The Modern Gentleman

by Quinn, Meghan

  Removing one hand from under her head, she smooths it down my shirt, under my hem, and then back up my stomach. “I’ve thought about you every day, feels like every second of every day,” June says, her fingers playing with the divots of my abs. “I’ve thought about what it would feel like to have your hands all over me, your lips traveling over every last inch of my body, to hear the sounds you make when my hand roams . . .” She travels up to my chest, her fingers running over the pad of my nipple.

  I hiss out a sharp breath. “June,” I say on a sigh, looking into her eyes. She moves in closer, causing my hand to skim the bottom of my breast. Fuck.

  “Touch me,” she whispers, her lips gliding over mine, but not fully connecting. “Feel me, Wes.”

  Body thrumming, need coursing through me like a tidal wave, my mouth descends on hers just as I move my hand up and over the soft globe of her breast and fuck, is it everything.

  Soft and warm fills my palm with her pebbled nipple already taut and turned on.

  So hot.

  I groan into her mouth as she pushes her chest into my hand, her top leg wrapping around mine, pulling me in even closer.

  I squeeze her breasts, dragging my thumb over her nipple, loving the way she wiggles beneath me, how she moans into my mouth. She continues to kiss me, even though little gasps of surprise pop out of my mouth every time I stroke or pinch her nipple differently.

  Out of breath, she pulls her mouth away and her eyes search mine. I wish I could read her thoughts, know precisely what’s going on in that pretty head of hers. Before I can decipher what she needs next, she sits up, pushes me to my back, and straddles my lap, only to lift her sweatshirt up and over her head, revealing two perfect breasts with aroused nipples.

  “Fucking hell, June,” I say, dragging my hand over my beard. She takes the hem of my shirt and lifts it up and over my head, baring me to her. I watch as she sighs in contentment and moves her hands over my stomach, up to my carved pecs.

  “Your body isn’t fair,” she says. “I swear you’re too good to be true.”

  “I think that about you every goddamn day,” I say as she lowers her body, her breasts resting against my chest, her mouth connecting with mine. Instinctively, my hands go to her back where they travel the slope to her ass, where I slip one hand under the waistband of her leggings. Only a few inches, testing her responsiveness and willingness to progress things, and when she doesn’t pull away, I keep my hand there.

  And when her hips start to ride mine, all the blood in my body pools to my center, sending my cock into overdrive.

  I move my mouth to her jawline, down her neck where I nibble on the column.

  “No hickies,” she says breathlessly. “Can’t cover them up for rehearsal.”

  “What about on your tits?” I ask, traveling my mouth down as she lifts just slightly, giving me access.

  “Do whatever you want to them.”

  If that’s the case . . . I flip her to her back and bring my mouth to them where I suck one into my mouth while palming the other.

  “God, yes, I knew you’d be good at this,” she moans, her back arching.

  I suck on her breasts for a good few minutes, listening to the soft sounds she makes, the way her body reacts to the different ways I play with them. Testing her, I move lower and kiss the underside of her right breast, then her ribs, then her stomach. I look up at her and watch her chest rise and fall more rapidly as I travel lower. When I reach her belly button, I ask, “June, can I taste you?”

  “I couldn’t stop you if I wanted to at this point.”

  That’s one way to make my dick harder . . . giving me the green light.

  Fingers in the waistband of her leggings and her underwear, I pull them down together and strip her completely naked. I don’t move between her legs right away. Instead, I absorb the beautiful woman lying in front of me.

  Slender shoulders, soft, turned-on breasts, firm stomach, narrow waist, round hips, toned legs, bare and beautiful.

  “You’re stunning,” I whisper in awe, shocked that June is mine, and that I’m lucky enough to not only have her in my bed but have her in my life as well. I bring one of her legs up to my mouth and kiss the inside of her calf, her knee, her upper thigh. She sucks in a sharp breath when I grow close but then lower her leg and prop it up on the bed so her knee is bent, only to repeat the same thing with her other leg.

