His Package

by Bloom, Penelope

  His hands were so strong against me. They slid up my leg, forcing my dress up with them into a bunched up mess of fabric.

  Kissing him was intoxicating. My brain didn’t wander. Every ounce of my focus was on the moment. On us. It was like being submerged in warm, glittering water, at least if that water knew how to French kiss and had a fondness for squeezing asses.

  “Am I supposed to ask if we should be doing this?” I breathed between kisses. “That’s the dainty thing to say at a time like this, right?”

  “What do you mean?” He pulled his face back enough to meet my eyes. His fingertips played against the skin of my face with a frightening tenderness.

  I'd grown up deeply entrenched in a school of tough love, and my parents had never been ones for hugging, kissing, and cuddling. The way Liam was touching me triggered a deep-seated need. I wanted to melt into his hands

  “I feel like I’m supposed to act like I have my doubts right now,” I said. “You know, so you don’t think I’m too eager to sleep with you. Preserve the pure virgin thing and all that.”

  He smirked. “I don’t care if you’re a pure virgin. I want you to want this as much as I do. Fuck all the unwritten rules. I just want you to myself right now. All of you.”

  I bit my lip. “Then take me to your bed, because if I have to wait any longer, I think I’m going to explode.”

  He gripped the back of my thighs and hoisted me up so I was clinging to him like an over-sized child with my hands threaded behind his neck. I let him carry me through his apartment and to his bed, where he surprised me by tossing me down on the bed. I almost giggled as I landed. Giggled. I didn’t care how much I was enjoying myself, if there was one thing I wasn’t going to do, it was giggle.

  I settled for a suppressed smile as I looked up at him. He pulled his shirt off, and this time, I didn’t look away. I let my eyes move molasses-slow across every last rippling muscle of his torso, the hard lines and pleasant planes that refused to release my eyes. There was a natural path as I looked down the line of his body, like a well-planned painting that has one goal: to draw the eye down, and down, and down.

  I was mesmerized as his hands went to his belt and flicked the latch free. The weight of the buckle dangling dragged the waistband of his pants down just enough to let me see the elastic of his underwear. A gray waistband and black, tight-fitting boxers.

  In that moment, I questioned every lie I’d ever told myself about the ability of a dildo to replace a man, no matter how high quality the device may be. I never got to watch my dildo undress. I could never smell the manliness radiating off of a dildo, like some pheremonal cocktail that lit rocket-fuel under my ovaries and propelled them straight into my brain. Babies. Babies. Babies. I’d never seriously considered having kids, but when I looked up at Liam towering over me, I could imagine a dark-haired little sarcastic child in my life, and I could imagine how hot it would be to feel Liam finding his release inside me.

  I pumped the mental brakes, though. Hot was one thing. Practical was another. At least some part of my head was still functioning in the real world, even while ninety percent of my brain was drooling over him. I wanted to make it in business, maybe even own my own company one day. The last thing I needed to mix into the equation was a kid.

  His pants dropped and my jaw followed.

  Beautiful bulge.

  Our kissing had clearly done the job of getting him ready to go, and if the pulsing heat I felt between my own legs was any indication, I was just as ready.

  “This only works if we both take off our clothes,” he said.

  “Oh, really? So you’re telling me what they taught about reproduction in Sunday school was a lie?”

  He leaned over me and slid the straps of my dress down over my shoulders. “I think you ever attending Sunday school is a lie, because they don’t teach you about reproduction there.”

  “Who says I’m not religious?”

  His eyes didn’t move away from where he was slowly stripping away my dress, almost ritualistically. He was clearly savoring every inch of skin he unwrapped, as if I was a life-sized Christmas present. “Are you?”

  “Maybe. But I don’t reveal my secrets so easily.”

  “Secrets, huh?” he bent down and pressed his mouth to my breasts, just above my bra.

  I gasped, arching my back toward him involuntarily. An unstoppable fire was growing inside me, and I knew the only thing that could quench it was him. I needed him. On top of me. Surrounding me. Inside me.

  “Well,” he said as he lifted his head again and kissed me once on the mouth. “Whether you’re religious or not, I think you’re going to take the Lord’s name in vain a few times before I’m done with you.”

  I bit back a smile. “Is that a challenge?”

  “It can be.”

  “Just watch, then.”

  “Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on taking my eyes off you any time soon.”

  He pulled away the last of my dress and sat back on his knees, devouring me with his eyes again. Nobody had ever looked at me the way he was. It wasn’t blind lust or casual attraction. When he looked at me, he seemed moved. I could imagine the gears in that beautiful head of his churning, thoughts racing as his mind tried to grasp some concept that it couldn’t quite sink its teeth into. But what was it? What was he trying to figure out?

  He sat me up and reached to unhook my bra. I felt him tug at the clasp for a few seconds before he gave me an apologetic look. “I think it’s stuck.”

  “This one does that. Let me just—”

  “No,” he said. “I got this.” He yanked his hands apart and I heard the stomach-churning sound of my fifty-dollar bra snapping open against its will.

