Rouse Me

by Crystal Kaswell

  “See, that's why I like you. Such good grammar, even when you're mad at me.” Luke opens a bottle of tequila and pours two glasses. He cuts a lime into quarters and slides one between his soft lips. Goddammit, I can't drag my eyes away from those lips.

  He smiles when he catches my gaze. Smug bastard.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” he asks, his dark eyes burning with intensity. Please let it be Can I fuck you right now? Kiss me. Touch me. Fuck me. Anything.

  Jesus, I'm in over my head. Is it even possible I'll leave this apartment without fucking him?

  Why would you want to?

  It takes all my self-control, but I manage to maintain my composure. “Can I stop you?”

  “You'd think I'd be more grateful to have you in my apartment. Especially when that dress does such a great job driving me out of my fucking mind. But I've always been incompetent with women.” His hand grazes mine. “I have to know. You seemed so confident the other night at the bar. You were so smart, and sure of yourself, and full of ideas. You don't seem like someone who would let her boyfriend control her.”

  I am suddenly incredibly aware of how easy it would be to slide these straps off my shoulders. I am suddenly interested in nothing else but how Luke's fingertips would feel on my skin. Deep breath. He's waiting for a response. I have to respond.

  “That isn't a question,” I say.

  “Why do you let Ryan control you?” he asks and looks into my puffy, bloodshot eyes. “Does he really make you happy?”

  “I don't need to be happy,” I say.

  “What do you need?”

  “Don't pretend like you don't know the rest,” I say. “You've read all the little blurbs on the gossip rags.”

  I press my nails into my thumb. Do we really need to get into this?

  No, you need to take off your clothes and get horizontal. Isn't that why you came here?

  “I have a hard time believing you need a controlling asshole for a boyfriend because you had a problem with disordered eating.”

  I laugh. A problem with disordered eating. How quaint. Like it was a diet gone too far. A problem with disordered eating. No, let's call it what it was. Textbook bulimia. Binging and purging every other night. Acid reflux so bad I could barely keep anything down. Yellow teeth and nails. Constant bloating. Exhaustion. Shame. The list goes on.

  Not that this is any of his business. But, maybe if he understands, he'll stop asking about Ryan, and we'll be able to actually enjoy a conversation.

  Conversation, huh? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?

  “It's not a problem with disordered eating,” I say. “It's an eating disorder. Bulimia Nervosa. The kind of thing that completely warps your mind. The kind of thing that completely controls you. I would never have gotten better without Ryan. I'd already landed myself in the hospital with severe dehydration three times. I was ready to purge my way into an early grave. If Ryan hadn't stepped in, if he hadn't convinced me that I deserved to be healthy, that he loved me and he was sick of watching me get hurt… I probably wouldn't be here right now.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

  “I've talked about it with enough therapists,” I say.

  “I'm not going to nod and ask, 'What does that make you feel?' Unless, you enjoy that kind of thing?”

  “No.” I almost crack a smile.

  “Geez, Alyssa, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you riled up. It's just… I like you. I don't want to see you fade away under Ryan's control.”

  He moves closer to me. Jesus, he's so close, he could kiss me or touch me. But he doesn't. Why doesn't he? Wouldn't he rather kiss me than talk about Ryan?

  “I need him,” I say.

  “Why?” he asks. I know Luke isn't this dumb. I made it plenty clear why I need Ryan. He must get it by now. He must understand. “What does Ryan do that you couldn't do for yourself?”

  “He looks out for me,” I say.

  “And why can't you look out for yourself?”

  “I don't know, but I obviously can't. I got myself into this mess, didn't I?”

  “The mess where you're engaged to a man you dislike or the mess where you're in my apartment, in that criminally sexy dress, ready to cheat on your fiancé?”

  Well, I have to give him points for confidence.

  Oh, come on. He invited you to his apartment. You both knew what that meant. Would you even be here if you didn't think he was going to fuck you?

  “I would have died without him,” I say.

  “So, he saved your life? The only other option would be enabling your suicide. A slow suicide, maybe, but still suicide.” Luke looks away for a minute, but his composure doesn't break. “Only a monster would do that.”

