by Alexa Davis
“I have food upstairs,” I whispered, afraid to speak too loudly in the big concrete echo chamber of the garage. “As a matter of fact, I have all the foods, and the beverages. Enough to skip the convention entirely and spend the next four days in the apartment.” His hand slid up the front of me and he cupped my breast in his hand, rubbing his thumb over my hard nipple through my thin tank top.
“Seems like you have everything I need right here,” he said, licking his lips and squeezing my breast until I gasped. “I think it would be best for us both, if we just skipped the restaurant and went upstairs.
My tongue in knots and my stomach adrift on the backs of butterflies, I could only nod. He kissed me one more time and locked the doors on the jeep with a beep from his key fob. Suitcases and Italian food already forgotten, we raced to the elevator, eager to continue where we’d left off as soon as the door closed.
“You smell like rain and sunshine, and you feel like silk in my hands,” he whispered in my ear as he slipped his hands under my top and ran them over my chest and back.
“So, you’re okay with missing out on our late lunch?” I asked, half teasing, but also unsure that it was real, and I wasn’t imagining it. God knew I’d spent plenty of time fantasizing circumstances exactly the way they were turning out.
“I have everything I need right here,” he replied, lowering his mouth to mine for one last kiss before we reached my floor.
10. Jackson
I thanked God the moment I realized her apartment was right next to the elevator. I was inches away from taking her right up against the wall, and I was losing control fast. I’d known I was in trouble the moment I pulled up and saw the sun shining on her tanned skin, and making her hair a halo around her face.
But with that first kiss, it was like a dam had burst. All the need I’d fostered while we talked, fantasizing about her with no real release, came out in my rough hands and bruising mouth. Once we were inside the apartment, I tore her top off over her head, lowering my mouth to her bare breasts and sucked on them one at a time as she knocked the hat off my head and wound her fingers through my hair.
“Bed,” I managed to get out, and she cringed and started to pull away. Immediately I let go of her and backed off, but she just pointed to the sofa and shelf across the room.
“It’s a Murphy bed, we have to pull it down.” She crossed her arms over her chest and bent over to pick up her shirt, but I beat her to it and tossed it over near the sofa, and followed it with my own.
“Bed,” I repeated, looking her over and licking my lips. With a little girl shriek, she leaped out of reach and made a beeline for the sofa, where she quickly converted the area to a king-sized bed. I joined her next to the bed and pointed at her, then at it.
“Skirt,” I said, pointing at the floor, “bed,“ I finished, pointing at her. “Or I’ll do it for you.” The threat in my voice made her flinch, and she whipped the skirt down around her ankles and laid on the bed in just a pair of white panties that made my mouth water. I took off my everything but my boxer-briefs, and knelt over her on the bed. First, I kissed her mouth, her temples, her neck, anything to relax her and make her want more.
My mouth moved down to her breasts, and I licked and sucked them until she begged to have me inside her. I slid my hand over the soft warmth between her legs and stroked her there through her panties, stoking the fire until her soft lips were hot to the touch even through the fabric, and her panties were soaked with her juices.
I slid the panties to one side and ran one finger down the folds of her and inside that wet heat, stroking her inside as I sucked and nipped at her nipples. I was hard as a rock from touching her, and when she continued to beg for release, I pulled down her panties and my briefs and slid into her with one long, slow thrust, so tight it took my breath away, but so wet I was afraid I wouldn’t last.
I started an easy rhythm, thrusting slowly, but all the way in until I banged against the very end of her, then out almost completely before thrusting again. She clutched at my shoulders and rocked her hips to meet me, and as her breathing and rhythm sped up, I knew she was close. I stopped moving, letting her hold me deep inside her, and asked her if she could finish. She held on as I flipped her over, so I was looking up at the most perfect little breasts I’d ever seen.