  When I reach her center, I move my hand between her legs and part her bare skin only to lower my mouth to her aching center.

  From the first contact of my tongue, her body shocks against the mattress, her hands gripping the comforter below us.

  “Oh my God, Wes,” she says on a heavy sigh.

  From her reaction, I’d say she hasn’t had this done in a while. Wanting her to remember this moment, I flick the tip of my tongue against her clit in short, rapid strokes, applying enough pressure to feel her body tighten under my hold.

  “Yes, right there. Please don’t move.” She shifts, her head lifting to look at me, her stomach hollowing out. “How are you this good? How do you know . . . oh God.” Her head falls back. “Wes, it’s too fast. I don’t want to come this fast.”

  I lift my tongue off her but keep her parted.

  “No, don’t stop,” she says, making me laugh.

  “You didn’t want to come.”

  “I’m just shocked, please, don’t stop. I was right there.”

  Chuckling a bit more, I peek my tongue out, but instead of the short flicks, I flatten my tongue and take long swipes up her center. Her hand falls to my hair and she grips tightly as her hips twist from side to side, her heels digging into my back.

  “Oh . . . Jesus. Wes, yes, you’re so good. You’re so damn good.” I move back to flicks, and her hips flex, one hand pulls on my hair, her other digs into the blankets. Her breasts peak, her stomach becomes shallow, her lips fall open and the most beautiful, feral cry calls out of her mouth as she comes on my tongue. Her pussy is so slick as I let her ride out her orgasm until she can’t take it anymore.

  While she lies there, catching her breath, I get rid of my pants and I reach into my nightstand for a condom. My cock is hard as stone, straining between my legs, looking for relief.

  Detecting me above her, she opens her eyes to get an eyeful as I lean over her for the condom. Her hand immediately wraps around my cock and she pulls on it, using the precum to lubricate her hand.

  “Shit,” I huff as she moves her hand up and down my length.

  “I want you in my mouth,” she says. “Climb higher on the bed.”

  Condom still in my hand, I move so my bottom half is near her face and my hands rest on the headboard, and before I can get myself situated, she takes my cock in her mouth, causing my head to fall forward as she sucks hard on the tip.

  “Holy fuck,” I grind out while one of her hands moves up and down my length, the other gently gripping my balls. “Ah, June, that feels amazing.”

  She’s tender with her hands, not stroking too hard, not gripping too tight, but her mouth is a direct contrast. Her suction is unreal, and the way her tongue swirls around the head of my cock is blurring my vision.

  “I . . . want to . . .” I breathe out, squeezing my eyes shut when she flicks her tongue along the underside of my cock. “Come inside you,” I rush out with a groan. God, fuck . . . that feels so good. So fucking good.

  After a few more strokes, she pulls her mouth away and says, “Then come inside of me.”

  When June breaks the seal on something, she apparently goes all in, and right now, she’s 100 percent full steam ahead, making this one of the best nights of my life.

  Lowering my body away from her, I rip open the condom and sheath myself, keeping my eyes on June the entire time. She spreads her legs wider and reaches for me. I fall on top of her and cup her face, my thumb stroking her cheek, my cock pressed to her center. I lower my mouth to hers, crushing our lips together, the fury for this woman igniting an entirely new wave of heat throug
h my body as I get closer and closer to her.

  She lowers her hand to my cock and presses it against her entrance.

  My tongue dives into her mouth.

  Her hips rock forward.

  I barely enter her.

  “Fuck,” I breathe out heavily, moving so I have a better angle to pump into her. One hand on either side of her shoulders, I feel my muscles tense as I push deeper and deeper inside until I bottom out. We both groan together from the connection, our mouths quickly finding each other, our needs soaring.

  I fucking need every piece of this woman.

  I need her mouth, her hands, her breath, the beat of her heart connecting with mine.

  Every goddamn piece.