  “He could have done nothing. He could have given up on me.”

  Luke looks back at me. “You can't marry him. He doesn't make you happy. He doesn’t respect you.”

  “So, when you tell me to leave my 'controlling asshole' boyfriend of four years, even though I've made it clear I need him, what is that—the utmost respect? Or are you just another controlling asshole who thinks he knows what's best for me?”

  “Fuck, you're right. I'm an asshole. I'm sorry. Really, I am. I swear I didn't invite you here to antagonize you.”

  “Likely story.”

  “I'll make it up to you. I promise.” He moves closer, his fingertips hovering over my skin. God, I hope he means what I think he means.

  “And how will you do that?”

  “However you want.”

  I move a little closer to him. His eyes bore into mine, reading them for some kind of reaction. Then his hands make contact with my skin and my body surges with electricity.

  “Listen, Alyssa, I can respect if you didn't come here to talk.”

  Now we're getting somewhere.

  “And if this is some kind of ‘fuck you’ to Ryan, I get that. He deserves it and, quite frankly, if you're going to fuck someone to get revenge on your boyfriend… I'll make sure it's worth it. I'll make sure you have something you can remember for a long time.”

  He isn't reserved any longer. He turns towards me, his hand pressing against my bare back. A heat spreads through my body, and I'm not sure if I can fight this desire any longer. It would feel so good to let his hands keep moving. It would feel so good to touch him and kiss him and fuck him. It might even be worth it.

  “I'd much prefer to be more than a revenge fuck, but if my only two choices are to be your nothing or to be your revenge fuck, I'll be your revenge fuck,” he says.

  He runs his fingertips up and down my back.

  “But, if I completely misread the situation, and you really are here to talk, I can shut up and listen. Or we can get wasted on tequila and watch TV. I'm happy just to be near you.”

  “But?” I ask, as his palm presses flat into my back, pushing my body towards his.

  “But I'd much prefer to fuck you.”

  I gulp.

  “I said I'd ask nicely. So, Alyssa, can I make you come or should we arrange for alternate entertainment?”

  Chapter 11

  “I don't know,” I say, “can you?”

  “There you go again with that sexy grammar,” he smiles. “Miss Summers, may I make you come?”

  “You may.”

  “Should I get something?” he asks.

  “I haven't been with anyone besides Ryan in years. I was tested for anything and everything when I started treatment. And, well, I do have an IUD.”

  “I trust you. And I haven't been with anyone since… Well, it's been a while. And I'm clean. But I can get something if you want to be careful.”

  “No¸” I say. “I don't want a condom in the way. I want to feel you inside me.”

  “Jesus,” he says, his hands sliding around my waist. And, like he can barely control himself, he pulls me onto his lap and presses his lips into mine. I straddle him, the fabric of his jeans rubbing against my thighs. Can I really do this? Can I really c
heat on Ryan? Will I even be able to look myself in the eye tomorrow?

  But I don't care how I feel tomorrow. My brain doesn't understand the concept of tomorrow. My brain is quickly passing the reins to my body, and my body does not know or want anything except Luke. I need him to touch me, and kiss me, and fuck me. I've never needed anything more than I need Luke inside me.

  But if I'm going to do this, I'm going to relish it.

  Luke sucks on my upper lip, gently at first, then harder and harder. Our mouths part and his tongue slips inside my mouth, swirling around mine. My body surges with electricity again. Every inch of me wants every inch of him, and it wants it now.

  I pull his shirt over his head and press my fingers into his hard muscles. God, his body feels as amazing as it looks. His back and chest are so strong, and when I slide my fingertips across them, he groans and bites my neck. His hands find my ass, pushing my crotch into his. He's hard.

  He slides his hands around the curves of my hips and waist, along the neckline of my dress. He traces my neckline with his fingers, down and up and down and up again. His touch is so light I can barely feel it. Then, his fingers inch forward, onto my skin, and he follows the pattern of the neckline. Down and up and down and up again. Jesus. I squeeze my thighs around him, but he doesn't change his pace.