Her hair was falling out of its bindings and as she started to rock her hips, sliding me in and out of her, it clung to the light sweat that was beading up at her forehead. She rocked faster and harder, her ass slapping against my thighs as I lifted us up, tilting my hips to give her the best angle.
“Oh my God, oh shit, I’ve waited for this for since the first minute of the first day,” she panted as she rode me hard and fast. I felt her tighten around me just before she threw back her head, crying out wordlessly as she came.
She held on, pushing down as hard as she could while the waves of pleasure rolled over her, and with every new crash of orgasm, she spasmed around me until I thought she might bring me to completion without moving. Finally, she began to shudder, and collapsed on my chest, breathing hard and whimpering. Before I could roll us over and top her, she started to lift her ass and slide down over me from the new angle.
Sliding down over me that way made my eyesight swim, and I closed my eyes to focus on the intense sensation of her tight muscles, wrapped around me and riding me like a barber pole, straight up and down.
I grabbed her ass with both hands and gripped her flight as I pulled her down on me harder and faster, making her whimper against the sensitivity of her flesh being abused so roughly. I asked her if she wanted to change, and she begged me not to stop until she’d come again.
I kept slamming her down onto my hard cock until I felt the familiar tightening of her muscles and slowed and lengthened my thrusts to better serve her, rubbing her nub with my thumb as she came again. This time, as her muscles clenched, they wrung an orgasm from me, despite my best efforts to hold off for longer. I spasmed inside her, so that hot milky liquid ran down the sides of my shaft when I pulled out, and laid her down next to me.
She lay there, completely immobile, for a few minutes curled up against me, with her back to my chest, and let her use my arm as a pillow. My free hand stroked down her side all the way from shoulder to thigh, where I massaged the tightness out of it, and continued to hold her until she sighed, and fell asleep in my arms.
I reveled in the peace of the moment until I followed her into the sleep that only the truly sated can fall in to, dreamless and deep, yet aware of the heady ache that follows complete physical satisfaction.
11. Carina
The lack of sleep had finally caught up with me, and the combination of relief that Jackson didn’t hate me, and the delicious languor that always follows a fabulous orgasm, knocked me out for almost an hour. When I opened my eyes and felt the firm muscles of Jackson’s arm under my head, it was like I’d just moved from one dream to a better one. If I wasn’t already awake, I didn’t want to be.
I slid out of bed without waking him and made a beeline for the bathroom, where I stared at my reflection and gaped, unable to even come up with a suitable pep talk. Nowhere in my real-life estimation of our meeting had the possibility of us having sex before even getting his suitcase out of the car, come up. Was I a slut for having sex within ten minutes of meeting someone, or were we conservative, because we’d talked so long before hooking up?
I felt a little slutty, but worse, I felt like I’d made love to him. I was okay with sex, but I’d never had that “orgasm that made me cry” before. I’d felt so connected in that moment, that tears had stung my eyes and my heart had felt like it would burst out of me any second. I washed my face, reapplied only the bare necessities of foundation and mascara, and snuck back out to the kitchen. I’d already forgotten what meals I had planned, so I rifled through my pantry and fridge again, looking for my best chance at impressing him with my cooking.
I started by uncorking a bottle of wine for myself and, while it breathed
, I hopped online to remind my viewers that I was offline until I could find time during the convention, but that I’d upload YouTube videos as I could.
When I stepped out of the bedroom, Jackson was watching me from the bed, with Stiles perched on his chest, staring at him, while he looked at me. I gasped and lunged forward to grab my cat before he started using his claws to get more comfortable and punctured the hunk of man-flesh grinning at me from under my sheets.
“You left.” He pouted at me, the sheet riding lower on his body as he half-sat up in bed.
“I peed, and ditched my stream to make you dinner. Which, will happen as soon as you tell me what you like.”
“I’d like you to get back in bed before we make any decisions about what to do next. I was pretty irritated that you put clothes back on, but watching you walk around in that tank top and panties is so hot I couldn’t stay mad.”
