Authors: J. Lea López
Consenting Adults (2 page)
“Malcolm.” She wrapped her arms around his torso. “Please
kiss me.”
He backed her up against the wall and almost kissed her.
Almost. His breath tickled her lips. What was this game he was playing?
“Yes,” she urged. “Please.”
He obliged with a barrage of intense kisses, bruising her
lips and probing the recesses of her soul with his tongue. Never before had a
“crush” left her so breathless. The wall was unyielding and as Malcolm pressed
against her she had no choice but to push back to keep from being crushed. But
even as she leveraged her body against his, she flattened her hands against his
back, holding him close.
The way his fingertips bit into the flesh of her hips,
bunching up her skirt, sent a thrill through her whole body. They'd had little
more contact than mouth to hungry mouth, but her entire body tingled with
anticipation for his.
A burst of raucous laughter from inside the ballroom broke
the spell of lust long enough for Sasha to turn a cheek to his kisses.
“Wait. Oh god, wait.” She drew a shaky breath.
“I know, sorry. We're in the middle of the hall.” He blushed
and laughed a little.
“No, it's not that.” Maybe that was part of it. It probably
should have been. “I'm an intern.” Malcolm had ticked all the right boxes for
her from day one. But Mr. Cathcart had all but promised her a job. Was she
about to throw that away?
“I'm not your boss.” He stepped back and gave her space to
breathe. “So we're still two consenting adults, right?”
She nodded.
“Yes?” He caught her around the waist and dipped her.
“Yes.”
“Good, because I have a question.” He returned her to a
standing position but kept his arm around her waist. “Would you think me too
forward if I got us a room?”
“I'd think you weren't forward enough if you didn't.” The
calm, even tone of her voice belied the trembling anticipation in her stomach.
“How about right now?”
“Now who's being forward?” He grinned. “Do you want to grab
your coat and purse? I'll head to the front desk.”
Sasha combed her fingers through her hair and smoothed down
her dress before re-entering the ballroom. No one glanced her way or paid any
attention as she retrieved her coat and handbag, but she felt like there was a
flashing signal above her head.
First it was encouragement from the boss. And now it was
Malcolm. Oh, Merry Christmas, indeed.
Her cell phone beeped and she retrieved it from her coat
pocket. A text from Malcolm.
Room 526.
Warmth flooded her face. She
hurried back out into the hallway and turned toward the main hotel lobby.
Do I need to be more forward?
He seemed to be taking
the lead, which she liked, and they seemed to be after the same thing. And yet
he kept asking what she wanted.
Is he not getting my signals loud and clear?
She stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the
fifth floor. It couldn't have been a longer ride if it were twenty stories.
Malcolm let her into the room. He'd removed his suit jacket and unfastened the
top button of his shirt. The rest of the buttons begged to be undone. Sasha
dropped her coat and purse onto a chair.
“You're sure this is...” Malcolm shoved his hands in his
pockets and shrugged his shoulders without finishing the sentence.
He looks as nervous as I feel.
No, she wasn't
nervous. Thrilled. But unsure how to behave. She didn't want to rush this. Nor
did she want him to think she'd lost interest. She slipped off her heels.
“I'm sure. Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Are you going to keep asking for permission before you kiss
me, or anything else?” She coaxed his hands out of his pockets and laced her
fingers with his.
“Yes I am.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you that much. Since the day you walked into
the building for your first interview.”
She bit her lip in an attempt to contain the excitement
welling up in her chest. He'd been interested that long?
“To the point that whenever you pass by my office door I
find myself distracted for the next ten minutes. I want to kiss, and touch, and
experience every last bit of you.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “But no
matter how much I want you, I know that I have no right to any part of you.”
She didn't know what to say to that. But she knew she wanted
him with the same intensity. He pressed his thumb to her bottom lip.
“I want your mouth,” he whispered.
She flicked her tongue over the tip of his finger. “I want
yours.”
