by Jewel E. Ann
Again, he kissed me hard. Sucked. Bit. Tugged.
My panties were no longer covering much. I fought the gullible thoughts tripping over themselves in my head. Thoughts of love and happily ever after’s. Some men showered women with poems and flowers. Maybe oral sex was Fisher’s way of expressing his love. Sadly, my panties between his teeth wasn’t exactly something I could photograph and share with my friends on social media.
#relationshipgoals
#myfirsttime
#LazySunday
#LickIt
We weren’t going public with our relationship anyway because it was ending soon.
“I’m going to fucking devour you,” he said just before his mouth covered my bare flesh.
Just before his tongue parted me.
Just before he hummed.
I was …
Terrified to have his mouth there.
Elated because it felt so good. Too good. Sinfully good.
Confused because it wasn’t sex, but it was sex.
Surely, the look he gave me fell under Rory’s testicle removal threat. Did he think about that? Even once?
All the blood in my body made its way to the exact spot his mouth was on me. And it made it impossible to think or breathe. And yes, it made it really hard to keep from falling to the floor beneath my shaky knees.
“Fisher …” I found a tiny voice to speak one word as my body teetered to the side, my whole forearm resting on the frame as my other hand claimed a large handful of his hair and my knees bowed inward.
It was wrong! I knew it. I just didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity to stop it. A prime example of why giving in to temptation was a bad idea. There were points of no return, and I had breezed past mine the second he opened his front door.
Fisher was unrelenting and hungry. He seemed famished. Then he seemed … impatient, ripping my panties down my legs. I released his hair and reached for them, as if they were my last line of defense, even if they weren’t covering anything whatsoever at that point. Did keeping one item of clothing on make it less wrong?
Oops … I didn’t even remove my panties. He accidentally tripped and his mouth just landed there.
Fisher’s hands guided my legs to spread wider before he resumed his oral navigation and, in general, driving me to the edge of passing out or using really bad words.
“This is so wrong …” I mumbled.
In the next breath, he was gone. Well, his mouth was gone.
Fisher stood and chuckled, resting his hands on my hips to guide me backward to his bed while he kissed my neck. “Do you want to stop?”
The back of my knees hit the bed, and I plunked onto my butt.
“We can stop right now.”
Resting back on my elbows, I shook my head. “I just don’t want it to be wrong.”
“Well …” He twisted his lips. “Sorry. I can make it good, but I can’t make it right in your head.”
“I want …” I bit my lip and searched for the right words. “I want it like last night.”
He squinted one eye. “No fucking way.”
Swallowing, I frowned. “I want to …”
Feel like we’re having sex, even if you won’t actually have it with me!
“I want it like last night or … more,” I said with defeat to my voice. At that point, I was already dirty. Would finishing the job before taking a spiritual shower really have made that much of a difference?
“Despite you being naked on my bed, despite you incessantly wetting your lips while staring at my erection …”
Busted!
I cut my gaze straight to his, grinning with admission that he caught me gawking at his tented shorts.
“I’m not taking your virginity. I had a little talk with myself about it, and we—me and my moderately well-honed conscience—decided to pass on the offer. I don’t feel worthy of it.”
“Worthy of it?” I coughed a laugh. “You mean to tell me you’ve never taken someone’s virginity?”
“I didn’t say that.” He grabbed my leg, forcing me onto my back while he brought my foot to his mouth and kissed the pad of my big toe.
“Why? You can’t say that and not have an explanation. Why was it okay then?”
“Because it wasn’t some crowned jewel. It wasn’t a prized possession. There was no hesitation. No chanting ‘this is so wrong.’”
I frowned.
“I can’t give it back, Reese. If or when you have second thoughts or regret, I can’t give it back to you.”
“So you’d rather borrow someone’s used sanitary napkin?”
Dropping my foot to the bed, he ran a hand through his hair. “Um … what?”
I sat up and crisscrossed my legs, covering my breasts in my cupped hands. “My grandma used to say that not having your virginity to give your husband was like borrowing someone’s used sanitary napkin on your wedding night.”
Fisher blinked slowly for several silent seconds. “I … I don’t even know how to respond to that. Were you … raised in a cult? What the fuck? Who says that?”
I winced, feeling a little defensive. It wasn’t that I believed my grandma, but I didn’t like him insinuating that she was crazy or some cult member.
“Listen …” He sighed and took a seat next to me on the bed with his legs dangling off the end. “I haven’t walked in your shoes. So I don’t know what’s been planted into your brain. I liked what just happened in the doorway. It’s that simple for me. I liked it. I’d like to do it again. And I don’t want to feel guilty for being a consenting adult with you. My opinion should mean nothing to you. So while I’d like to tell you to spend more time touching yourself than worrying about going to Hell, it’s not my place.”
After letting his words resonate for a moment, I released my breasts and stood on my knees, swinging one leg over his lap. “Fisher …” I laced my fingers together behind his neck while positioning myself so his cock (covered by his briefs and shorts) was pressed between my legs again, much like the previous night.
