "relationship-kinda-guy" and how he wasn’t looking for a "girlfriend," complete with air quotes. I’d never known Leo to hold on to a girl longer than a handful of days and I didn’t need the humiliation of him reminding me of that fact. “Don’t you have things to do today?”
I waited two breaths as his face changed, smoothing over. I couldn’t tell if it was relief that I saw reflected in his eyes, or if he’d schooled his features to mirror mine. “Not particularly, why?”
I wasn’t expecting a why. That meant he wanted something from me, in some way. And I wasn’t expecting or ready for that.
“I have things I need to get done today.” I set my coffee cup on the counter and looked beyond him to the door. “So, if you want to get going…” I let my own voice trail off with that.
He waited a beat longer before he picked up his jacket and looked at it between his hands. And without a second glance, he was out the door.
Chapter Ten
When I opened the door and saw Liza, holding a bottle of cheap wine and wearing a look of expectation on her face, I nearly laughed. “Do we need booze for this?” she asked, holding the bottle up higher as if I hadn’t seen it already.
I gestured her in and shut the door, praying Leo hadn’t been looking out the window at the moment she’d arrived. Because I did not want him to seeing Liza here and possibly guessing what that meant.
“It’s only eleven, Liza.” I plopped onto the couch as she joined me after retrieving the wine opener from the kitchen.
She tucked her chin-length blonde bob behind her ears. “In Europe, people drink all day long.” The cork came out of the bottle with a very crisp popping sound and she poured some into two glasses.
Peering over my glasses, I raised an eyebrow. “That’s very indeterminate. I could say that ‘fact’ about Americans too.”
“Right.” She lifted both glasses and handed me one. “And we’re American, so we’re going to drink while you explain to me why you’re wearing eyeglasses in the middle of the day. I’ve only seen you do that once, and it was that time you got a B on the test you should’ve aced and cried all day over it.”
“Ugh.” Its reminder was unwelcome and my mouth curved in distaste. “I’m still not over that, thanks for bringing it up.”
“You’re welcome. Now tell me. What’s up?”
I sighed and stared down into my glass.
“Shit. I didn’t pour you enough, did I?”
Shaking my head, I set the glass back down on the coffee table. “I’m too full from breakfast. And the very last thing I need is more alcohol.”
Liza shifted in her cushion, her blue eyes widening. “More alcohol? Ooh, this is gonna be good. Maybe I need more wine for this.” She picked up my glass and dumped it into hers. “By the way, why does it reek of eggs in here?” she asked with a dramatic sniff.
“Because I had five scrambled eggs.” When Liza continued to stare at me, I continued. “Eggs have an amino acid that helps with the hangover headache.”