Big Girls Do It Boxed Set

by Jasinda Wilder

  Holy shit, he's strong, I thought. He held us without straining, both of our bodies' weight held by the power of his arms and core. I sought the tub bottom with my toes, but he held me aloft, smirking he as began to thrust.

  "Jeff, you're crazy," I gasped.

  I was waist deep in the water, and he let us sink down, floating nearly weightless, and then he powered upward, spearing deep and then pulling out, only to thrust again. I curled over him, mouth quivering, breathless, as he moved. I was near climax almost instantly, burning all over again, boiling with pressure.

  He finally sank to a sitting position on the bottom, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, the water at his chin and at my throat. He tilted his head up and I pressed my lips to his, tasting the tang of my essence on his tongue. He rolled his hips into mine, barely moving inside me, just enough to keep the pressure building.

  The wine was open, and I reached for the bottle, tilted it to my lips and drank. It was a sweet red, inexpensive but delicious.

  "I forgot glasses, didn't I?" Jeff said, taking the bottle from me.

  "It's fine," I answered. "I'm not above drinking from the bottle."

  We took turns drinking from the bottle, our hips rolling in synch all the while, until my climax was nearing peak, until I couldn't hold the bottle, so unsteady were my hands. The water was hot, the air with a bite of near-fall cool, and the night silent but for our breathing and the gentle bubble of the water.

  Jeff set the half-empty bottle down and took my waist in his hands, lifting me and pulling me down in an increasing rhythm now. I bowed my back and bit his shoulder as the fire began to spread, turning from a slow blaze into a wild inferno, heat spreading through me until my hair stuck in damp tendrils to my forehead and cheeks, until I was sure the boiling of the water around us was due to the heat radiating out of me.

  Jeff began to groan, lifting and pulling me, thrusting upwards, never letting our hips part, driving himself deep, and then his groans turned into my name, "Anna, Anna, Anna," pulsing deeper into me with each syllable. He pressed his lips to my throat and began to thrust harder, splashing water now, his arms curled up around my shoulders and dragging me down, down, down, harder, harder, harder, and I came, came so hard stars burst behind my eyes and my fingers gouged into his back and my head tipped back to gasp whimpering gusts of air into my heaving lungs.

  He came, then, exploding into me, thrusting upward so hard I had to fall forward and clutch myself to his hot, dripping chest and cling to him as he lifted me clear of the water, the wet heat of his seed crashing against my inner walls in an endless flood.

  "Oh my lord...oh my Anna," Jeff whispered, sinking down and stroking my hair from my face.

  "God, that was intense," I breathed, nestled against his chest, still buried inside me.

  "I don't want to leave you," he said. "I mean, I want to stay inside you."

  I wiggled my hips down onto him. "So don't. Let's stay like this until you're hard again, and then we can do it all over again."

  He reached for the wine and we drank, me still sitting on his lap, the water bubbling around us, flushing us with heat.

  I've never been a make-out session kind of girl. I like kissing all right, but as a means to an end. When I kiss a man, it get my juices flowing and all I want to do is keep going.

  Then Jeff kissed me, post-coital, in the hot tub, and all that changed. It was a slow, delicate kiss, moving and shifting in its own rhythm, drawing me into it, pulling me down into the substance of the moment. For the first time in my life, I lost myself in a kiss, drowned in the taste of the man, the feel of his body around me, his strength supporting me, his manhood slick inside my sex.

  It was just a kiss at first, and it continued thus for a timeless eternity, minutes and hours passing out of awareness, until I wasn't sure which way was up, where I was or even who I was, outside of the roaring passion of our lips' and bodies' matched fervor.

  And then, gradually, he grew within me, hardening and lengthening, almost imperceptibly at first, but more noticeably with every passing second. His hands lifted to find my breasts, and with that sensual touch my awareness of sensation beyond the kiss broadened to include his erection inside me and his hips beginning to move and my slick folds gliding on him then...