“What are you doing?” he whispered, eyeing my mouth while his hands gripped my hips.
“I like how you feel between my legs, naked fisherman.”
“Fuuuck …” He closed his eyes for a brief moment, gripping my hips tighter while pushing me down a fraction—pushing into me a fraction.
Cock.
Briefs.
Shorts.
“Yes …” I closed my eyes.
“Don’t say that,” he said with a strained voice and lines of tension along his forehead.
Thrust.
Thrust.
Thrust.
He prodded me like he, too, knew that point of no return was a mile behind us in a foggy rearview mirror.
My hands ghosted down his back. His hands gripped my butt.
Thrust.
Thrust.
Thrust.
I spread my legs wider, allowing him to push into me a fraction more.
Thrust.
Thrust.
Thrust.
Each move a little harder.
Each breath a little more ragged, just like his next words.
“I.” Thrust.
“Want.” Thrust.
“Inside of you.” Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.
“So fucking bad.”
I did too. And while I knew it would be different, that it would be painful the first time, I still wanted it. I wanted it with Fisher. Instead, we were dry humping harder than two people had probably ever dry humped. I swore his cock, briefs, and shorts were halfway in by that point—like a clothes condom—and soaking wet from me … and maybe a little from him too.
“Fisher!” I seethed when he ducked his head and bit my nipple and tugged it like he was trying to rip it off.
Thrust.
Thrust.
Thrust.
“No.” He released my nipple and grabbed my hand when I reached between us, sliding my hand down the front of his shorts and briefs. “Not a good idea.”
He groaned or grumbled, clearly warring with the decision to stop me or trust me to not cross the next line.
Releasing me, he rested that hand on the bed behind him, chin dipped, watching me slide down the front of his shorts and briefs.
“Make it feel good,” he whispered while a grin stole his lips.
My teeth scraped along my bottom lip as I gathered up as much confidence as I could find. My hand wrapped around the top half of his cock while I rubbed myself along the bottom part. It was so much better than the scratchy fabric.
That day, the naked fisherman taught me how to make it feel good for me and for him at the same time while keeping that eighty percent of my virginity.
I knew it was wrong. I just started to care a little less about its wrongness.
While Fisher showered, I ran downstairs to get my computer. I had several important searches to do.
Is oral sex as morally wrong as intercourse?
What does the Bible say about masturbation?
Can a woman get pregnant if a man ejaculates between her legs without penetration?
That last search sent me into a frenzy. I peed.
Prayed.
Jumped into the shower and put the handheld head between my legs to rid myself of any residual semen.
Prayed again.
Checked my phone for my monthly cycle app to see if I was anywhere near ovulation.
Prayed again.
Dressed.
Sprinted up the stairs.
“YOU CAN GET PREGNANT WITHOUT PENETRATION!”
Fisher closed the refrigerator door, popping the top of a beer and taking a swig, eyeing me intently the whole time. “I’m a guy. I can’t get pregnant.”
“Ugh! Shut up! I’m talking about me.”
Totally relaxed, he perched himself atop one of the barstools. “I came on my own fucking stomach, not anywhere on you. Sperm might be fast swimmers, but I don’t think they jump from one person to another.”
“Fisher! I rubbed against you. My…” I motioned between my legs “…I rubbed against you. And it … you … might have dripped. What if all of it didn’t go onto your stomach? What if a drop or two mixed with my … you know? And you can have SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND sperm in one drop of semen. Did you know that? Because I didn’t.”
Still, he didn’t seem the least bit phased by my concern. “I think the odds are greatly in your favor of not getting pregnant. That would be quite the story.” He chuckled before taking another swig of beer.
“No.” I shook my head a half dozen times. “That would not be quite the story.”
“Are you ovulating?” He stole some of my fire.
No. According to my app, I wasn’t ovulating. But … abstinence was the only certainty. And while we abstained from intercourse—well, full, bare penetration—we didn’t abstain from possibly mixing bodily fluids.
It was like he read my mind … my next train of thought.
“I would have thought you might have been more concerned about STDs than a rogue drop of semen. I know I’m safe with Virgin Therese, but you know I’ve been with other women. Yet you never asked me. Kinda stupid on your part, don’t you think?”
I deflated. I had been stupid. Young and so very stupid.
“I haven’t had unprotected sex … except what just happened with you, since I was last tested. You’re safe. So at least if you’re pregnant, you’ll have one less thing to worry about,” he said.
“Not helpful.”
Fisher grinned. “It’s a little helpful.”
“I’m not ovulating.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I was really worried about it.”
“That can’t happen again.”
He set down his beer and held up his hands in surrender. “I’m pretty sure you knocked on my door. And I guarantee you I wasn’t going to get you pregnant with my face between your legs.”
My jaw flapped a few times, but nothing came out.
“Maybe you should think about getting on birth control.”
“What?” My head jerked backward. “I’m not having sex.”
