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Punk and Zen

Page 30

by JD Glass


  Still, I was gentle as I pushed through and past the tightened muscle—God, her cunt was perfect, absolutely perfect, and before I was completely inside her she arched her back and slid fully onto m e.

  “Yeah…” she groaned, a sound so absolutely, primally sensual, I stopped worrying because the blood rushed to my head as she sank against me.

  The blood rushed right back to my cunt as she started to fuck me, deep, hard. I could feel the power in her arms, in her back, as she thrust, her hip driving her hand farther, adding to the almost-overwhelming intensity as she poured her life, she poured herself into me, completely. The fuck fit so precisely I felt it in my throat.

  Her stomach was flat against mine, breasts rubbing, her free arm clutching at my shoulder, mine just below her ass, spreading her wider against the constant slip in and out of her pussy.

  We kissed, openmouthed, hungry, my hands and cunt filled with her. I wanted even more—I wanted to be completely inside her, wear her under my skin. I pushed desperately into her, hoping she enjoyed this as much as I did, that her cunt was as completely full, as content as mine, because I loved the way she felt on me, in me, next to me.

  I breathed in the air that she exhaled, the sweetest air I’d ever breathed, and I didn’t know what I wanted more—her lips or her breath. Then and there I knew that I would never, ever, have enough of her.

  “God, Samantha…” I breathed heavily. “Love you, I fucking love you.” I was shocked to hear those words escape my throat; I hadn’t even consciously thought them.

  Samantha raised her eyes to mine, deep sapphire pools that pierced me, forcing me to realize how much I’d meant it.

  “Come, love,” she choked out, “come because I love you.” Her lips scraped along my neck, her body waved against me, and I could feel the inevitable, the blind-rush end coming as her pussy bore down on me. Her fingers plunged so deep I felt my entire body tingle, as if I were electric, as if I was made of light.

  “Look at me, baby,” I asked her, wanting more than anything to know, to see, to feel and share everything, “let me see your eyes. I want you to see me.”

  She dragged her lower lip against my neck and my chin before she did, and her eyes glowed.

  “Ah God, Nina…” she gasped as I dove into her cunt, wanting, willing her to come on me, in me, driven by the force she pounded into my cunt, into my heart.

  “I love you,” I exhaled, then caught my breath short as the light she’d sparked to brilliance within me overflowed and I was coming, coming in waves, over and over, a ferocious intensity I’d never felt in my life as my gaze stayed locked on hers, with everything I had, everything I was, pouring into her eyes.

  “Coming,” she whispered, a harsh breath over my lips, her eyes hooded as her pussy clutched and spasmed, her body shaking against mine, her skin soft, warm, and beautiful as it seeped into me. “I love you, I love you,” she mouthed, over and over, her cunt, her hands, moving in with deep, hard thrusts, and I came again, watching her, feeling her.

  I wanted to whoop with triumph. I got it, I mean, I really fucking got it. This was what it was about. This was better than anything, ever.

  Samantha’s eyes were still on me, and I took my hand off her ass and stroked the contours of her face, the face I’d dreamt about.

  Her fingers still buried within me, Samantha propped herself on her elbow, her fingertips softly rubbing against my temple. “Are you comfortable?” she asked, her face inches from mine, soft and open, a tiny smile edging the corner of her mouth.

  I arched my neck and kissed her, a gentle, reassuring kiss, and her tongue was once again soothing on mine, the taste of her mouth still addictive.

  “I’m fine,” I answered her, “you?”

  She kissed the tip of my nose, then kissed my chin. “I’m perfect.” She smiled at me. She wiggled a little, then settled her head on my chest, her lips brushing against the base of my throat.

  I kissed her head and stroked her back. “Did you come good?” I asked, wanting to know, needing to know.

  She nodded against my chest. “Uh-huh,” she whispered. She shifted and raised her head. “You?” she asked, her face intense with concern.

  I smiled at her. I’d never known her to be shy, I’d never known her to be insecure. I kissed her soundly in answer and was shocked to feel how freshly, how desperately I wanted her all over again as she stirred deep within me and I felt her answering need.