  The world obliterated. There was nothing but orgasmic brilliance, instant ecstasy from the very first full thrust, lasting for a time without time as he crushed into me, and I came again and again, until I was limp on top of him and still coming, shudders rocking through me with each roll of his hips, so much unending climactic fury that I couldn't contain it, could only writhe helpless on top of him until he began to grunt, moving in a thrashing rhythm into me, his breathing in my ear almost panicked; when he came, I fell over the edge of sanity into something else, and he clutched me as if he too had passed beyond the ability to contain the spreading infinity coursing between and in and through us.

  * * *

  Jeff had a way of making even a night spent in his living room seem exciting and fun.

  One night, our DJ shift ended early, since the bar hadn't seen a single customer—other than Earl, the old graybeard in a John Deere cap who drank there every night—in more than two hours. We packed up, got takeout Chinese, a six-pack of cupcakes, a couple bottles of wine, and went back to Jeff's house.

  We ate on the couch, watched Bones, and got drunk. This may not sound like fun, but it was. Well, maybe not fun, like bowling or go-karts or kinky sex, but satisfying. Pleasant.

  After we threw away the leftovers and Styrofoam and those stupid square white boxes, Jeff pushed me down onto the couch, refilled my wine, and then shot me a mischievous smirk. I sipped my wine and waited. Jeff scooped up the remote and changed the channel to Bravo. Apparently he knew my dirty little secret: namely, an addiction to Real Housewives. I'd never tried to make him watch it with me, though, figuring no self-respecting guy would like it. New Jersey was on, my personal favorite.

  He still had the silly grin on his face, though, letting me know he wasn't done. I wasn't sure how much better it could get, though. I mean, Real Housewives of New Jersey and wine?

  It got better. He unwrapped a bumpy cake cupcake, handed it to me, and then knelt down in front of me.

  "What are you doing?" I finally asked.

  "You'll see. Just sit back and watch your show. Pay no attention to me."

  He had something up his sleeve, I just knew it. He waited until I was immersed in my show, then rested his hands on my knees. I glanced at him, but he only shrugged and grinned.

  "You're being weird, Jeff."

  "No I'm not, I'm just drunk." Jeff laughed. "Now sit back."

  I sat back, confused but curious.

  Jeff's hands slid up my thighs to cup the curved sides of my ass, then arced across to unbutton my pants with a swift, feather-light touch.

  "What are you doing?" I demanded.

  "Nothing," Jeff said, unzipping my pants and tugging them down.

  I lifted my ass up and with a single tug the jeans and panties were off.

  "This doesn't seem like nothing," I said.

  Jeff just smiled and touched his stubbled mouth to my knee, then the soft, sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

  "Want me to stop?" Jeff asked, his lips nearly to my crotch now, moving to the other leg and tickling my flesh with hot, wet kisses.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but my breath was stolen by his lips grazing my mound, his tongue laving over my labia. My hands were occupied, holding wine and a cupcake, and I realized this was his plan all along. He knew my favorite things, and was giving them to me all at once.

  I closed my eyes and shut out Theresa's shrill voice, sipped my wine as Jeff's tongue speared into me. The wine burned hot and dry as it slipped down my throat, and Jeff's tongue licked waves of heat and moist desire through my nether lips. I took another sip and followed it with a taste of icing as Jeff slipped two fingers between my swollen labia and inside me, curling up to stroke the hypersensit
ive patch of skin high inside my walls.

  This was sensation overload. The icing was sweet, the chocolate rich and crumbling, the wine potent and robust, and Jeff's fingers and tongue licked and swiped and swirled. Waves of rising climax sliced through me, fire and spasm and pressure all at once.

  In the background, Caroline and Jacqueline and Theresa argued in overlapping voices, and I only heard every third word, the familiar themes of their recurring issues washing over me.

  Jeff's unoccupied hand traced up my belly and under my shirt, tugged the cups of my bra down to free my nipples, and now his fingers rolled the taut responsive nubs, pushing the volcanic pressure of pending orgasm higher and higher. I gasped and bucked my hips as he increased his pace, his tongue circling my clit in narrowing concentric rings, his fingers on my G-spot and my nipples matching the rhythm, and I was on the edge, about to explode, god so close, and then...he slowed to nearly a stop. I wanted to scream, opened my mouth to say something in protest, but then he abruptly resumed his frenzied rhythm and I was barreling towards the edge once more.

