Headstrong

by Meg Maguire

“You’re right-handed, right? Come on.” He patted the spot beside him, inviting her to lie with him. She moved to rest against his side and the sudden contact of all that bare skin made her fingers tremble. She laid her hand on his abdomen and ran it up over his chest and back down, watching his body tense.

  Libby swallowed. “I know this is just, well, whatever it is. Educational. But feel free to be, you know…horny about it.”

  He rolled his eyes and smiled up at the ceiling. “Thanks, Libby.”

  “Don’t tease me.”

  “You’re about to touch my dick, Libby. It’s going to feel good. I’m going to be ‘horny about it’. If that’s too creepy for you, we’ll stop.”

  “No, I want that.”

  “Well all right, then.”

  She took one last breath and touched his chest again. His skin was cool and dry, taut over long, trim muscles. A bit of soft hair for dignity. And he was hers, at least for the duration of this experiment.

  Libby ran her hand down Reece’s hard navel and over his groin and his reaction was instantaneous—his back arched and a groan fled his lips. Libby caught her breath. She cupped her hand over his bulge and squeezed him, listened to him exhale heavily through his nose. As she rubbed him he grew, the ridge of his erection getting harder, pressing against the fabric more insistently. She felt herself go warm between her own legs.

  Goddamn, this was fun.

  “That feels good,” Reece breathed, tangling a hand in her messy hair. This wasn’t the man she’d come to know in past couple of weeks—his calm self-possession was crumbling before her eyes.

  “Good. You feel nice.” She stroked him up and down, fascinated by the change in his size. He was rock hard now, pulsing softly, filling his briefs nearly to the waistband. Libby was no expert but she felt pretty certain Reece was on the more blessed end of the penis spectrum. She wrapped his fingers around him. Stiff. It would’ve intimidated her, had he not made it so clear she was the one calling the shots. She wondered if her body could accommodate him, if Reece ever let things go that far…

  His hips shifted. “You’re making me feel really wonderful, Libby.”

  “Are you going to come?”

  “That’s up to you. This is about whatever you’re comfortable with.”

  “Are you close?”

  “I’ve got a bit more staying power than that, thanks. I can hold out for as long as you want me to. Well, within reason.”

  “Wow.”

  He laughed.

  “I want to take your underwear off,” she announced.

  “Go ahead.”

  She released him to kneel, easing his briefs over his erection and down his thighs. He helped her push them the rest of the way off. She could smell him, a faint but decidedly sexual smell. She memorized it, studying him as they lay back down.

  “You’re not circumcised.”

  “No. New Zealand’s not big on that.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Does that bother you?” he asked.

  “Nah. Is there anything I’m supposed to do special?”

  He laughed again. “You’re so cute.”

  “Seriously.”

  “I think most dicks work pretty much the same… I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with a biologist.”

  “Biochemist. And I’ll have to take your word for it.” She touched her fingers to him, feeling the surprising softness of that intimate skin.

  “Here.” He clasped his hand over hers so she held him tightly in place, stopping her heart mid-beat. Gently, he pumped his hips.

  “Feel that? Move your hand so the skin slides like that. It feels really good.”

  She found it a delightfully easy accomplishment and spent a couple of minutes mastering the new skill. Watching Reece getting turned on was shockingly sexy. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but she was rendered breathless nevertheless, studying the evidence of his face and body as her touch gave him pleasure…watching this self-possessed man turn desperate and knowing she was the one who’d done it to him.

  “Can I…”

  He moved his gaze from her hand to her face, as distracted as she’d ever seen him. “Yes?”

  “Can I watch you do it?” she asked.

  “Touch myself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I suppose.” He reclaimed some of his usual composure. “How um…intensely?”

  “However you usually do it. You can come. You should come, in fact.”

  “That’s what you want?”

  “Definitely. Show me what you do.”

  He sat up and Libby propped herself on an elbow for a better view.

  “Right… This is a little weird,” he admitted, glancing at her.

  “Watching?”

  “Well, definitely weird for friends. Not weird at all for lovers.”

  “Get over it.”

  “Ah, there’s the Libby Prentiss I know.”

  She watched with fascination as Reece took himself in his hand and began to run his fist up and down. She felt herself grow antsy, itchy for more. “That’s really sexy.”

  Reece laughed. “You’re a bit of a bloke, you know. You’re sort of visual.”

  “You would be too if you’d never seen this before. You doing that is like spotting a really rare animal or something.”

  “The internet is full of blokes wanking, if that’s what you’re into. You didn’t have to wait for me.”

  “Yeah, it’s full of nasty strangers. There’s no website where I can download myself onto your bed and watch you touch yourself. Not yet at least.”

  Reece’s hand paused as he looked her in the eye, his expression hard to read. “Does it matter that it’s me?”

  She glanced around. “Sort of.”

  “Do you…do you like me, Libby?”

  Shit, this could be the death knell. “Yeah, a little.”

  He licked his lips, clearly nervous. “But you know we’re just friends. And we’ll still just be friends, after this? Right?”

  The escape clause stung, but Libby couldn’t pretend she wasn’t expecting it. “Yeah, I know…but I wouldn’t do this with somebody if I didn’t have at least a bit of a crush on them.”