  “Stay in me,” she asked as I reluctantly slipped my fingers out of her.

  “Just a moment, baby,” I reassured her, and I shifted under her so that she lay next to me. I propped myself up on my arm and leaned over her, trailing my hand up her stomach, across her chest, and let her watch when I slipped that finger into my mouth, tasting her for the first time.

  “You taste amazing,” I whispered before my mouth closed on hers. I couldn’t let her wait, and I couldn’t either. She was hot and wet and ready as my fingers flitted between her lips. Her clit was wonderfully hard, and I wanted to give it the attention it deserved.

  Her free arm slipped under mine and she grabbed my shoulder, crushing me to her, her lips welcome on mine as her thumb circled my clit and her fingers withdrew a bit.

  She felt so good, just so fucking incredible. “God, baby, you’re fucking beautiful,” I told her as I once again teased her opening with my fingertips, this time with my thumb pressing securely on her clit.

  I kissed her, softly, deeply, timing my thrust to my tongue, and Samantha surged beneath me. “I came great,” I whispered into her ear as she pressed her lips against my chest. “I’ve never come like that before.”

  Samantha groaned when I said that and thrust deeply into me, sending that amazing shock through me, short-circuiting my brain. “Me either,” she answered, her body pushing against mine, “me either.”

  We were in it, deep in it, in each other, her head tucked into my shoulder and my face buried in her hair, that spiral light tightening when the thought blazed through my mind—I had to marry this girl before someone else did. That brought me up short. What? We barely knew each other—now, anyway. I mean, yeah, sure, this was the most intense experience physically or ABC emotionally I’d ever had, but was that something to base an entire-life decision on? And I wasn’t ready—I was leaving to go on tour, for chrissake, there was—

  “Marry me?”

  “What?”

  Samantha shifted and leaned up on an elbow to face me, her eyes again glowing that deep, deep blue. “Marry me,” she asked again, with that amazing smile, the one that had always reminded me of the sun coming out from behind clouds, “marry me when you get back from your tour.”

  How had she done that? Read my mind? Magic? Or something I really knew nothing about? It was something I would have to get used to, I thought, and surprised myself again.

  I looked down our bodies, at the way we disappeared into each other, at how her leg wrapped over my hip and mine fit between hers.

  “I think I already did,” I smiled softly back at her, “a long time ago.”

  We didn’t sleep at all. We spent the rest of the night mostly making love, although we took a few breaks—two for the bathroom and one for water. We talked—about the past, about the present, about how amazing this thing between us was. She wouldn’t talk about work, though.

  “I can’t really tell you much about it right now,” was all she said.

  “Why, are you a government assassin or something?” I teased.

  For the first time that night, the sorrow that had been banished from her eyes came back, and I was instantly sorry.

  “Hey, I was only kidding,” I said and laid a hand on her forearm.

  “I know,” she smiled back, the sorrow hidden again, but not fully, “and no, I’m not a government assassin.”

  She flipped her arm over to take my hand, and that’s when I saw it—the horizontal slashes across her wrist, the burn scar that overlaid them. I wasn’t conscious of reaching for the charm that hung
from my neck, but as I rubbed it between my fingers, I could feel the similarity between what I felt and what I saw. Samantha watched me silently until I reached up to take the chain off my neck; I wanted to see if the charm matched the scar.

  “Don’t!” she warned, her hands immediately reaching for mine, her fingers checking the security of the clasp. That’s when I saw the scar on the other arm, also on the soft inside skin, midway between elbow and wrist.

  “Don’t ever take that off,” she told me with dead solemnity. I ABC have no idea what my face must have said, but she took my hands in hers and tried to explain. “That…it was a gift, a gift given in love—it carries power.”

  I stared at her, shocked at her words. A part of me understood exactly what she meant, while another shied away. But the dominant part drew my hands to her arm, pulling it to me so I could take a look at the other scar.

  It was burned into her skin like a brand, probably not as raised as it had been when it was first made, but still, it stood in relief to her skin, a shiny pale pink. I traced it with my fingertip, the exact size and shape of the charm she wore.