  At exactly the moment I was about to reach climax, Jeff slowed once more. When I took a breath to speak, Jeff pushed the wine toward my mouth, and I took another dutiful sip, feeling my head spinning from the wine, my palette exploding with the contradicting tastes of dry red wine and rich chocolate and sweet white icing.

  Once more Jeff's tongue swiped in quick circles, his fingers stroking in time with his tongue, my nipples pinched and rolled and flicked, and now I was near the edge again.

  "Let me come, Jeff," I gasped. "I'm so close, please...oh god, yes..."

  He matched the rocking of my hips, driving his long, quick tongue into me and as I whispered his name he swept his tongue directly across my clit, striking the stiffened bundle of aroused nerves with the tip of his tongue. At the same moment, he pinched my nipple hard, stroked my G-spot with one finger, and I came in a blinding rush. Every nerve ending on fire, my body exploding, my breathing caught and stopped. My spine arched into a bow-shape, wine sloshed over my thumb, and Jeff continued spearing his tongue into my clit, pushing my orgasm higher, the pent up pressure billowing through me in a flood of ecstasy.

  When the fires cooled and Jeff rolled back on to his butt, I could only lay limp and gasp for breath as aftershocks rocked through me. I felt Jeff's tongue lap at my hand where the wine had spilled.

  "You seem to have crushed the cupcake," Jeff said with an amused chuckle.

  I opened my eyes and glanced at my hand. When I came, my fist had clenched involuntarily, and now chocolate crumbs were spilling over my hand. Jeff just laughed and took the remainder from me, threw it away, and sucked up the crumbs with a hand vacuum before sitting down next to me with a glass of wine.

  "That was incredible," I said.

  "You liked it?"

  I laughed. "I'm not sure how it could have gotten any better," I said.

  "Then my work here is done," Jeff said, a satisfied grin on his face.

  I noted a tell-tale bulge against the zipper of his jeans. I knew Jeff well enough to know he wouldn't ask for a return favor. He wasn't looking at me as he carefully and methodically devoured a bumpy cake. I was struck by an idea.

  I slipped off the couch and knelt between his knees. Jeff just quirked an eyebrow and took a slow, deliberate bite, and then washed it down as I unbuttoned his pants. I unzipped him and pulled the jeans and boxers off, then took a cupcake from the plastic container. Jeff seemed less sure of what I was doing, suddenly. I broke the hardened chocolate shell of the bumpy cake to get at the icing beneath.

  Wrapping one hand around Jeff's base, I dipped the fingers of the other hand into the icing. I smeared it over the tip of his shaft, dipped into the icing again and spread it down the length of him.

  "Icing has always been my favorite part of a cupcake," I said.

  Jeff grinned, then hissed as I licked up from the root to the tip. His head flopped back against the couch as I swiped my tongue along his icing-covered flesh again, licking him as if he was an ice cream cone. I cupped his balls in one hand and gently massaged them as I wrapped my lip around his tip and took him into my mouth, backed away, and then bobbed down again. He gasped as I moved my fist up and down his length, sucking on his engorged, icing-smeared head. My saliva and the icing became a slick lubricant, and my fist slipped on his length without friction, and now I sucked hard enough to hollow my cheeks. He arched his back, stuttered a garbled warning just before he jerked his hips and came. I continued to move my fingers and mouth on him as he came, drawing the seed from him until he was softening in my hand.

  Jeff looked at me with heavy-lidded eyes, a hazy smile on his face. I went to the kitchen, wet a paper towel and cleaned him carefully. I didn't imagine it would be fun to be sticky, after all.

  We sat, half-naked, and finished our wine, and Jeff actually watched the show with me, although he muttered, "they're all fucking nuts," every five minutes the entire time.

  I knew one thing for sure: I'd never look at cupcakes the same way, after that night.

  * * *

  A little over two weeks passed, and Jeff and I spent almost every spare moment that we could together, working, sleeping, eating, and making love...having sex...fucking. I wasn't sure what to call it, what word to use in reference to our coital activities.