  Finally, when I think I will explode if he doesn't touch me properly, he pushes the fabric of my dress out of the way. He takes a long look, hands on my hips, his hard cock straining against his jeans.

  “God, you're beautiful,” he says, and he strokes my breasts, his thumbs rubbing against my nipples. Pangs of pleasure shoot through my body, my sex screaming with desire. I'm already so achy. I'm already so ready. I press my mouth onto his, sucking hard on his lips. I grab his hand and bring it between my legs.

  “Such impatience,” he smiles. His fingertips brush against my thighs, his touch getting lighter the closer he gets to my sex. Then, he brushes his hand against my panties. I groan.

  “Fuck me,” I command, my voice weak and needy.

  “We aren't even close to ready for that,” he says. He pushes me onto my back and slides my dress to my feet. Then he kisses me, hard, his fingertips flirting with the edge of my panties. God, I want those hands on my skin, under my panties, inside me.

  But Luke has other ideas. He presses his lips against my neck. A soft kiss. Then harder. His lips press into my shoulder. Harder. His lips press into my collarbone. Harder. His lips close around my nipple. Jesus. I groan and arch my body into his, my hands digging into his hair.

  I feel his tongue, soft and wet, swirling around my nipple. Then his teeth. He bites gently at first. Then harder and harder, until I feel an equal mix of pain and pleasure. I dig my nails into his shoulders, but it only encourages his tease. He moves to my other nipple and sucks on it, the pressure of his mouth flooding my body with desire.

  He slides his fingers up my thighs again. But this time, he strokes over my panties, pressing the smooth fabric into my sex. I am already wet for him. I am already desperate for him. But he is making me wait. He is cruel. He is evil. He is perfect.

  He presses my panties into my clit and strokes softly. More. I need more. Come on, give me more. His fingers slip inside my panties, and, finally, I feel them against my bare skin.

  “God, you're so wet,” he says.

  “Don't make me beg.”

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asks. He looks up at me, his big, brown eyes lit up with desire.

  “I want you to fuck me.”

  “Soon,” he says. He pins me to the couch and his lips trail down my body, kissing and sucking and nibbling. He lifts my ass, pulling my panties to my knees then off my feet. He pushes my legs apart, pinning my knees to the couch.

  He nibbles on my thigh. Jesus. I need those lips on me. I need that tongue on me. He nibbles again, a little higher this time. Then higher. And higher. Until he's nearly there.

  Then his tongue slides over my clit and my body screams with pleasure. I never want him to stop, but I want to fuck him now. He presses his lips around my clit, sucking gently. I feel his tongue, soft and warm, against my clit. I open my mouth to say something. Stop, fuck me now, I can't wait anymore. But, instead, I moan and tug on his hair. His eyes, those goddamn brown eyes, fiery and intense, lock with mine and he smiles. Then he's back to his task, lavishing my sex with attention. I'm so wet, and so close, and I do nothing but inhale the sensations—the pressure in my sex, the soft, wet feel of his tongue.

  I moan and shudder and press my thighs into his chest. He pins my knees to the couch again. I feel his tongue, sliding around the edges of my sex, sucking on my lips. I feel his fingertips sliding up and down my thighs as his tongue makes its way around me, back to my clit, shooting pleasure through my body. The tension insides me builds, harder and deeper as I get closer and closer with every lap of his tongue. I start to shake. I am so close to the edge.

  And then he pulls back, and I am certain I am going to collapse. I reach for him, my nails scratching his back, and then I feel his tongue on me.

  The tension inside me builds to a crescendo. It is so hard and deep it almost hurts, and it builds and builds and builds, a little more, and then a little more, and then even more. And, finally, I can't hold off any longer, and I come, releasing everything, my entire body flooding with waves and waves of pleasure. I moan his name. Luke. And I relish the feel of it on my tongue. Luke. I could get used to saying that, to screaming that, to feeling like this.

  My body relaxes as I come down. Jesus Christ. He wasn't kidding about making it worth my while.

  He pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me. I sink into his body, my legs wrapping around his. He holds me as I catch my breath.