  “When did you do this?” I asked, looking up into her eyes, eyes that had gone from deep blue to stormy gray.

  “The day I spoke with Fran,” she said slowly, watching for my reaction. “I had to sever a tie.”

  I didn’t know what to think or make of that, but for some reason, all I could think of was Candace—she’d broken her tie with Candace. It would be a long, long time before I learned exactly how right and wrong I was.

  I carefully put her hand down on her knee and took up the other. As I tracked the angry red lines that ran across her wrist, I could viscerally feel the pain that had made her slash through her own skin, feel the dark joy she had taken at the first bright red drops that had fallen, and finally, the searing shock of a heated metal charm as it burned against the then newly healed skin.

  I can’t explain how much it hurt to see it, and Samantha gasped when my tears fell on her wrist, running down the channels the scars had left. She tried to pull her hand away, but I wouldn’t let her. Instead I tenderly, carefully, kissed her scars.

  “Why, baby?” I asked her, my words barely audible as they tore their way up through my throat. “Why would you do that?” But I knew, I knew, and my heart ached with the knowing as I looked up into her eyes, wanting to hear what she would say.

  Samantha gently took her wrist away and pulled me into her arms, wrapping herself around me. “Shh…it’s over and I’m okay,” she murmured into my ear as she rocked me, “you’re here, we’re here, it’s perfect.” Once again, I was home and safe, safe in the circle of Samantha’s arms, safe as I hadn’t been in years; only this time, instead of her graduating in June, I was leaving in a few hours, and this time, I was the one who didn’t know when I’d return—if ever. Hey, let’s be super-practical: shit happens, and some of it’s pretty fuckin’ ugly bad.

  I had things to tell her, things she had to know if she’d meant what she’d said earlier.

  “Samantha,” I stirred in her arms and faced her, “did you mean that?”

  “What?” she asked, kissing my shoulder, “about wanting to get married?” ABC She stroked my cheek. “I’ve never meant anything more,” she assured me softly, her mouth a sensual curve.

  I took a breath. “We need to talk,” I told her quietly, “before we discuss that again.”

  Samantha reached around her neck and undid her chain, coiling it and the little sword in her hand. “This is the third time it’s not been on my neck,” she started, holding the ends out to put it on me. “The first was when I burned it into my arm.” She stroked it as it lay on my chest, right over my heart, just below the ankh. She kissed it and the skin that lay beneath it.

  “Now,” she said, “I wear it always,” and she took my hand and laid it on her arm, over the brand. “Wear this one until you bring it back to me—you carry a part of me.” She smiled softly and ran her thumb against my cheek. “What you tell me won’t change anything, I’m sure,” she said. “I’ve been sure since the first day I saw you.” She beamed at me with such gentle joy that I had to kiss the corner of her lips, then taste them.

  Still, either way, I had to tell her.

  “Sam,” I spoke finally, “even if you’re that sure,” and I smiled as I took her hands, “there’s stuff you need to know—things that must come from me so that nothing,” I paused as I thought of how to explain, “nothing surprises you, or anyone outright lies to you or paints a distorted picture of the truth. No matter what the worst of it is, you heard it from me, and you heard it from me first.”

  In the past several years I’d learned one super gigunda lesson: people lied. They lied about themselves, they lied about you, they lied to themselves and to you, and when they had enough, they lied about the lies.

  I had no idea how long Samantha was going to stay in New York, I had no idea where she’d go or what she’d do, but I figured that I’d probably met way too many people who’d be way too happy to put in a bad word for me. At least this way, no matter what anyone told her, she wouldn’t have to ask herself, “Would/did Nina do/say that?” She’d know; I did, or I didn’t. Anything that deviated from that? Wasn’t true.

  Samantha nodded. “Tell me then, baby, tell me what you think I need to know.”

  I did. Everything. From Trace to Fran and all the stuff in between. When I spoke about Candace (and I kept that brief), her arms stiffened around me.

  “All Candace ever told me was that you were beautiful, you were sensually generous to a fault, and that you were a law unto yourself.”

  Huh? I thought. “I, uh, I don’t understand,” I said instead. Hey, I wasn’t about to act dumb in front of my potential future, um, whatever, right?