“Reese.” His smile vanished because he was being twenty-eight and I was being … younger. A lot younger.
Stupid.
Naive.
Childish.
I wasn’t stupid. I was scared and disappointed in myself. It was easier to act shocked and offended by his comment than to admit my part in what we did.
“It just …” I admitted my wrongdoing with the change—the defeat—in my tone instead of saying the actual words. “It can’t happen again.”
With a quick half shrug, he reached for his bottle of beer. “Agreed.”
“What if …” I cleared my throat. “Hypothetically, what if I were pregnant?”
“No.” He grunted. “No. We are not doing this. If you come back to me in a few weeks with a positive test, we’ll have this conversation. But I’m not having it now.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not.”
“I think it’s irresponsible to not at least have a plan.”
“Me too. If I had a vagina, and I wanted to play peekaboo with the head of a guy’s dick, I’d plan ahead and be on birth control.”
Wow.
That hurt.
Fisher wasn’t just cold about it; he was cruel. Aloof, like he didn’t care about me.
“I’ll see you in the morning, unless I’m driving to the office and we’re not together.”
We’re not together.
It was funny how I managed to say exactly what was on my mind, just in a different context.
“We’re together.”
That hurt too because I knew he meant it completely in the work sense. He let Angie go. He let Teagan go. Why did I think I would be any different?
“Goodnight.”
Chapter Eighteen
I called Christina while making a sandwich, even though I wasn’t hungry because the previous twenty-four hours with Fisher had been unbelievable.
“Miss me already?” she answered.
“I need to talk. In person. Where are you?”
“Thirty minutes outside of Colorado Springs.”
“Ugh!” I viciously cut through my sandwich.
“What is it? Just tell me.”
“Do you have me on speaker?”
“No, why?”
“Because I’m out of control, and I … I don’t want anyone else to know. But I need advice because I’m losing my mind.”
She chuckled. “Okay. Take a breath. Tell me what’s going on. Does it have to do with Arnie or the other guy?”
Arnie.
I’d forgotten about Arnie and the made-up other guy, who wasn’t actually made-up at all.
“The other guy. He doesn’t want to have sex with me because I’m a virgin, so we’ve been doing everything but having actual sex … intercourse … you know what I mean. Anyway—”
“Whoa … wait. Back that shit up. He doesn’t want to have—”
“SHH! Don’t say it out loud. I don’t want Jamison to know I’m having issues in that department.”
“Okay, fine. So he doesn’t want to try your … cooking. That’s insane. Why not?”
“Because he’s worried that my cooking is too important to me. So he wants someone else to try my cooking first because he said he’s not in the business of trying my cooking.”
“Maybe he’s never tried a woman’s cooking … like her first official dinner, and he’s nervous about it.”
“No.” I took a bite of my sandwich and chewed it a few seconds. “He’s tried other women’s first dinners because it apparently didn’t matter to them.”
“Well, does your cooking matter to you?”
“No. Yes. Gah! I don’t know. I mean … can’t it somewhat matter to me yet still be okay for him to try it before anyone else does? I’m not asking him to … open a restaurant for me.”
>
Christina laughed. “I love this conversation. So you go out to eat a lot, and you both enjoy that and mutually want to eat out, but he just won’t try your cooking?”
“Right. But, Christina … I’m not on the pill. And we’ve been doing things that are risky, but again, not penetration. And I casually asked him what he would do if I ended up pregnant, and he changed. Like his whole demeanor changed. He refused to discuss it with me unless I find out that I am pregnant … which I highly doubt I am.”
“Uh … Reese, why would you even think that if you … if he didn’t try your cooking?”
“Because he … you know. And I … you know. And what if there was a mixing of … ingredients …”
“A mixing where?”
“Just … never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’m not near my ovulation time.”
“Kudos to you for knowing that.”
“I use an app.”
“Oh. That’s smart. So what do you need from me? I’m obviously no help. Sorry, bae.”
“Well, I guess I want to know what you think I should do? He obviously is just in it for the physical part. And I want to have sex with him … but he won’t, despite his total disconnect to the emotional part.”
“And you’re sure you want him to?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I know that I wouldn’t say no, even if I’d be filled with regret.”
“Call Arnie. He’ll take it. Probably won’t even care if it’s more than a one and done. Then you can … cook for anyone without this being an issue.”
I didn’t want to cook for anyone but Fisher.
“Thanks.” I sighed. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Okay. Call me if you need anything, even if I’m not much help.”
“Will do.”
“Good morning.” Fisher walked out of the garage with a mug of coffee in his hand just as I rounded the corner to his truck.
Dang! He looked hot that morning.
Jeans.
Tee.
Work boots.
Wet hair.
Scruffy face.
The same as other days, but different too.
Just … hotter.
“Morning.” I couldn’t maintain eye contact with him. Looking at him without thinking about him naked presented itself as the world’s most impossible task. Truth? There was a reason I’d thought of him as the “naked fisherman” since the day we met.