He held her head in his hands and kissed her slowly. Not the
greedy kisses from before. This time he was slow and deliberate, like he was
savoring her. She reached for the buttons on his shirt, then stopped.
“Can I take this off?” Her voice was too soft. She was
unused to asking this way, but he deserved the same respect he was giving her.
“I'd like that.” He nuzzled her neck, dotting feather-light
kisses from her collar bone to her ear as she unbuttoned his shirt. He returned
to her mouth again and again. The whole time, his hands never strayed from her
face.
He stepped back when she pushed the shirt off his shoulders
and let it fall to the floor. She admired the sight before her. Not quite a
six-pack there, but he was muscular, with a smattering of dark curly hair on
his chest and trailing down toward his belly button. The perfect balance of
firmness and softness.
She turned her back to Malcolm and swept all of her hair
over one shoulder, giving him access to the zipper on her dress. He pressed his
lips to the back of her neck as he unzipped her. Soon she stood in a pool of
beaded satin.
“Is it okay if I touch you here?” His fingers skimmed across
her belly.
She nodded her approval and leaned back into his body.
“And here?” Hands cupped her breasts, thumbs teasing her
nipples to attention through the lace of her bra.
“Oh, yes.”
“While I kiss you here?” Lips, teeth, tongue, nipping at her
earlobe. Biting gently. Caressing the sensitive inner curves of her ear.
“Oh, Malcolm.” Every touch sent tiny shockwaves through to
her core.
She pressed her hips back against his growing arousal, which
made him groan into her ear. She shivered with desire and spun around to face
him. If he wanted her mouth, he would get it. They backed up to the bed and
Malcolm sat. Sasha stood between his knees and unhooked her bra. At the sight
of her bare breasts, his tongue darted out, wetting his lips. He placed his
hands on her hips and gazed at her nipples.
“May I?”
“No.”
His focus shifted to her face.
“No. I want to taste you first.”
She pushed him back on the bed and he scooted to the center.
She straddled him, grinding her hips down against him and sending waves of
pleasure coursing through her. Through him, too, judging by the way he clenched
his eyes closed and pressed his head back into the pillow.
“I want to taste you here.” She kissed his mouth eagerly.
“And here.” Flicked her tongue over his bicep. Then his chest.
“Yes.” He opened his eyes and watched her trail kisses over
his abdomen.
“And here.” She pressed her lips to his stomach, just above
the waistband of his pants. With sure fingers, she unbuckled the belt, popped
the button, and released the zipper.
“Yes.” The response was breathy and urgent.
“Especially here.” She reached into his boxers and palmed
his hard length, smiling when she heard him draw a sharp breath.
He lifted his hips and she stripped the rest of his clothing
off. She took a moment to admire his naked form. If her panties hadn't already
been soaked through, they would be at the sight of him lying prone, that
beautiful cock standing at attention.
“You want my mouth?” She was less timid now, and her voice
didn't falter. The process of giving, asking for, and receiving permission was
empowering in a way she hadn't expected.
“Sasha.” He exhaled her name. “Yes. God, yes.”
She leaned forward and eased him into her mouth. Slowly,
slowly... all the way, until she could take no more, then she pulled back. She
took her time and tended to him in the same way he'd kissed her. Long, slow
strokes of the tongue, tasting every curve and ridge. He moaned and murmured
yes,
yes, yes
over and over again. Consent never sounded so sexy.
After a few minutes, just as his thighs began to tremble, he
touched her cheek. “Stop, stop. I don't want to finish yet.”
She stretched out beside him and he rolled over to kiss her.
She could never get enough of those kisses. Before he had the chance to ask,
she placed his hand over her breast. That was all the encouragement he needed.
“You are amazing.”
Her toes curled at the tickle of his breath in her ear.
“And so beautiful.”
She gasped when he rolled her nipple between his fingers. He
did the same to the other nipple, then trailed his hand down her stomach. He tugged
at her panties.
“I'm dying to get you out of these.”