  “It means,” Samantha explained, tightening her arms around me again and rocking me back against her, “that you, love,” she kissed my neck, “wouldn’t ABC let her touch you.”

  Her lips trailed sensually up my neck, and her hands wreaked havoc on my body as she rolled the nipple of my breast with one, making me sigh, and slid the other down to my pussy. She began to stroke my clit—delicate, long strokes that made me roll my head back to search for her mouth while my cunt moved of its own volition into her hands.

  “Yes,” I hissed sharply as her fingers quested lower and she shifted her thumb to my clit. She slowly but firmly entered me.

  “God, if I’d only known sooner…” she murmured into my ear.

  All I could do was groan her name as she pistoned into my cunt, and I met her every stroke. She let go of my nipple and reached for my clit instead, milking it.

  “I want to suck on that,” she growled and shoved deep, deep inside me, sending shocks into my throat.

  “I want to touch you,” I groaned, desperately caught between the ever-growing, ever-better, satisfying cunt throb and the absolute hunger to bury myself into her, into her cunt any way I could.

  “Soon, baby, I promise,” she swore into my ear, “just…just come for me, now, like this, in my arms and wrapped around you.” Her words were positively sweet and loving, and somehow they blended beautifully with the absolute gut-level way she pumped me, pushing me closer and closer to that point of light.

  “Samantha?” I practically gulped for air as I asked her, almost at the edge of thought, wanting to take her with me and wanting even more to give her something that was unmistakably hers and hers alone. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything, baby, anything,” she assured me, her voice ragged.

  I knew she was close too, almost as close as I was, and knowing how entirely turned on she was pushed me even closer. I trailed one hand up and over her shoulder to her neck, pulling her down to my mouth so I could feel her lips on mine. The other I trailed along the tensed muscles of her forearm. I circled her wrist lightly and felt the straining tendons, then let my fingers flow down her hand, feeling how wet I really was, the amazing vanishing point where she drove into me again
and again.

  I took a long breath—and went with it.

  “Fuck me, baby. Please fuck me.”

  ∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

  Trans-Europe Express

  All my life I waited for a ABC time

  For a dream to come that’s locked inside my mind

  And my days? I paint the ceiling blue

  And I tell everyone that it’s got nothing to do with you

  “Paint the Ceiling Blue”—Life Underwater

  ∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

  We flew to Heathrow, and my first glimpse of London was from inside a train-tunnel in a car packed with people and equipment, followed by a dizzying unpacking session, loading everything into a car, dropping it off—somewhere—and then being driven to a hall. Stephie, Jerkster, and I were handed sandwiches and, of all things, cups of Tang—ugh!—told to hurry up and eat, our sound check was in ten minutes. It was a good thing we’d worked our set out before the flight—which I managed to sleep through until the last few minutes.

  That was the relaxing start. After the show we unloaded from the stage and packed all our crap into a van—we had another show in less than twenty hours. Played still another in Leeds and a third in Liverpool. Slept on a train to Glasgow. We learned to like cucumbers and watercress. Okay, that’s a lie. I liked them, Stephie barely tolerated them, and Jerkster would eat anything that didn’t crawl fast.

  We caught another train back to London, then Heathrow, then a flight to France. I didn’t get to see the Eiffel Tower or the Louvre in person, dammit. A cold-water shower in a shared apartment in Paris—and I couldn’t remember how to ask where the bathroom was! Boy, did that ever result in some mayhem, because I kept ending up in a washroom. Argh! Paulie-Boy took the time to explain to Jerkster what a bidet was.

  From France, we took trains everywhere—and it was absolutely no fun waiting at a station madly paranoid about getting everyone and their gear on board. Train food was mostly these weird little sausages that tasted somewhat like hot dogs, with lots of coffee in the morning, more weird little sausages with wine at night. I’d never had so much coffee before, but it was either that or Tang orange-flavored crap. Why does everyone think Americans drink Tang? Everyone knows that you can use that stuff to scrub your bathroom with. And another thing—what’s with the wax-style toilet paper? Sheesh!

 

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