Man Candy

by Melanie Harlow

  “Thanks. I think.”

  He smiled. “As for love, I don’t know why you don’t believe. Maybe you won’t let yourself.”

  “What?” My skin prickled with gooseflesh.

  “Maybe you’re so good at being in your head that your rational mind has entirely overruled your emotions, and that suits you just fine.”

  His words jogged my memory. “Margot said something like that to me about a month ago, when I was complaining about how you wanted to date me.”

  He looked amused. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, she said I don’t let myself enjoy sex with men I date because I don’t want to have a reason to give them a real chance. And that I use great sex as a reason to avoid dating them at all.”

  “Like you tried to do with me,” he said, his eyebrows rising. “Very astute. She knows you.”

  I frowned. “She does. But what does all this mean? Have I just been lying to myself all this time? Sabotaging my own chance to be happy with someone?”

  “Hey.” He took my fingers and wiggled them. “No frowning. The point of the gift was not to give you an existential crisis. It was to give you a pretty little thing to remind you that what you give is what you get, and what I want to give you right now is an orgasm.”

  Yes. That was enough to turn my worry into a different kind of tension—one I knew how to deal with, one that could be easily and joyously relieved, one that made me ache to get my hands on him. “Chances are good you’ll get one, too.”

  “Just one?”

  I lifted my shoulders playfully. “We’ll see what happens.”

  We paid the bill and picked up our coats, and after he slipped mine onto my shoulders, he spoke low in my ear. “Your ass in that red skirt has me so hard right now.”

  Giggling, I pulled on my gloves and spoke softly over my shoulder. “Patience, Mr. Wolf. Give a girl a little time to frolic in the woods before you grab her ass.” I turned to face him and rose on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Want to come home and frolic with me?”

  He grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward the door without another word.

  Twenty

  JAIME

  He loomed over me in the dark as I shivered on the kitchen floor.

  “Nowhere to run, little girl,” he said, his tone dark but delighted. “I’ve chased you all through the woods. I’ve chased you out of your pretty clothes. I’ve chased you right onto your knees.” He was naked and hard, and now he took his dick in his hand, stroking it while I watched, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. “Now what am I going to do with you?”

  On my hands and knees, I sat back on my heels. “What do you want to do with me?”

  “Eat you, of course. Tear you apart.” He worked his hand slowly up and down his cock, and I felt my nipples tingling. “But I’m a patient wolf, and I’m not completely without a sense of decorum. Any last requests?”

  I licked my lips. “Yes. One.”

  “Which is?”

  “I want to watch you.”

  “Watch me?” Surprise colored his words, but I thought it might be pretend, since he kept his fist tight around his shaft and jerked hard a couple times. “What do you mean, little girl?”

  Fuck, he was hot. My eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to appreciate the gorgeous lines of his body in the dark, the swell of the muscles, the motion of his arm. I’d given him a hand job before, but I’d never watched him (or any other guy) do it to himself, and suddenly it seemed like the hottest thing ever. I’d felt his orgasm inside me, heard the gasp and groan of it, tasted it on my tongue—now I wanted to see it. “I want to watch you do that.”

  His hand slowed again. “You know I like you to be specific. Tell me exactly what you want or you won’t get it.”

  Quinn never let me get away with skirting around my dirtiest desires. If you think it, you should say it, he said. Believe me, I want to hear it.

  “I want to see your hands on your body. I want to watch you lose control. I want to watch you make yourself come while you look at me.”

  His chest hitched with rapid breaths. “You’re such a naughty little girl.”

  He didn’t know the half of it—there were all kinds of things running through my mind right now.

  “I am,” I said, getting to my knees, running my hands up my thighs. “Because I’ve thought about it before.”

  “Yeah?” His eyes were glued to my hands, which roamed over my breasts, down my stomach, between my legs. He moved his thumb over the shiny tip of his cock, and my clit throbbed.

