Ladybug: Holy shit, Leo.
Me: I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry. You were wrapped around me a few hours ago, baby. It got me reminiscing.
Ladybug: It made me think about things too.
Me: Like what?
Ladybug: Shit. Oliver is up. I have to go.
I lean back against the couch as I adjust myself in my jeans. Memories are flooding in, and I’m the most turned on I’ve been in years. Every first time has been with Ella. My first kiss. First time seeing breasts in real life. Feeling a woman’s pussy, and experiencing a blow job. As cliché as it sounds, we had sex for the first time at our junior prom. It was enlightening to say the least.
Sex with Ella was unreal. Yeah, I don’t have anything to compare it to, but I can’t fathom anyone being better. The connection we have — had — was untouchable. Even after being apart this long, I haven’t been able to sleep with another woman. We were broken up, but the thought made me feel like I’d be cheating on her. She was always the one for me, and I know she’ll always be the one.
Our conversation tonight went off the rails pretty quickly. I had no idea aHunger Gamesreference would bring up that memory, but it did. I was home on leave for a month, and Ella dared me to get her off in public. Our small town doesn’t have a movie theater, thankfully, so we drove into Denver. I figured we’d make out a little, I’d get her off, and then we’d focus on the movie. Honestly, I’m not sure how I remember a damn thing about the film, least of all an actual quote. As soon as I felt Ella clench around my fingers, whispering my name against my lips as she came, I became feral. I couldn’t stop touching her. I lost track of how many times she came, including once on my tongue as I kneeled on the floor, desperate to drink every bit of her up. At theend, all she had to do was squeeze my dick through my jeans, whisper in my ear that she wanted to give me a blow job on the way home, and I came in my pants for the first time since I was a teenager.
Closing my eyes, I let my mind drift back to that theater. How Ella looked. The scent of the vanilla lotion she always used, and how her hair felt against my skin when she rested her head against my arm. The sweet mewls and moans she’d make as she came, each time with a look of wonder, like she couldn’t fully understand how I’d played her body like a fiddle. I knew every inch of her perfectly, and I bet I could still find each perfect erogenous zone that got her off the fastest.
Groaning, I palm my dick again. Jesus, I’m harder than I’ve ever been. Unbuttoning my jeans, I slide my hand inside, hissing when I hit the tender tip. A drop of pre-cum has already dripped out, and I drag it down my length, gripping it tightly. I envision it’s Ella, riding me, her perfect tits bouncing in front of my face. I drop my phone on my chest as I imagine gripping her hips, adjusting her so she rides me harder. Deeper. “Fuck, Ella, yes. Like that.”
If she were here, I’d reach up to grab a handful of her hair, wrapping it around my fist, dragging her down to kiss me. God, I’ve dreamed about her mouth. Those exquisite dusty rose lips, perfectly pouting and best when wrapped around my cock. I’d kiss her deeply, reveling in the feeling of her tongue circling mine. “Missed kissing you, baby. Get on your knees and swallow.”
She’d scramble to her knees, sucking me down to the base. We’d worked up to it, until she could take all of me in her mouth. Every guy I’d ever talked to about sex had whined about his woman never giving him head, but Ella loved it. She’d be mad at me if I didn’t let her. The vision of her on her knees, tears in her eyes, was one that got me through too many deployments. That look was imprinted in my memory, and it still has the power to unfurl me.
“Fuck, yes,” I groan, coming harder than I’ve come in ages. I let out one last moan as I exhale, feeling sated for the first time in years. Until I hear a faraway voice say, “Leo?”
My eyes pop open, and I look down to find my phone, face up, with a connected call. To Ella.
It shows the call has been connected for two minutes, which means she heard the whole thing.
“Leo, I know you can hear me,” she snaps, irritation evident in her tone. I reach to the side, grabbing a takeout napkin to wipe myself off, then pick up the phone.
“Ella.”
“Did you seriously call me to jack off?”
“Not intentionally, no,” I murmur, feeling embarrassment heat my face.
“Well, what were you thinking about?” Ella asks, her voice much quieter. Wait. Did it turn her on to hear me come? Did I say something out loud? “You told me to swallow. Were you still thinking about that night in the movie theater?”
“Yes. But you didn’t go down on me that night. I went down on you,” I answer, my voice husky. I’m already getting hard again.
“Do you remember how many times I came that night?” she asks breathlessly.
“Not the exact number. Are you touching yourself, Ladybug?”
“Yes.”
“Did it turn you on to hear me come?”
“God, yes,” she moans.
“How are you touching yourself?”
“Touching my clit,” she murmurs.
“How many times did you come that night, baby? At the movie, and then afterward. In my car.”
“Eleven.”