  Reece nodded slowly. “I’ll buy that.”

  “So keep going.”

  He resumed Libby’s entertainment, and she felt herself drift back into that heated, impatient place in her body. “How often do you do this?” she asked.

  “Most nights, before I go to sleep.” His voice had grown thick, eyes half-lidded.

  “What do you think about?”

  He smiled. “All sorts of things.”

  “Tell me. Tell me what you’re thinking about right now.” She held her breath, hoping it wasn’t anything she might not want to hear.

  “Right now I’m thinking about you watching me touch myself.”

  “Well, what do you normally think about? What did you think about last night?”

  He stopped stroking and stared at her. “You really want to know that?”

  “Yeah. I don’t care who or what you think about,” she fibbed. “I’m just curious.”

  He cleared his throat. “What if it’s you?”

  Libby felt her eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline. “Really?”

  “Well, yeah. We’ve been making out nonstop for like a week.”

  She grinned, teasing side resurfacing. “Do tell, then. Tell me everything.”

  “You might not want to know what’s in my head. I don’t want to creep you out.”

  “Come on. I do want to know. Tomorrow we can pretend this didn’t happen.”

  “Are you sure? We both know you’re only doing this with me because I’m safe and platonic. It might wreck that.”

  God, you’re so naive. “It won’t. I don’t mind. I’m being very objective about this,” she lied.

  “I guess that’s all right.”

  “Of course it is. So keep going. And tell me everything you’re thinking about. Pretend I’m
a shrink. Nothing you say will leave this room, Mr. Nolan.”

  “Now that’s creepy.”

  She poked his arm. “Show me what you do.”

  “This is so twisted…”

  She smiled broadly and socked him on the shoulder. “Do it!”

  Reece began to stroke himself again—long, slow pulls that seemed to tighten the entire length of his body.

  “So, what did you think about last night?”

  He swallowed. “I thought about touching you. That I was fucking you with my fingers.”

  Damn, this was going to be filthy. Excellent. “What else?”

  His eyes shut.

  Libby laid a hand on his collarbone and repeated herself, close to his ear. “What else?”

  “I imagined I was fucking you with my fingers…that I made you so wet and tight and hot for me.”

  She felt herself blush, and not just in her cheeks. “And what then?”

  “You begged me to give you my dick. You told me you were aching to have me inside you.”

  “God.” She didn’t care that she was giving away her own excitement.

  “You begged and begged until I finally submitted, and I gave it to you.” Reece was rough with himself now, strokes quickening. He moaned softly, as though surrendering.

  “You put your dick in me?” Her eyes locked on it.

  “Yeah. Oh God…”

  “Keep talking.” Libby couldn’t remember feeling this aroused before. If she was ever going to have an orgasm, it would be with this man. On this bed.

  Reece panted, lost in his own pleasure. “I’m fucking you, deep and hard. You tell me it feels so good, that my dick is so big and thick and hard and you love it.”

  Her eyes widened. “It is.”

  “Then I make you come and you say my name over and over and you’re so tight and wet that I think I’m going to explode.”

  She licked her lips, parched. “Come for me. Let me see.”

  “Oh Christ.”

  “How does it end?”

  “You beg me to come inside you, as I’m fucking you. You tell me, ‘Come on Reece, come inside me. Shoot your hot come inside me.’”

  “Jesus, that’s filthy,” she mumbled, breathless with impatience. “Come for me now.”

  He stroked himself fast and hard and rough, gasping.

  “Keep going.”

  His body clenched, his hand freezing and holding his dick tightly as he shot, releasing in three long lashes across his clenched abdomen. He choked out her name.

  Libby stared at him, drunk on excitement and triumph. “Wow.”

  “Fuck.” Reece’s chest rose and fell deeply as he fought to catch his breath.

  “That was the hottest thing ever.” Libby gave herself a mental slap on the wrist. Don’t give yourself away, now. She ruffled Reece’s hair. “Good work, Professor.”

  “Yeah.” He lay still, finding his senses.

  Libby slid off the bed and pulled her tank top and jeans back on. “I’m going to get some water. Want anything?”

  “No, ta.”

  She tossed him a towel from the hamper as she slipped out of the room. “Clean yourself up, Romeo. We’re not done yet.”

  By the time she returned, Reece had pulled his underwear back on but looked otherwise indisposed.

  She sat down at the edge of the bed. “Recovered yet?”

  “Getting there. Crikey. I want to say thanks, but I know that was meant to be for you. But thanks.”

  “Yeah, thanks. Are you ruined for the rest of the night?”

  “Nah.” He sat up and propped his elbows on his knees, glancing from side to side. He blew out a delirious breath.

  “I wish I could do that,” Libby said with leading vagueness.

  “What? Make a mess on yourself?”

  “No. You know…come.”

  He snapped awake. “Beg pardon?”

  “I wish I could come.”

  “You can’t?”

  “I haven’t. Ever.”

  “Have you tried?”

  “Well…not really. Not very hard. I’ve tried a bit. Sex makes me clam up, usually. It’s different with you.”

