They did. Every part of me felt used up. But I felt that way most days. Because pushing myself to the limit was my M.O. Aches were the norm.
“Don’t need a massage.”
“How about a thank you? For saving my life?”
In a flash, I saw her on her knees, her mouth on my cock, my hands wound tightly in that short, dark hair. It was…wrong.
“Don’t need your thanks.”
“What do you need, then, Micah? What do you truly want, deep down in that part of you that never gets taken care of?”
Another flash—this one to my bed: morning sex, the lazy, slow kind I’d always imagined people having before waking fully.I want that.
“You don’t need to—”
“No. No, you just thought of something. Something you’re into. What is it?”
“Look.” I pulled away, but she followed me, up and onto my lap and, suddenly, this wasn’t funny anymore. She was messing with my fantasies,becomingthem in a way I didn’t know how to handle. “I don’t want anything, okay?”
“Oh. Right. I pushed too hard.” Her weight shifted, as she moved to get off, looking crushed, like I’d killed her kitten or stolen her backpack or some shit. “I do that sometimes. I’m sorry.”
I put a hand on her thigh to hold her still, let her feel how worked up she’d already made me and, when she didn’t make another effort to pull away, wrapped my hand around her neck and dragged her mouth to mine.
This kiss was different from before. This one held the promise of what lay ahead. Fewer questions, less hesitation. We’d cleared one thing up. We both wanted this. Or some semblance of it. I liked the way she kissed, humming a little, twisting in my lap, letting me take the lead and then nipping at me when she wanted it back. I liked the way she smelled, up close. Not flowery than some of those women I remembered from way back when. Fresh, clean. Like soap. Made sense, I guess, since she didn’t have any perfume or lotions or whatever with her.
Her tongue, when it hit mine, was soft and sleek, and it made me wonder what her pussy would feel like, how it would taste. Fuck, it’d been years since I’d gotten my mouth on a salty-sweet woman. Now that I had, I wanted to taste every part of her.
21
Christa
There are rules to dating, to making the first move, the next, taking it further, upping the ante. It’s always felt kind of choreographed, to me. He moves in for the first kiss, or I do, if he’s hesitant. We start with lips—except for that one guy, who swooped right in with what I’ll always think of as his tongue erection—introduce tongues, slowly put our hands on each other’s bodies. This is if it goes right, of course. I’ve had other experiences, too, like most women I know. Unwanted hands, kisses, words, pics. Case in point: asshole boss who palmed my breast before I decked him.
With Micah, it wasn’t so much a fast-forward as an explosion of everything at once. I couldn’t say whose tongue moved first or who grabbed hold of the other’s hair. No knowing if I bit him or he bit me, or who started the crazy grind at our crotches.
He shifted, arms around me, until I was beneath him on the sofa, covered me with that great big body, and showed me just how wild it could get between us. His breath was as shuddery and frantic as mine, his mouth all over me. He drew a long, hot trail from my lips to my jaw, under it to that sweet, sensitive spot on my neck, where he set my nerves off and turned me into a writhing, moaning shadow of a human being.
And all the while, I felt him between my legs, his erection through his work pants and my long underwear, a constant tease. I wanted to touch it. If only he’d let me reach down there, I’d get my hands on it, measure it, feel the heat of him there.
But every time I tried, he’d knock me away, trail his lips lower, open up some new brand of torture I had no idea existed.
Another try, another foiled attempt, except this time, he kept his hand on my wrist, held me, loosely, but irrefutably.
“Don’t reach down again.” His voice was low, almost angry.
“I want to touch you.”
“You’ll touch me when I’m ready.”
Oh, shit. Bossy, huh? Did I like bossy?
“When will that be?” I was breathing hard, the words shakier than I’d intended. Bossy, it seemed, was just the thing.
He settled back on his haunches, somehow keeping his weight off me, leaned over, and tapped the armrest beneath my head. “Reach back here. Hold on and don’t let go.”
Yeah. Be bossy. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to do it.
My pulse went so wild it narrowed my vision. “Or what?”