I tried to stop the flush I felt on the back of my neck from moving into my face and coughed lightly as I started toward the refrigerator. “Um. Do you want me to bring a beer with me, or just get back in bed so we can, uh, talk?”
“Beer is fantastic!” He sat up all the way fast, and I almost stumbled as the sheet fell back to reveal the spectacular bits of him I’d felt, but hadn’t taken the time to see, earlier. My eyes moved back to his face and at his grin, my face crimsoned and burned.
I turned too fast and almost stumbled again, but I made it to the fridge and managed to open and get a beer all the way back to Jackson without doing anything else to embarrass myself. I handed him the bottle and he patted the bed next to him, lifting the sheet a little so I could slide under. He paused and held it up so he was in full view again, and glanced at me.
“You seem to be overdressed for the occasion.” He drawled, looking at himself, then back at me. I shut my gaping mouth with a snap and slid in between the sheets still wearing my tank top and panties.
I gave him a sidelong glare. “Last time I checked, I had free will, which means that I don’t have to take my clothes off for you. Also, I plan on taking a little more time when we do that again, so we need to eat something.”
“I love a woman with a plan. But, let’s go out and get an early dinner, then not leave again until the convention. I need to do something to earn my keep.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Eating, I mean, not earning your keep. I have something else in mind for that.”
He put the beer down and scooted closer. “Oh yeah? I’m all yours, whatever you want… within the boundaries of my pain tolerance.”
I laughed. “Awesome. You’re my new costumer/dressing assistant. I have been waiting so long to show this costume to the world, and now you get to help me get into it, because, honestly, I can’t get this one on by myself.”
Jackson shot up in the bed, completely exposed and oblivious to it. “Can I see it now?”
I shrugged and nodded and he slid off the bed and padded toward the bedroom.
“Your studio is in here too, right?” He casually glanced back over his shoulder before opening the door. I nodded dumbly, staring at his muscular back and tight ass as he stepped into my workshop. Belatedly, I threw myself off the bed and chased him in.
I looked around the room and tried to see it through a stranger’s eyes. Instead of creative use of space and designs, I saw clutter and a headache-inducing array of fabrics and notions. There was a basket of my rejected feathers still in the corner; it looked like a basket filled with boas. There were sequins and glitter on every surface other than the costume, which I covered religiously with plastic to keep it unspoiled by dust, glitter, or the cat hair that I knew floated around despite my best efforts to keep it all under control.
The leatherworking corner, which I had thought was so quaint and industrious-looking, now seemed like just one more hobby stuffed haphazardly into the tiny space.
Jackson stood in the doorway to the studio, and I tried to remember if I’d left a dirty coffee mug or empty water bottles that would embarrass me. He glanced at me and snickered, then walked in all the way. “Hey, Babe, am I the first naked dude in your sound booth?”
“Uh, yeah. Good God, what do you think I do? Make guys strip down before parading through here?” I thought for a moment and continued, “Other than an interviewer from IGN.com, you’re the first other human being to be in the booth, and the first completely naked one.” He fist-pumped and I giggled despite myself. “You want to come out now, and take a gander at this piece I’ve been working on for the past two years?”
“Oh, my God. You mean the War Angel costume?” I nodded and he beat a hasty retreat from the sound booth and stood with his arms folded in front of the plastic shrouded mannequin. I stood and looked at him until he met my stare. “Do you need help with the cover?”
“Nope. You really going to just stand there naked?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
I chuckled. “Why am I more nervous about being naked than you are? I mean, you have no reason to be nervous… obviously. But, it was part of my job, and I always hated it.”
He looked down and shrugged. “I guess growing up with all guys, on the edge of a lake, being naked was just par for the course, most summer days. But, since it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Not uncomfortable, just hard to focus on anything that isn’t the yummy-ness of you.” Jackson wiggled his hips and his eyebrows at me and I belly-laughed. “You are so full of yourself!”