  “Yes. When you first moved in, I’d imagine you in bed below me getting yourself off while I did the same in my bed.” I slipped one fingertip inside myself and rubbed the wetness over my clit.

  “I probably was. Fuck.” His hand moved faster over his cock, which was thick with veins and darker than the skin on his thighs.

  “Did you think about me?”

  “Yes,” he rasped. “Fuck yes, I did.” His ab muscles flexed as he jerked his fist up and down in quick, tight motions. “Are you wet?”

  “Drenched.” Filled to bursting with the desire to please him, to do things with him I’d never done with anyone else, I pushed my finger in deeper. “Want to feel?”

  His eyes nearly came out of his head. Before he could answer, I moved a little closer and put my wet fingertip between his legs, brushing over a sensitive spot, then sliding it back a little to test him. Would he let me? I wasn’t sure how far I should go—this was something I’d thought about but never done before. I’d never felt close enough to anyone to try it. But I wanted to with Quinn, wanted to see what it would do to him, wanted to experience that sense of power inherent in penetrating someone, getting inside him. What was that like?

  “Yes,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Oh my fucking God, yes.”

  Slowly and carefully, I pushed in deeper, delighted by the way it made him moan and curse, shocked at the tight, hot grip around my finger. With my other hand, I rubbed my clit, bringing both of us that much closer.

  “Fuck. I’m gonna come,” he growled, barely able to speak. “So hard…”

  “Right here,” I whispered, moving my other hand to my breasts.

  With a strangled moan, he angled his dick toward my chest. His fist tightened and slowed, and I watched as he came on my tits in quick, hot bursts, his ass clenching my fingertip. I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t take my eyes off him. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

  When it was over, I fell back onto my hands and sat on the floor, panting as hard as if the orgasm had been mine.

  He dropped to his knees, pushed my legs apart and lowered his head between my thighs. Propping myself on my elbows, I watched him devour me like I was covered in Chocolate Cartier.

  He dipped his tongue inside, licking upward in short, tantalizing strokes. “So sweet,” he murmured. “How can such a wicked little girl taste so sweet?”

  I’d been close to orgasm before, and as he swirled his tongue over my clit, I found myself right back at the edge, my lower body humming with pleasure, my breath coming fast, my knees opening wider.

  He slid a hand up my stomach to my chest, which was dripping with his cum. Stretching his fingers, he smeared it all over my breasts while sucking my clit into his mouth. The sight of it sent me barreling over the edge, the orgasm tearing me to pieces like he said he would. I cried out repeatedly as all the tension inside me eased in blissful beats against his tongue.

  “Enough, enough,” I panted when the sensitivity grew too much to bear. “Stop.”

  He got to his knees and looked down at me. Without a word, he took the hand from my chest and rubbed two fingers over my lips. I opened my mouth and licked them, sucked the salty sweetness off the tips, eyes locked on his.

  The moment was so intense, it frightened me. In the silence I heard myself speaking words I didn’t want to say, feeling things I didn’t want to feel. I was on the hard kitchen floor, but it didn’t feel solid beneath me. It was splintering, breaking
apart piece by piece—I had to get up soon or I’d fall through it.

  “Wow,” I forced myself to say. “I’m a mess.”

  Quinn made a noise between a groan and a laugh. “It’s so fucking hot. Do we have to clean you up?”

  “Yes, we do.” I sat up all the way and looked down at my chest. “Or, rather, I do.”

  “Let me do it.” Quinn popped to his feet, turned on the faucet, and started opening drawers. “Where are your towels?”

  “They’re in the third drawer down, but I think I might just get in the shower and rinse off.”

  “Oh. OK.” He turned off the water and gave me a hand getting to my feet. “Sorry. I guess I did make a bit of a mess.”

  “Hey.” I didn’t want him to feel bad. “I asked for the mess, and I loved every second of it. It was my idea.”

  “You did ask for it. That surprised me.”

  “Really? After all the stuff we’ve done?”