“Yes, please.” She helped him slide them over her hips, then
kicked them over the side of the bed.
Malcolm slipped his hand between her thighs and stroked two
fingers over her labia. It wasn't going to take much to send her over the edge.
He slipped one finger inside. She couldn't remember the last time she was this
aroused. She sighed.
“I love hearing that.” Another finger in. His thumb hovering
over her clit. “You're so wet.”
“Yes. Oh...” She raised her hips, practically begging him to
move.
He did, circling his thumb around that sensitive spot,
instantly making her shake with pleasure. There was no stopping the orgasm that
overtook her with the next swirl of his thumb. He pressed his mouth to her ear.
“Yes. That's it.”
“Oh god yes, Malcolm.” The tingling waves washed over her,
pulsating gently. They subsided after a moment, only to be coaxed back up again
by her partner's skilled fingers. “I want you. Now. Please, I need you.”
He knelt and pulled her hips down to meet him. She looked up
into his eyes and gave her final consent. He pushed into her, filling her
completely. She reached between them and stroked her clit in rhythm with his
thrusts. She found herself repeating
yes, yes, yes,
with each push,
getting louder and louder. She wasn't usually so vocal, but she couldn't help
herself. Before long, Malcolm joined her vocalizations.
He grasped her hips and lifted her slightly off the bed to
meet his thrusts. She was on the brink of a second orgasm. She wrapped her legs
around his torso. She loved the way he felt inside her, the way his every word
and action tonight had been for their mutual pleasure, not just his own.
“Malcolm...” She dug her nails into his arms. “More. Yes!”
Whatever modicum of self-control he'd been holding onto was
gone. He fucked her hard and fast until they came together in a loud release.
Sasha cried out as Malcolm collapsed on top of her, spent. She wiped the
perspiration from her brow and stroked his back until his breathing returned to
normal.
He rolled off her and pushed her hair back from her eyes. He
kissed her once.
“I have one more question,” he said.
“What's that?”
“When can we do that again?”
She grinned and snuggled against his warm body. “Ask me in
the morning.”
She had a feeling the answer would be yes.
“Why don't they just say green beans?”
You look across the table at him through eyelashes and
candlelight.
See if you can make him understand.
“'Haricot verts, the thinnest, sweetest, most delicate
variety of French green beans. Everything thin and pretty deserves a special
place of honor, a fancy title.”
You fumble with the water glass, fingers uncoordinated. He's
watching as you look down through the clear liquid and ice cubes; through the
water, your fingers appear as thick as they feel.
What does he see when he
looks at you?
“You know the haricot verts.”
“I know what?” He laughs at you, softly, nervously.
“You know who the haricot verts are. The homecoming queen,
the guy with the slick tongue and Daddy's money. I bet you knew one in high
school, or maybe college. She was completely out of your league, but you asked
her out anyway. Right?”
He sits back in his chair, looking past you, over your
shoulder, and it's your turn to chuckle.
“Even after she turned you down, you still let her copy your
class notes every time she asked, didn't you?”
His eyes meet yours again, a little colder this time, less
twinkle.
Apologize. Tell him it was only a joke.
The waiter interrupts by announcing your entrees and setting
plates in front of you. It looks beautiful, as it should, haricot verts and
all.
“I guess you never had any problem getting your own haricot
verts?” He doesn't sound too annoyed. Only slightly. “Always had any guy you
wanted, no doubt.”
He holds your gaze for a long time, the corners of his mouth
turning up slightly. He's waiting for your answer. You shake your head.
Tell him he's wrong. Tell him you're more the canned
string bean kind of girl and you know it. The ones that inevitably turn all children
against vegetables—all perfectly the same stout size, always too mushy, with a
bitter, tinny flavor. They could never hold their own next to haricot verts.
Tell him you never tried.
You push your pretty little vegetables around the plate.
Tell him you would have let him copy your class notes, too. Tell him:
“I should’ve ordered mashed potatoes.”