  And when I finally find my breath, I kiss his lips and ears and neck. He groans, and I slide my hand down his stomach, reveling in the feeling of his hard muscles. I get to his jeans, and I unzip them, and slide my hand inside, feeling his hard cock against his boxers.

  “Are you sure you don't need a minute?” he asks.

  “No, no, no,” I say. “No more waiting. I want you inside of me now.”

  A groan escapes his lips. “Say that again.”

  “I want you inside of me.”

  He moves faster, shimmying out of his jeans and boxers. I finally get a look at all of him. Jesus. He's big. He sits up straight on the couch and pulls me towards him. I straddle him, my legs around his thighs, my crotch hovering over his.

  I lower myself until I feel his cock against my sex. Jesus Christ. I abandon any thoughts of teasing him. I need him inside me now. I grasp his cock and slide it inside me.

  His eyes go wide as I take him in. He groans and presses his lips against mine, kissing me hard. God, he feels amazing inside me, but I want more. I want to make him come.

  I bring my hands to his shoulders, using them for leverage as I move up and down. I start slowly, sliding my sex over his entire length, then back to his tip, just to feel him enter me again. He groans and digs his fingers into my skin, but I keep my pace. Up and down and up and down again and again.

  He holds me, kissing my neck, and grabs my hips, pulling me towards him. I rock, riding him, my clit pressing against his pelvis, his cock further inside me with every thrust. Jesus. I groan. And I lose myself in the movements, my body flooding with pleasure.

  He shudders. He's close. I can feel it. “Jesus, Alyssa,” he groans. He grabs my hips and pushes my body into his. We are still, his cock filling my sex, and he kisses me, his lips sucking on my lips, his teeth scraping against them gently. He lifts me off him, bringing my chest to his mouth, and he sucks on my nipples until I scream his name again.

  He wraps his arms around my back, lifts me off the couch, and lays me on the floor. I spread my legs as he lowers his body onto mine, his chest against mine, his arms at my sides. I gasp as his cock enters me again. He rocks his body into mine, his cock thrusting deeper and deeper inside me.

  I grab his ass and rock my hips t
owards him, pushing him deeper, savoring the feel of his cock inside me. I moan, “Harder,” and he squeezes me tighter, thrusting into me again, and again, and again. I match my movements to his, my hips rocking to meet him, to push his cock deeper inside me, to hold it inside me for longer.

  The tension builds, again, and it hits me quickly this time. I clench my sex as I get closer and closer to coming. My movements grow frenzied. I rock my pelvis into his. Harder. Faster. Luke matches my movements, his cock slamming into me. I squeeze my nails into his back. Almost. So close. I feel all his skin on mine, his chest on my chest, his arms around mine.

  I squeeze my thighs around his back, bringing our bodies together, pushing him deeper inside me. And there it is. All the tension releases and I come, my nails digging so hard into his back I swear I feel blood. The pleasure is more intense this time, and I feel like it will never stop.

  The look in Luke's eyes is magic. Some kind of lust and need I've never seen before. He groans and shudders and I breathe into his ear, “Come inside me.”

  His teeth find my neck and he bites hard, so hard I am sure he will leave a mark, but I can't bring myself to care. He holds me tightly as he launches into a final thrust, hard and fast. He groans, “Jesus Christ,” and he comes, filling me completely.

  He stays on top of me for a minute, his cock inside me, his arms around me. The only sound is our breath.

  Slowly, I become aware of my surroundings.

  I am in Luke's apartment. It is dark outside. It is getting late. I can't stay here forever.

  Luke seems to realize it too. He helps me up and brings me to the bathroom.

  He collapses next to me, pulling my body into his. I slide my head into the crook of his neck and he kisses my cheek.

  Finally, I snap all the way back to life. “Should we talk?” I ask.

  “Yes, but it's late and I don't want to get you in trouble,” he says. “Now, come on. Let's destroy the evidence.”

  He leads me into the shower, and we spend a long time in the steamy stall, lips locked, hands roaming each other’s bodies.

  Chapter 12