  Despite the fact that my breasts were breaking free in front of a man for the first time in years, all I could think was that he’d just broken my favorite bra—the one that made my boobs look like perfectly symmetrical, perky little grapefruits. Well, apples, maybe. Or something just a little smaller, but the point was it made them look good, and the big brute wanted to play caveman and tear the thing off me.

  “Do you know how hard it is to find a good bra?”

  “I’ll buy you another one.” He leaned in to kiss me again, but I put my finger to his lips.

  “I got that at a store that went out of business. Unless you have a time machine, I don’t think you will.”

  “I’ll learn to sew and put it back together for you.”

  I glared, but had to hold back a smile as an idea occurred to me. “You are going to make it up to me, but it’s not going to be with a sewing kit. I want you to spell the alphabet for me.”

  “Spell… You realize the alphabet isn’t ‘spelled,’ right? It’s all just individual letters, and what does—”

  I pointed down to my panties, which embarrassingly already had developed a wet spot from all the kissing and undressing that had gone on.

  He looked confused. “Spell the… Oh. You mean on your? Oh…”

  I don’t know why I thought it would sound like a punishment to him, because it looked like I’d just offered him a treat instead. He hooked his fingers in my panties and slid them off before tossing them to the floor.

  And just like that, I was naked as the day I was born, while he still had his boxers on. I’d fix that, but it could wait.

  I held my hand over myself as I met his eyes. I may have been talking a confident game, especially when I’d made my last little order, but the truth was I felt like curling up and hiding on the inside. My lone sexual experience had been prom night in high school. I’d only been eighteen a couple months, and I’d fallen for the classic “just the tip” tactic. As it turned out, neither of us understood that lubrication was essential, natural or otherwise, and we’d spent ten minutes of futility while he prodded at me and I eventually had to call the entire thing off.

  Depending on how you wanted to classify things, that probably made me a virgin, if the silicone penises didn’t count, that was.


  I couldn’t look away as he brought his head down between my legs. I had an amazing view of his broad, muscular back from where I laid against the pillows. His hands were firm around my thighs and his eyes met mine for a taunting second that seemed to say, you’re about to get more than you bargained for.

  He put his mouth over me and started doing exactly what I had demanded.

  First, his tongue traced out the shape of an “A”, then a “B”, and by the time we made it to “M,” I was in trouble. All my ideas that I was in control evaporated. He was the master here. With nothing but the tip of his tongue, he had me at his complete mercy. And I liked it.

  I spent so much effort trying to make sure I was never beneath anyone. I’d tried so hard to shake off my parent’s attempts to turn me into the perfect little pre-packaged bride. I didn’t want to be the girly girl who liked to wear pink and wanted to let a guy pamper her. But somewhere along the line, I think I tried so hard to get away from the stereotype that I cornered myself into another one.

  For once, it felt amazing to let go of it all and just be free of expectations and self-doubt. What he was doing felt good, and I wanted him to do it. It was that simple.

  “God, Liam,” I moaned. “Can you just spell out ‘mmm’?”

  “Got it,” he said, but the bastard knew what he was doing when he barely moved away from me as he spoke. His lips brushed all the right places and made me shake with pleasure. “And I already got you to take the Lord’s name in vain. Did they cover that in Sunday school?”

  “I don’t care anymore, as long as you keep doing what you’re doing.”

  He chuckled, and even the rumble of his laugh sent shockwaves of pleasure through me.

  The sound of his phone buzzing with a text message on the nightstand drew Liam’s attention. He flicked his eyes toward it, then did a double take. Despite the fact that I was butt-ass naked with my legs spread around his head, the man had the nerve to actually reach across me for his phone.

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry, I just need to be sure…” His face went pale as soon as he read whatever the text message said. He glanced toward the nearest window. I could see his jaw muscles flexing and relaxing again and again like he was trying to chew through something impossibly tough.

  “Did you get bored, or something? Liam?” I sat up, snapping my fingers in front of his face. “Forget it,” I said. All the pleasant emotions and feelings that had been throbbing within me transformed in an instant. The old, familiar cynicism and darkness crept back in. I moved away from him and his half-hearted attempts to stop me, gathered my clothes, and dressed. I wanted to be away from this moment as fast as I could, from the reality that I’d stripped away all my defenses so easily for him, and for what? A memory I probably wouldn’t be able to look back on without thick, ugly waves of shame?

  “It’s a family thing,” he muttered. “It wasn’t you, at all. You—”

  “Save it. You’re good looking and charming, so you got one stupid act out of me. One. That’s more than most people get. I hope you enjoyed it, because it’s not happening again.”

  I fast-walked out of his apartment with as much dignity as I could manage. As soon as the door closed behind me, I realized with a sinking stomach that I’d forgotten my purse, along with my keys, inside his place. I pulled the door open to find him standing in the doorway, still bare-chested.

  He didn’t wear any of the cocky confidence from before on his face. There was only regret there as he reached out to hand me my purse and keys. “Can I explain tomorrow at least? Just have lunch with me.”