  Nothing we did was wild or kinky, just vanilla, multi-positional sex, but he rocked my world every single time. He was unfailingly slow in all things, never rushing to take me, never moving into me until I had found climax at least once, never allowing me to come down from climax until I was limp as a dishrag and completely sated.

  He was wonderful. He was attentive. He was polite and considerate, and incredible in bed, and...

  I panicked.

  The panic began with an envelope, with a New York, New York return address, and the one name that could throw me for a loop: Chase Delany. Eleven letters, and I was sweating, my heart hammering, confusion pumping through me, and I hadn't even opened it yet.

  Jeff had swung me by my apartment to get clothes and check my mail and appease Jaime for having vanished for two weeks. I sorted through the mail: bill, bill, junk, bill...holy shit what is this?

  Jeff noticed me freeze with the envelope in my hands.

  "What is it?" He asked, concern tingeing his voice."

  "A letter." My voice was small and tight.

  "From?"

  A pause too long. "Chase."

  An even longer pause. "Chase." A lift of the chest and a slow outbreath was his only reaction. "Might as well open it, then." Jeff's eyes were shuttered, cold, and guarded.

  I opened the letter. A plane ticket to New York fell out of the envelope, and I unfolded the letter with trembling fingers:

  I need to see you.

  Chase

  I tossed the letter on my lap and sighed, a long, shuddering, almost-but-not-quite crying whimper of desperate confusion. My thoughts were a jumble of noise and curses and hysteria.

  What do I do? What do I do?

  The thought repeated itself, over and over. Jeff kept silent and drove. I thought of Chase, of the one night I'd had with him. He made me feel alive as never before. He'd awakened my hunger not just for sex but for life. I would never have even considered being with Jeff if it wasn't for my time with Chase.

  And god, Chase had done things to me that I didn't know were possible. He'd done, hot, kind of kinky things that I really had liked, and wanted again. And again.

  Jeff...god, the man didn't need any of that to rock my existence.

  But Jeff wanted more. Expected more. Needed and deserved more. It wasn't just sex for Jeff. And I wasn't sure I wanted that, at least not yet.

  New York? With Chase? It could be incredible. Who am I kidding? I KNOW it will be incredible.

  Jeff finally pulled his Yukon over to the side of the road. We were on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, fields on both sides, a glowering gray sky heavy around us and threatening rain, trees in
the distance. AM talk radio whispered in the background, only audible in the silence as Jeff waited for me to speak. He wouldn't ask. If I didn't say anything, he'd just wait until it was clear I wasn't talking and that would be that.

  "He...he wants me to visit him in New York." The words were like small, hard stones tumbling out of my mouth.

  A long, fraught silence. "And you want to go."

  "I don't know, Jeff. I don't know." I picked up the plane ticket and stared at it like it could answer my dilemma. "Yes, I do. But I also don't."

  Silence, Jeff staring out the window as raindrops plopped in slow, staccato rhythm on the windshield, abruptly blossoming into a downpour.

  "Say something," I said.

  "So go. Don't let me hold you back. If New York is where you want to be, then go. Be happy. We had fun while it lasted."

  "Jeff, I—"

  "It's fine, Anna." Jeff pulled the gearshifter into Drive, slowly and carefully, as if he wanted to slam it, but didn't. "You do want to go. I can see it in your face, but you're worried about hurting me. Don't. I'll be fine."

  He took me home, driving in silence. When we pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex, he put it into park and finally met my eyes.

  "Be happy, Anna. If that means going to New York to be with Chase, then go."

  "Jeff—"

  He cut me off with a kiss, slow—as all things with Jeff are—and delicate. A farewell.

  "Goodbye, Anna."

  It was a dismissal.

  I got out of the car and went to my door. Jeff pulled out backwards and drove away without looking at me.

  My flight was for ten the next morning.

  I was on it.

  Big Girls Do It Wilder

  One glimpse of Chase Delany in leather pants, a tight T-shirt, and shit-kicker boots was all it took to get my libido raging, and to drive away any lingering doubts about coming to New York.