  I flex my hips into her and her chest lifts, her mouth parting. I repeat the flex and every time I move inside her, her reaction becomes sexier.

  Hands to my arms.

  To my shoulders.

  Her legs around my waist.

  Her heels to my lower back.

  Pressing.

  Gripping.

  Tightening.

  Together we climb.

  Our mouths collide, our tongues dance, our heat builds and builds to an unrelenting inferno.

  The sensations around us mix together. Air turns into harsh breaths. Moans meld into a symphony. Thrusts become an erotic dance, working together. And hands become lifelines, the only thing keeping us from falling over as they cling, grip, anchor to anything to keep our minds afloat, our bodies holding on to this apex.

  Holding on to this moment in time where gravity doesn’t exist.

  Where pleasure sears through our veins.

  Where the only thing we see is each other. The only thing we feel is our connection and the pulsing beat of our orgasms, knocking down every last wall we’ve built until it crashes and explodes through us with one last thrust.

  “Oh my fucking God,” June shouts, her pussy clenching around me.

  “Fuck . . . fuck me,” I groan, my balls tightening as my cock swells quickly and then bursts with my come, filling the condom as I still above her, the muscles in my back contracting, the bones in my body bursting into shrapnel, making me feel lifeless and weak.

  I fall onto the bed, my body half on hers, half on the mattress, my breath escaping from my lungs at a rapid rate.

  Her hand smooths over my back as I feel our breaths start to mix together, filling our lungs deeply, bringing us back to earth.

  That was . . . I can’t fucking explain it. It was ungodly, unreal, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced and it’s evident why, because when I lift up to prop my head on my hand and look down at my girl, I realize one thing.

  I’m in love with this woman.

  My love for her is strong.

  Unrelenting love.

  The kind of love that only comes once in a lifetime.

  The kind of love I need to hold on to.

  The kind of love that deserves honesty and truth.

  Her hand lifts to my cheek. “Are you okay?” she asks, stroking my face with her thumb.

  I swallow hard and nod. “Amazing. You’re . . . amazing.”

  I desperately want to tell her how I feel about her, that she’s changed my life in the best way possible, that she’s all I think about, all I want. I want to tell her the truth about the assignment. I want to lay it all out, beg her to understand and hope she does.

  But if there is one thing I tell my readers over and over again: post-coital moments aren’t meant for confessions; they’re meant to soak in the moment, to let the taste of each other sit on your tongue, to savor the connection you just made.

  It’s not the time to confess love.

  It’s not the time to talk about real life.

  It’s not the time to admit to an indiscretion.

  Instead, you push those thoughts out of your mind, pin them for the next day, and love on your significant other. Snuggle, cling to them, let them know that nothing is more important than this moment between you both, and committing it to memory.

  And that’s exactly what I do.

  I don’t tell her. But, remember the collective, “Wes, you’re an idiot?”

  Well, I think we all know why . . .

  So, that’s why I end up drinking one of her lady drinks, broken-hearted, and listening to Joni Mitchell while Caden questions my sanity.

  * * *

  And there you have it, how it all went down.

  How my life was flipped upside down by a girl, only for me to lose everything.

  **Sighs, grips lady can, clings to scarf**

  But if we break it down . . . did I really have a choice? Let’s look at all the factors here: I was afraid of losing my job, I was—

  HOLD UP.

  *Snaps fingers*

  Hey, you. Yeah, you. Reader. That’s right, I’m talking to you. Look over here. *Waves*

  Hi. June here, I think we need to flip this story for a second, because I’m over it.

  Want the truth of how it went down instead of the runaround? Flip to the next page. I’ll tell you exactly how your friend Wesley Waldorf messed this up.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dear June July,

  Why is Wes such a dumbass?

  Confused reader

  Dear Confused Reader,

  Aren’t all men dumbasses? Don’t worry, I’m about to explain how it all went down and pinpoint exactly why he’s a dumbass.

  Hang in there, you beautiful bibliophile.