  I took the purse and keys from him without a word and left. I could still feel the heat and wetness of his mouth between my legs, and I could hardly believe how quickly it had all turned from amazing to horrible. I should’ve figured. The more I looked back on my life, the more I saw how everything I’d been through played out more or less the same. It started full of promise, and as soon as I let my walls down and got excited, it turned to crap. My best friend had left for another country. Stupid “Bob Smith” had left me with a thousand questions about what kind of text would make him stop in the middle of eating me out and lose all interest. Even my parents, years ago, had eventually written me off as a lost cause.

  At least I had my cat. If there was one thing to appreciate about Roosevelt, it was that he'd never bothered trying to make me believe our relationship was going to be special. He was completely open. I was just the human he tolerated, so long as I kept him fed and occasionally let him play with an empty box. There were no unknowns in the cat and human relations department. He used me for food or just for the enjoyment of waking me up several times a night while he aggressively groomed himself, but I knew the deal.

  I’d been cock blind, as the saying went. I had a perfectly acceptable situation going for myself. An unfulfilling job that barely gave me time to work towards my real dreams, a lack of fulfilling personal relationships, and a growing sense of disillusionment with the world and my future. Life was fine, and then I made the same mistake women have been making for centuries. I thought I needed the meatbag attached to the penis. Technology gave me the means to separate the penis from the man, and somehow, someway, I’d let my idiot neighbor convince me that technology had led me down the wrong path.

  Never again. Probably, at least. Unless he really nailed the apology. Or if he had a really, really good excuse. I’d maybe even consider bribery acceptable, if it was edible. I hated admitting it, but I had a feeling once the embarrassment of what just happened wasn’t as fresh, I’d start wondering what could have been between us.

  I flopped down on my bed, face-first and sighed into the pillow.

  Roosevelt jumped up and walked a smug little circle on my back, and then began cleaning his butthole like his life depended on it. I groaned in disgust and did an alligator death-roll to get him off. He flopped to the floor with a thump and an annoyed little meow.

  “No boys in my bed tonight,” I said. “Not even you, Roosevelt.”

  Unsurprisingly, he didn’t listen.

  8

  Liam

  I picked up my car from a parking garage a few blocks away from my apartment. I hadn’t used the car since I planned the entire incognito operation, and, as it turned out, I could’ve saved myself a whole lot of hassle by skipping the stunt in the first place. My step-sister had never really been thrown off my scent, it seemed. If anything, it had actually convinced her she really was getting to me and it just egged her on.

  I probably should’ve turned in my keys to the apartment as soon as she visited me in my room, but the truth was I’d liked the idea of living across from Lilith more than the thought of my million-dollar apartment in the heart of downtown. I’d even grown to enjoy the separation, however artificial, from my old life. I was pretending to be someone else, and part of that act had me sidelining work more than I had in years. The old me might not have even had his head out of his ass long enough to notice Lilith. Then again, the old me lived in an obnoxiously expensive penthouse above an obnoxiously luxurious hotel downtown. There were no girls like Lilith in my old life.

  Everybody in my old life was consumed by money. It was strange to think how exciting that old life had seemed once. Business was taking off, and in a blur of months, it felt like the price tags fell off the world. Anything could be mine if I just reached for it and took it. It was a reward that seemed to justify my obsession with work, and I let it be my excuse to bury myself in work for far longer than I should have. Becoming "Bob Smith" had given me a fresh perspective.

  And it had given me Lilith. At least until last night, it had.

  Even thinking of Lilith stung. I’d replayed the last few hours so many times I had lost count. I’d thought of at least a hundred ways I could’ve handled it better—ways I could’ve reacted that wouldn’t have sent Lilith storming out of my apartment, and maybe my life. But the moment I saw the text from Celia, my blood had boiled.

  The t
ext was burned into my brain. It had said, “Wow. This spy camera is super high definition. Is that the alphabet you’re spelling between her legs?”

  She must have hidden the camera on the morning she came into my apartment, and she must have been watching every second of what was happening between Lilith and I. Violated didn’t even begin to describe how I felt. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t even thought to do a look around my apartment to see if she’d done anything after breaking in.

  I was pissed, and I was parked outside Celia’s house. More accurately, it was her senator husband’s house outside the city. It was just after three in the morning, but I didn’t let that stop me. I’d find a way to make things right with Lilith soon, but before I could do that, I had to put a stop to this childish, disgusting bullshit Celia was pulling.

  It was a big house, and not the tasteful kind of big. It was more like the “look how superior I am to you” kind of way. Roman-style pillars and tall archways decorated the exterior, and I knew from my previous visits that the interior was even more ostentatious. I think there was even a nude sculpture and cherubs inside, as if I needed any more reason to hate my step-sister and her husband.

  I knocked hard on the door. Well, it was somewhere between a knock and hoping I accidentally slammed my fist through the wood. I waited two seconds and hammered on the door again.

  “Open the goddamn door,” I shouted. “Open the—”

  The door swung open to reveal Celia’s husband, Walter Normandy. Walter was about thirty years older than Celia and I with a proud, bowling-ball belly and a gray walrus mustache. The hair on top of his head had long since retired, which completed the walrus look. He was wearing a wife-beater that did a poor job of hiding the wooly mane of body hair that sprouted out of his torso in thick tufts, and the look on his face said I’d clearly woken him up.