  Reece covered his face with his hands and rubbed his temples. He raised his chin to stare at her, eyes huge. “Why do you always have to drop these blooming bombshells on me?”

  “I like watching you squirm.”

  “No, really, Libby. I mean, what am I supposed to do with that information?”

  “Nothing. I was just saying—”

  “You’re such a fucking instigator.” Reece looked miserable for a moment then grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into a sloppy, spooning hug beside him. He groaned into her hair. “What is wrong with you?”

  Libby felt something alarming rise inside her. Without any warning to either of them, something snapped and she began to cry, great, convulsive sobs racking her body.

  “Oh, Libby.” Reece managed to make exasperation sound comforting. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. Hot tears slipped sideways down her face and dropped onto the bedspread. Reece’s arms around her middle tightened, and she felt his breath warming the crown of her head.

  “Why did you tell me that?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want me to do something? Do you want me to make you come?”

  “I…yeah.”

  “Libby, that’s unfair. That’s not in the rules of this little game we’re playing. Me objectifying myself for you is one thing. You asking me to do intimate things to you, things you don’t even know how to do to yourself… That’s beyond it. That’s boyfriend territory.”

  “But you’ve been thinking about me, that way. You said so.”

  “What goes on in my head is different than what goes on between us, here. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to do all this?” he asked. “To walk this weird line between friends and lovers and…and like, shady business partners with you, and to keep things neutral so you feel safe? Do you have any clue how worried I am that I’m going to do something wrong and freak you out? I have to draw the line someplace.”

  “I’m sorry.” Libby was mortified by how broken her voice sounded. She’d never wanted anyone to see her this vulnerable, certainly not Reece Nolan. “I should go home.”

  She made to pull away but Reece yanked her back and held her tighter, nearly knocking her breath out. “No way. You don’t get to leave here in this state.”

  “I want to go.”

  “No, you don’t, you just don’t want me to see you all weepy. You say we’re mates and you’ve watched me beat off, so now I get to see you cry. You owe me that.”

  Libby gave in, sobbing until her eyes were swollen and stinging. After twenty minutes, Reece shifted and pulled her over so she was on her back. He stared down at her. Libby wasn’t one to fret about the state of her dress or face or hair, but she felt like an utter mess just now.

  Reece’s next words surprised her. “You want to come?”

  “I’m sorry about that—”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I wasn’t thinking—”

  He gave her shoulder a shake. “Is that what you want?”

  Libby nodded.

  “Let’s get you off, then.”

  “Now?” Her face crumpled further.

  “Yeah. You’re relaxed, right? You’re already spent from the crying. Your breathing’s nice and steady now.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Since when are you unsure about anything?” Reece asked, teasing.

  She mustered a small, broken smile. “Okay.”

  “I can’t guarantee any results. You should have had about fifteen years of practice at this by now.”

  “I’m a late bloomer.”

  “Personally, I think you should be learning this on your own.”

  Libby looked around, suddenly nervous. “What should we…how do we do it?”

  “Well, we need t
o get you massively horny.” Reece said.

  “How romantic.”

  “What would make you…you know.”

  “Massively horny?”

  Reece nodded.

  “Can we watch TV and make out?”

  He made a face. “Is that going to do it for you?”

  “That’s what I want. I want to make out with you over some bad TV. Or a Steve McQueen movie.”

  “Are you actually aware that there’s media from after 1980?”

  Libby was getting back into the spirit of the evening. “Yes…let’s have some more wine and see what’s on the tube. Colin’s not coming up anytime soon, right?”

  “He’s on ’til one. We’ve got a couple hours yet.” Reece’s voice betrayed a trace of anxiety.

  Libby flashed her best devious smile. “Then we better get cracking.”

  Reece swallowed hard, pulled on his pants and a shirt. He left Libby on the couch with the clicker and slipped downstairs to the pub.

  Colin peeled his attention off the rugby and met his brother’s eyes across the bar. “What’ll it be, old-timer?”

  Reece slapped on his best expression of calm assertiveness. “Can you jot me down for a bottle of red? I’ll grab it out of the supply cupboard.”

  “Oh?”

  Reece nodded, encapsulating a far more substantive message.

  Colin looked back at the screen, unable to hide a sour face.

  “It’s not exactly what you’re thinking,” Reece added as a consolation.

  Colin clenched his jaw then swallowed whatever was choking him. “Go to it. Have a good night, mate.” He grabbed a ledger and scribbled a note.

  “Ta.” Reece reached over and gave his brother a steadying—or perhaps commiserating, or perhaps deeply apologetic—clap on the shoulder. Colin met his eyes coldly and nodded his acceptance.

  Chapter Ten

  Libby looked up from the television as Reece reappeared holding a bottle of the pub’s hideous house merlot. Her stomach did a flip-flop, a mix of nerves and excitement.

  “I have found us the greatest pre-orgasm programming ever,” she announced.

  Reece set the bottle on the coffee table and looked to the screen. “Charlie’s Angels?”

  “How perfect is that? Must be season three—we’ve got Cheryl and Farrah.”

  “Seriously, what is wrong with you? Do you only enjoy things from before you were born?”