  June July

  JUNE

  THE FUCK UP

  About time I get a chance to speak. Sheesh. That boy sure knows how to blab on.

  You would think given Wesley is supposedly The Modern Gentleman—yeah, I know who he is, we’ll get to that in a second—he’d let me tell my point of view every other chapter, but nope, he decided to hog the spotlight for himself.

  Should have known he wasn’t really the gentleman he claimed to be.

  Before we get into the specifics, I guess I should catch you up on the CliffsNotes of my life, huh?

  I’ll be quick, don’t worry. I’m not looking to entertain you with fancy descriptions of orgasms here, like our friend Waldorf. Let’s get to the facts. The nitty-gritty.

  Met a handsome stranger in the park. Ungodly attractive.

  Mr. Fancy Hair dropped into my life just like General Fitzbum dropped a doo-doo on the sidewalk. I’d never seen a man so put together, so dignified for his age. I knew there had to be something about him that wasn’t right.

  But the more I got to know him, the more I found out that he was just a nice guy—at least that’s what I thought.

  But honestly, how could I not at the time? The things he went through when dating me . . .

  I clocked him in the testes, nearly punctured them, and he still wanted to see me.

  I thought he was either a glutton for punishment, one of those red-room types, or he really liked me. Either way, I was down for both.

  He was a fun drunk, love-thrusting his crotch.

  He took a fire retardant to the face like a champ.

  Smelled like a GD bearded pheromone every time I saw him.

  And could take on any kind of tormenting joke I tossed in his direction, absorbing it like a sponge and clutching it like it was giving him life.

  But what really won me over was when we went to a hibachi grill, where he spilled his beer twice down his shirt, choked on a flying shrimp the chef tossed at him, which led to me giving him the Heimlich. When the check came, he realized he’d forgotten his wallet, resulting in him meeting his friend outside for cash, where he tripped on the sidewalk and fell into sewage water, and then proceeded to hold my hand and call me a cab, without breaking a sweat. Oh, he didn’t tell you about that date?

  *Taps chin*

  I wonder why.

  Maybe because I had to fling him around like a ragdoll, dislodging kung pao shrimp from his throat. Apparently, he was emasculated enough in the recounting of his other tales, he left that special did
dy out.

  But any man who could go through such a night and still hold his head high was a guy I could fall for.

  Oh yeah. The big L for this girl.

  Besides the fact that he is the hottest man I’d ever seen, the bearded wonder with lips to die for, he was sweet, interested, thoughtful, and truly got to know me.

  I fell hard.

  That night, when we finally had sex for the first time, it wasn’t just sex to me. It was making love. Yeah, I might sound like an old-fashioned cornball right now, but it’s true, I gave him my heart that night, only for him to tear it apart the next morning.

  Curious?

  Want to know how THE FUCK UP happened?

  Prepare your hearts, because I’m about to pile on some General Fitzbum doo-doo to this story.

  Let’s circle back to the morning after mind-blowing orgasms, but from my point of view this time, if you don’t mind.

  *Ahem*

  * * *

  “Good morning,” Wesley’s deep morning voice says, as his lips press against my temple, his arms coming back around me after he shuts off his alarm. “You’re so damn warm.”

  “What time is it?” I mutter, my eyes not wanting to cooperate with me just yet.

  “Five thirty.”

  “Ew, why do you wake up that early?”

  He chuckles into my ear, the rumbling sound falling over my skin, spreading goosebumps. “I have early meetings today with some advertisers and I need to prep for them.” He kisses the spot below my ear. “Feel free to stay in bed. I’m hopping in the shower. I’d ask you to join me, but I know that’s going to result in being late.”

  “It’s too early to have a penis impale me,” I say, draping my arm over my face.

  “Not a morning-sex person. Got it.” He kisses me one more time and starts to move away when he stops and rests his hand on my bare stomach, his thumb caressing my skin. “Hey, last night meant a lot to me. I hope you know that.”