“Why won’t you let me watch you?”
My stomach twisted with anxiety at his question, but also
with excitement. Tim, my boyfriend of a year and a half, lathered soap on my
back as we stood under the hot shower spray. He loved these post-sex showers as
much as I did.
“It’s weird,” I said, reverting to thirteen-year-old
terminology to describe something much more complex than
weird
. He held
my shoulders and leaned forward to whisper in my ear.
“It’s not weird. It’s damn sexy.” His hands slid down over
my breasts, pinching lightly at my nipples, not that they needed any help
perking up.
My body was still sensitive and alert after the orgasm he’d
given me only minutes before. He could bring me to the edge and hold me there
for what seemed like eternity before plunging me over the precipice. It was
always worth the wait. With his slippery hands moving down my stomach now, I
could barely think about the original question. If he wanted a straight answer,
he’d have to stop working me up. And by the feel of things, I wasn’t the only
one becoming aroused again. A slow shiver snaked down my spine when he captured
my earlobe between his teeth.
“Do you get excited thinking of strangers seeing you touch
yourself?”
“Maybe. A little.” Not as much as the fantasy I’d shared
with him a few months ago: being watched while having sex. But it still pushed
all the right buttons. I swallowed my lust.
“So why not let me?”
“It—it’s different. I’d feel self-conscious.”
He let go of me and turned away to rinse the soap from his
chest.
“I don’t get how you’d be comfortable in front of random
strangers, but not me. After this long, I thought you’d trust me at least that
much.”
Standing naked in a shower, you wouldn’t think it possible
to feel any more exposed, but in that moment, I did.
“It’s not about trust.”
“Then what’s it about?” He squirted a palm full of shampoo
and scrubbed his hair. Vigorously.
By the time I garnered the courage to tell him, he’d rinsed
his hair and started sliding the shower door open.
“Tim, wait.”
“Forget it.”
“No.” I slid the door shut again.
“I hate that you shut down like this when I bring it up. I
won’t ask about it anymore, okay?”
I pulled him back under the water with me and pressed my
body close to his. He was still semi-erect and the feel of him made my muscles
clench tight.
“I love you,” I said.
The hard line of his lips softened. He kissed my forehead.
“I know, babe. I never—”
“That’s why.”
“What?” He stepped me back, shielding me from the water. He
cupped my chin and held my gaze when I tried to look away. My face had to have
been bright red, and not from the hot shower.
“I don’t care what some anonymous person, who I’ll never see
again, thinks when they look at me. But I do care what you’ll think.”
He leaned me back against the shower wall. He was hard
against my hip.
“Is that it? This whole time?”
Well, when he said it like that, it did seem a little silly.
“You already know what I think when I look at you, how much
I love your body.”
Of course I did, but there was still that irrational fear in
my brain. Seeing me naked in the shower, or touching myself while we’re having
sex, was one thing. But to be fully laid out, exposed, engaged in something so
intimate that I’d normally do without him… That struck a tiny chord of terror
within me. Would he like what he saw? Would he think I enjoyed it more alone
than with him?
He grasped my hips, pulling them forward, and bent his knees
so we were about the same height. The tip of his cock pressed against my slick
opening. I wanted nothing more than to slide myself down the length of him, to
have him fill me, but he held me firm. Desire glinted in his eyes and twitched
the corners of his mouth into a devious grin.
“You see how hard you make me?”
I nodded.
“You like that?”
“God, yes.” It was difficult not to let my eyelids flutter
shut. My entire body pulsed with need. I kept my eyes open and looked into his,
willing him to see how much I wanted him.
He leaned in for a kiss, still poised just beneath me,
nudging slightly upward. I braced my hands behind me against the wall and tried
to ease myself down, but he had the better position for control.
“Baby, don’t tease.” A whimper escaped my lips. The sultry,
begging kind Tim found hard to resist.