  “Well, yeah. That’s like a personal thing, jerking off. Not usually done in the company of others. In fact, never, for me.”

  “No?”

  He shrugged. “No. If there was a girl around, why would I? And no girl ever asked.”

  “Finally, I’m first at something with you.” I pumped a fist in the air as I repeated his words from earlier tonight.

  He laughed. “And what about you? Ever asked anyone to do that to you before?”

  “Nope. Never even thought about it.”

  “Yes! Another first. I feel like a god.”

  I giggled. “I can give you a third one if you want.”

  “Anal?” he asked hopefully.

  “Uh, we’ll talk. But no, I was actually thinking of inviting you into the shower with me.” A shower was OK, right? It was personal but not too too personal. It wasn’t like doing it without a condom or sleeping over or peeing while he was in the bathroom.

  “You’re inviting me into your shower?” He put a hand on his chest. “My God! This means you believe in love now, doesn’t it! I finally did it! And all I had to do was fuck my hand and shoot my load on your chest. How did I not think of it sooner?”

  I shook my head and started walking away. “You’re insane. And I don’t like insane people in my shower, so I’m taking back my invite.”

  “No way.” He followed me through my bedroom and into the bath. “You’re stuck with me, sweet pea. Face it.”

  After turning on the light and blinking at the sudden brightness, I opened the sliding shower door and turned on the water. “Stuck with you, huh?” Facing him again, I pretended to look him over from head to toe. God, I was so lucky. Tonight was perfect. “I suppose there are worse things.”

  Twenty-One

  QUINN

  I might not have a lot of talents, but I can get hard again pretty quickly after an orgasm. It’s not something you can pay the bills with (unless you’re Logan O’Toole, but that’s a different story), and it really only comes in handy in very specific circumstances, but I’m kind of proud of it.

  That said, I didn’t want to fuck Jaime in the shower.

  OK, that’s a lie—I wanted to, but I told myself I wouldn’t.

  I had a good reason.

  Jaime could make anything about sex. This wasn’t only because she was the sexiest woman I’d ever known without even trying, but because she felt comfortable with sex. It was safe ground for her.

  I wanted new ground.

  It had been a month since we’d been dating, and I was crazy about her. I couldn’t say that to her of course, because it would probably make her rock back and forth in agony, but the more time I spent with her, both in and out of bed, the more convinced I was that she and I had something special. I’d never had as much fun with anyone—she made me laugh at myself and let me laugh at her. I got such a kick out of listening to her tell me all the random stuff she knew—she was so curious about the stories behind things and people. Maybe it’s what made her go into advertising.

  “Did you know Faygo red pop was created by Russian bakers who used their frosting recipe to create a new drink?”

  “Did you know the Disney princesses don’t look at each other when they’re grouped together to preserve their individual mythologies?”

  “Did you know that in New York, they call Coney Islands Michigan hot dogs?”

  She listened when I needed to talk, too. I felt like she understood me.

  And I understood her—I couldn’t rush her.

  She hadn’t said as much (surprise, surprise), but I had the feeling she felt more for me than she usually felt for men she dated or men she just slept with. What she’d said tonight sort of confirmed it—in the past, she hadn’t allowed great sex to inspire feelings, and she’d never allowed herself to develop feelings where there was great sex. We had both, but where she was comfortable expressing her sexuality, she was totally uncomfortable expressing her feelings, so she used one to do the other.

  I wanted to encourage her to let her feelings show in ways that didn’t involve an orgasm. I didn’t need words necessarily, but this was nice—she was letting me into her personal space after sex, inviting me to stay a little longer with her. I wanted to show her that I liked it, not because it would lead to more sex, but because it made me feel closer to her. I wanted her to like feeling closer to me, and more importantly, to be OK with it.

  So I washed her hair (I’d, um, sullied it a bit), soaped her body, and rinsed her off while ignoring my dick, which was not in favor of the no-shower-sex plan. In fact, he was firmly against it and showed his displeasure by twitching agitatedly every few minutes. Once, it hit Jaime on the butt, and I apologized.