He spread his arms and turned in a small circle with his lips pursed. “But, you like it.”
I giggled again. “Yeah, I like it, and I hope you like this.” I opened the fasteners on the makeshift plastic cover and gently peeled it back over the wings, folding it and hanging it over a hanger so it would stay clean on the inside. Jackson was silent, and after a full minute of not looking at him, I finally swallowed past the lump in my throat and glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His eyes were closed, then he opened them and stared at the mannequin, then at me, then at the mannequin again.
“You are going to blow the convention away.” He gestured at the mannequin, getting so close, but being so careful not to touch it. “I don’t really want you wearing that in front of any other men, because I can already imagine what you look like in that.” I grinned.
“Well, I am testing the boundaries of how little I can wear in public and be comfortable. What you see is what you get with this one.”
He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, rippling his muscles nicely. “Does that blue glow?” he finally asked, pointing to the boots standing with the shafts folded over.
“Yeah, I put battery packs in the soles, under my heels. They flash when I walk. I don’t know if it will work, I got the idea from my niece. She’s four, and her ‘My Little Pony’ runners light up when she walks. It uses less battery, and the flash effect lasts longer, of course. It runs up and down my leg, from midthigh to the tops of my feet, like blue flames.” He nodded and undid the bodice, whistling softly as he traced the precariously low neckline. He turned with the leather in hand, very careful to avoid the wings.
“Why are you still dressed?” He held up the costume. “I need to practice putting this on you, right?”
“I will take off my clothes as soon as you put some on. No matter how long you stay naked, I am never not going to be distracted by you.” He grinned and gently placed the top of the costume over the mannequin before swaggering out to the living room to collect his shorts.
12. Jackson
While I was in the other room, she slipped into the cheeky-shorts that were the bottom for the costume. The original War Angel didn’t have wings, but in every rendition of her that I’d seen, she wore almost nothing. C.J.’s costume was true to form aside from those amazing feathered wongs. Still, I wished she didn’t seem so damn close to naked.
She put the boots on and zipped the backs up to almost the tops of her thighs. There were only a couple of inches of bare skin between her shorts and the boots, but that
couple of inches was her ass hanging out the back, and the bit of thigh that most people didn’t show unless they were on the beach or at the pool. When I walked back in, she was standing in the center of the room, in nothing but a pair the shorts with the blue metallic flames up the front and sides.
After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I cleared my throat and asked her if she could take off the boots for a second so I didn’t screw up putting the wings on. I was used to being taller than everyone, but she stood at nearly six-foot herself, which made her almost as tall as me in the super high-heeled boots. She slipped them off let me help her into the bodice. I held the wings while she clasped the hidden belt under the waist and adjusted the straps over her shoulders.
“Okay, let it go slowly, let’s see if the wings are right.”
I let go by increments and watched as she adjusted the shoulders and belt a little more. It seemed uncomfortably tight, and the extra-wide belt also pulled her in, giving her that ridiculously wasp-waisted look that artists always gave their female characters. Looking at the pained expression on her face, I refrained from telling her how hot she looked, like she’d just climbed off the pages of a classic comic-book, even without doing anything to her hair and makeup.
I helped her with the boots once she got the bodice secure, and stood back to watch her strut and get the lights in the boots “flaming.” She made a pass of the room, rolling her shoulders against the pull of the heavy wings. I saw that same pained look as she struggled to keep her posture straight, and started watching the way the brace moved under the leather of her almost non-existent top.
She popped out her hip and flipped a switch with her thumb when she settled her hands on her hips. My eyes and mouth flew wide open as I reached out a hand toward the wings, stopping myself just before I touched them.
“Oh, my fucking God. How are you not a professional costumer?” I gasped. “Not to mention that pose. Jesus Christ, I wish I hadn’t seen that. I’m gonna have to bring a baseball bat to keep the fuckboys from groping you.”