He held tight to my hips, and straightened his legs out,
thrusting full into me. I couldn’t silence the satisfied cry that passed from
my lips. Sacrificing balance for heightened sensation, I wrapped one leg behind
him and tilted my hips so his pelvis pressed against my clit with each thrust.
“Wouldn’t you like to see how hard—” He pushed deep,
stretching me. “—how hard I’d get looking at you?”
His naughty talk had me on the brink. The sizzling pleasure
mounted in my abdomen and tingled down to my toes.
“I want to see you touch that pretty little pussy until it’s
nice and wet.”
“Oh God, Tim.”
He pressed me up against the wall and gripped my ass with
both hands, surely leaving red finger-marks, fucking me as fast as the slippery
shower floor would allow, but he never stopped talking to me.
“How hard do you think you could get me without ever
touching me?”
I’d never thought of that. Never thought of having that kind
of power over him. But I thought of it now, and it burst the bubble that had
been building inside me, sending sparks flying behind my eyelids.
“Make me watch until I’m begging to fuck you.” His voice was
strained through clenched teeth. “Bet you’d like that.”
I could only moan in response. He groaned with one final
thrust and buried his face in my neck, panting. He held me there for a moment
while we both caught our breath, then redirected the showerhead.
“Looks like we have to wash up again.”
I grinned a delirious grin and stepped into the spray.
“Hey.” He patted my ass.
I turned around.
“I love you, too.”
Tim kept his word and didn’t bring up the topic of watching
me masturbate for the next few weeks. Of course, now I couldn’t get it out of
my head. The way he’d described it made me realize an important distinction I’d
never thought of before: it wasn’t the act he was interested in seeing, it was
me. Okay, it was me in the middle of that act, but still.
I came home on a Friday evening after work and the house was
dark. I had been hoping for dinner out and a sexy night in to kick off the
weekend, but Tim wasn’t there. When I turned on the light, I found a manila
envelope propped against the lamp on the table.
Anna.
My name beckoned to me in black marker. The envelope was
heavier than I expected, and when I opened it, a digital voice recorder slid
into my hands. Intrigued, I pressed play and turned up the volume.
Hey babe. Surprise.
The sound of Tim’s voice made me smile. What did he have up
his sleeve? I made my way into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine as
I listened.
Let’s try something different tonight. I bet you’re ready
to relax after a long day, so head upstairs for a nice hot bath. Then slip into
something that makes you feel sexy. Turn this off until you’re ready for the
next step. Don’t cheat and listen ahead, either.
I laughed. He knew me too well. I was the one who liked to
open gifts on Christmas Eve, not because of any long-standing tradition, but
because I couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer. I clicked the tape off and
followed his instructions.
I filled the tub with steaming hot water and added a few
capfuls of the vanilla-scented bath oil that had been waiting for me on the
counter. The aroma filled the whole bathroom. I stripped down and sank into the
water, my muscles already beginning to relax. Sipping my glass of wine,
neck-deep in silky bathwater, I wished Tim were actually there with me instead
of a disembodied voice coming from a machine. I was tempted to cheat and listen
some more, just as he expected I would be, but I resisted. He’d gone through
the trouble of setting this up, so I didn’t want to ruin it. Instead, I focused
on letting the tension of the work week go, skimming my hands under the water,
letting the oil soften my skin.
When the water started to cool, I drained the tub and
toweled off. While trying to decide what piece of lingerie to put on, I added
an extra step to his instructions and applied a sweet-scented lotion he had
given to me for my birthday earlier this year. I took my time, massaging my
breasts and tummy, giving my ass a gentle squeeze as I spread the lotion. I
slathered it on, from my ankles up to my thighs, loving the smoothness against
my skin.
I couldn’t help myself. I brushed my fingers between my
thighs, feeling the wetness there. I spread a little up over my clit, relishing
the jolt of pleasure it sent through my body. Tim’s instructions were having
the desired effect.
Once in the bedroom, I slipped into a black lace thong and a
matching stretch lace camisole that hugged my body. Okay. Ready for more
direction. I pressed play.