  She giggled. “Don’t be sorry. It’s funny, I like it.”

  “Funny? My dick is funny to you?” Yes, jokes were good. Jokes would distract me.

  “I’m sorry, let me try again.” She peeked at it. “You’re right. It’s a very serious cock. Very no-nonsense. Businesslike. Maybe even presidential.”

  I pinched her ass. “I thought you were going to say stiff.”

  She glanced down again. “Not yet, but getting there.”

  “Don’t look. You’ll only encourage it, and I’m trying not to get hard.”

  “Why on earth would you do that?”

  “Because I’m trying to be a good guy and show you that we can have fun together without having sex.”

  “Silly boy,” she whispered, stroking me softly. “I know we can have fun together without having sex. But I happen to love having sex with you.”

  My plan to not fuck her was unraveling at an alarming speed—the speed with which my dick was getting hard. I made one last effort. “I know, and I love it too, but I also like just being close to you. Talking to you. Listening to you.” But please put your finger in my ass again. That was fucking amazing.

  “Listen to me,” she said, sliding her hand up and down my flesh. “I feel closer to you than I’ve ever felt to any man, ever. I’ve let you in deeper. Revealed more of myself. And my favorite way to share that with you, the only way I’m good at, is with my body. It’s the language I speak. Does that make sense?”

  Her words stirred something inside me, and it was enough to overcome my restraint. “Yes,” I said, letting my hands go where they wanted, putting my lips on her warm, wet skin. “Yes.”

  She laughed throatily, slinging an arm around my neck. “You’re so fucking easy.”

  Twenty-Two

  JAIME

  So fucking easy.

  It would be so fucking easy to just let him slide inside me, hot and hard and wet.

  We’d made it onto my bed, ostensibly to get a condom, but neither of us had reached for one. Too impatient to even dry off, our bodies dripped onto my sheets as we lay on our sides and clung to each other, my leg thrown over his hip, his cock trapped between us, our lips locked in a feverish kiss.

  But should we?

  The one time we’d done it without a condom I’d been able to dismiss as a spontaneous, heat-of-the-moment oopsy, li
ke a crime of passion. I wouldn’t be able to do the same this time if I kept thinking about it—this would clearly be premeditated.

  But I wanted it. I wanted it so badly.

  I wanted him to have me in a way no one else ever had. I wanted to share myself in a way I never had. I wanted us to experience each other skin to skin, nothing between us. This whole night had been a series of breaking down barriers, from our conversation at dinner to the sexual adventure in the kitchen to inviting him into my shower—and the more I opened myself to him, the further I wanted him to go.

  I’d told him things tonight I’d never told anyone, done things to him and let him do things to me I’d been scared to even think about before. And he hadn’t judged me—he never judged me. He was so patient with me, so sweet, so stubborn, so sure that I had the capacity to love someone.

  How could I tell him what that meant to me? I wasn’t good at revealing myself with words, but I could show him.

  And I would.

  “Quinn,” I whispered frantically. “I want you inside me. Fuck the condom.”

  “Are you sure?” His eyes searched mine in the dark.

  “Yes.” My entire body ached for him to fill it. “I want you so badly right now, I can’t describe it—I want you so badly it hurts.”

  “I want you too.” He took over, taking his cock in his hand and guiding it between my legs.

  I was so wet he slid in easily, but he went slow, his eyes closing. When he was buried inside me, he opened them, and we held still for a moment, just looking at each other.

  My heart was thundering in my chest, and I felt his doing the same. His hand slid over my hip, pulling me tighter to his body, and I hitched my leg up even higher, making the angle even better.

  “This feels so good,” he whispered. “I don’t even want to move, it will be over too quickly. But I have to…” He began to move his lower body in that slow, sinuous motion I loved, the one that had him rubbing all the right places, inside and out. “You make me so hard.”