I hope you’re feeling good right now. I’d love to touch
you, feel how soft you are after the bath. To smell the vanilla on your skin.
His voice was as silky as the bath oil, the lotion, warming
my body to the core. I tingled with anticipation.
Set the recorder down on the bed so your hands are free.
Make sure the blinds are closed tight so no one can see.
I did as he instructed, though part of me thrilled at the
possibility that someone might look in and see me in my skimpy lingerie,
nipples hard and standing out against the thin lace.
Don’t lay down yet, just stand there. Run your hands over
your body, over what you’re wearing. Think of my hands.
I cupped my breasts like Tim liked to do and flicked my
thumbs across my nipples. A gentle sigh escaped my lips. The insubstantial
fabric of my underwear would be soaked soon, I was getting so aroused. After a
moment on my breasts, I slid my hands down over my stomach. Not every man
realized the importance of foreplay, of simple touches and caresses on even the
most innocent of places, but my Tim did. And he liked to take his time. He’d
spend half an hour some times just kissing me and touching me over my clothes.
I loved feeling his erection through all those layers of fabric, straining to
be released.
You can sit or lay down now. Let’s play a game.
I propped a few pillows against the headboard and reclined
on the bed, ready to get to the real action.
Imagine we’re out together somewhere. Maybe at the
movies. Or driving in the car. Or…
I could practically hear the huge grin that must’ve spread
across his face as he recorded the next few lines.
…I know… We’re at the state fair. One of those warm,
sticky nights that always turns you on.
I loved the way humidity made my tops cling to every curve.
My breasts were full, but perky enough that I occasionally went braless on
those sultry nights, to better feel my tank top against my moist skin.
You’re wearing that little skirt I love, the one with the
yellow flowers, and that white t-shirt. Without a bra, of course.
I knew exactly the outfit he meant. The skirt was a few
inches above the knee, white chiffon with a small floral print. The t-shirt was
thin cotton with a plunging v-neck. I was wearing it once—without a bra—when we
were caught in a sudden downpour in the park. We ran all the way back to the
car, but were soaked through by the time we made it. My top was completely
translucent when wet, and you could see the dark tan of my nipples right
through the material. Tim had been so turned on by it that he’d laid me out in
the car and buried his face between my legs until I was thrashing with ecstasy
and his face was wet long after the rain had dried.
I leaned back against the pillows and squeezed my thighs
together. The pressure sent delicious waves of sensation through my pussy.
We’re going to take a ride on the Ferris wheel. As we
ride to the top, we can see all the people down below. The breeze blows your
skirt and you slide it up to the top of your thighs. When the ride reaches the
bottom again, the operator looks at you with your skirt hiked up and your knees
spread open. He can see your underwear.
I opened my knees and slid a hand over my mound. My panties
were damp.
Slide them to the side. Give him a nice view of your pussy
before we start back to the top of the circle.
An electric tingle played in the pit of my stomach as I
imagined this stranger taking a good look at me. Not just him, but other
bystanders as well. I pushed my thong to one side and dipped a finger into the
wetness beneath. The heady aroma of arousal wafted up from my pussy.
Show me how you like to touch yourself. Imagine us on
that Ferris wheel, on top of the world again, the warm wind licking your pussy.
How would you pleasure yourself, for me and everyone to see?
I slipped my panties off and dropped them over the side of
the bed. Gently, with one hand, I spread my labia. With the other hand, I use
two wet fingers to circle my swollen clit. I didn’t know how much longer the
tape would be, so I didn’t touch too hard or too fast. I could’ve brought
myself to orgasm in less than two minutes, but I focused on building it slowly,
trying to put myself into the fantasy moment on top of that carnival ride.
Imagine the look on everyone’s faces when our car circles
back around and they see that I’ve reached into your shirt to pinch your
nipples. I even lean over to lick them as we pass by the ride operator again.
Can you see his erection straining against his jeans?
