Penthouse (21 page)

All this time we were chatting about something, I guess, although I wasn’t paying much attention. When we reached my house
I brought him around back. There was a huge raspberry hedge around the backyard. It was private and quiet. And dark. Usually
I went in the front, but tonight I had a reason for using the back door. Finally I got the door open and flipped on the porch
light. He was about to follow me in, but I said, “Wait out here. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

He gave me a puzzled look. Then he shrugged and stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

I smiled, gave him a quick kiss. Leaving the back door half-open, I went through the kitchen into the living room and on into
my bedroom, which looked out on the backyard, where he still stood, waiting. The shades weren’t drawn.

I turned on my bedside lamp. It wasn’t bright, but the light coming on in the otherwise darkened house would be sure to attract
his attention. At least I hoped it would.

I put on some music, and then, without looking toward the yard, I began to undress next to the bed. I wasn’t facing the yard,
or even looking in that direction, but if he was looking, he’d get a good three-quarter view. Slowly, I pulled my dress up,
past my hips, to my waist, and then up and over my shoulders. I was left in just my black silk thong. But I didn’t take it
off just yet. I reached inside, sliding
my right hand down the front. I could feel the heat spreading from my cunt. Then I touched the ring that pierced the fold
of skin just above my clit and pressed it down. It was like an electric shock. I opened my mouth and took a deep breath. Steady.
I didn’t want to come right away. And yet the thought that he was standing out there watching me was almost too much to bear.
Slowly, thinking of what his reaction must be right now, I slipped my thong down. I slid my forefinger up between my lips
for a moment and let the black silk fall to the floor. I resisted the urge to look out the window and focused instead on my
clit. Resting one foot on my bed, I began pressing my finger onto the bead of the ring which rested just on the tip of my
clit. Every movement of the ring sent sparks through me. I rotated my finger slowly, finding the spot where it felt best.
With my free hand I began to squeeze my nipples, first gently, then more roughly.

I was moaning now, rocking back and forth. I could see my reflection in the black windowpane. I knew he was out there in the
warm darkness beyond. I knew he was watching me in the rectangle of light. I knew he was hard from seeing me. I stopped and
started, eager to prolong the show for him. Then I couldn’t bear it anymore. Twisting my nipple between thumb and forefinger,
I rocked and rocked, my other hand rubbing my clit as it slid in the wetness from my cunt. I closed my eyes and leaned my
head back as I came, a hot shiver spreading from my nipples down to my clit. My eyes still closed, I held the bedpost with
one hand to steady myself. After a minute I walked slowly to the window and, pressing my hands against it, peered outside.
Where was he? I couldn’t see him. Maybe he’d left and hadn’t seen anything. I closed my eyes again,
leaning foward just enough so I could feel the cool glass against my nipples.

And then I heard him. He’d come in through the back door I’d left open. He was finding his way here in the dark. I didn’t
turn around, just waited for him. A moment later, I heard his footsteps in my room, then right behind me. His hand fell lightly
on my shoulder. He leaned down and began kissing my neck and shoulders, then my cheek. I reached behind and pulled him to
me. He was sweating, and I could feel his erection pressing against my ass through his jeans.

As I turned around, he opened his mouth to speak, but I shook my head and put my finger to his lips. I ran my hands over his
chest, somehow amazed that he was still fully clothed. Silently, I pulled his T-shirt out of his jeans and up over his head.
Then, tracing the line of sandy hair downward from his chest with my finger, I slid my hand inside his jeans, wrapping my
hand around his hard-on for a minute before unsnapping his jeans.

Once he stood naked before me I knelt down and began sucking his cock, excited by its hardness. I reached around and held
his ass, both to keep my balance and to pull him deeper into my mouth. He began thrusting, gently at first, then harder when
he realized I wanted him to, and I could feel the muscles in his ass contract with every push. The hair of his bush brushed
my nose every time I pulled him toward me and smelled liked sweat and soap. I was taking him all in my mouth now, pulling
him forward, swallowing him whole.

He began to moan and grasped me tightly by the shoulders, asking me not to stop. His cock was starting to taste like come,
but he wasn’t getting off that easy. I took my mouth from his cock and held it so I could lick his balls,
running the flat of my tongue along them the whole way, from just in front of his asshole to the shaft, sucking them, taking
their velvety roundness into my mouth, first one, then the other, then both. Then I rose slowly to my feet, running my hands
over his body, kneading his muscles. God, he was even more beautiful beneath his clothes than I’d expected.

He was breathing hard. So was I. His knees were shaking. He put his arms around me and pulled me against him, so that my clit
hood ring pressed against his balls. Kissing me, he seemed to be trying to devour me, the way I’d devoured his dick.

He wanted to move me over to the bed, but I shook my head.

“No,” I said, barely able to breathe. “Against the wall.”

I put my arms around his neck and pulled myself up. His biceps bulged as he supported me from beneath with his hands. I brought
one hand down and guided him into my cunt. Instantly he started to thrust, and I began sliding up and down, my back against
the cool wall, my arms and legs and chest covered with his sweat.

I clamped his waist tightly with my legs and bit his earlobes, his neck, his shoulders. I found his mouth and put my tongue
in it as far as it would go. Then, moving away from the wall, he turned and laid me down on the bed. With every thrust I was
pushed farther up the bed, but I clung to him, fighting, fucking back just as hard to meet him.

I reached down and grabbed his ass with my hand, relishing its muscular smoothness. I’d wanted this since the day I first
saw him. I pulled him deeper into me.

Rising up on his elbows, he began sucking and biting my nipples.

“Harder, damn you, harder!” I whispered. As he sucked and nipped, I rocked against him, moving his cock in and out of me,
until I came, digging my nails into his shoulders so sharply that he cried out.

The next day he came into the coffeehouse and laid his newspaper on his usual table.

Jen was standing behind him, clearing away some empty dishes. He hadn’t even glanced at her when he came in.

“Large latte, for here,” he said, coming up to the counter.

“Put your money away,” I told him. “This morning it’s on the house.”

BY
K
IM
A
DDONIZIO

J
ust put on your sexiest clothes,” Diana told me on the phone that evening, “and wait. Don’t go anywhere. I have a surprise
for you.”

I was depressed, getting divorced, and as of today I was thirty. I wasn’t in the mood for a surprise birthday present, but
Diana was my best friend, and I figured I couldn’t gracefully get out of whatever it was she’d dreamed up for me. I hoped
she wouldn’t want to go dancing; it had been a stressful day at the office, and I wanted to relax. Really, I just wanted to
take a bath, curl up with a good book, and forget the fact that I hadn’t had sex for four months, two weeks, and three days—ever
since my marriage fell apart. But Diana had been insistent, so I took a long shower, got into my black lace panties, and slipped
on the tiny red silk dress that had been languishing in my closet for weeks, ever since I’d bought it on a whim. I added black
fishnets and red spiked heels so high I could barely walk in them; if Diana did want to go dancing, I thought, I’d have a
good excuse to say no.

I felt better after I was dressed, my makeup in place. I checked out the woman in the mirror, her long blond hair, her dark
red lips, and her shapely legs, and sighed. “What a waste,” I said aloud. I turned sideways and admired my slim belly, the
roundness of my ass and my tits. “You’re thirty,” I told myself, “not dead. Thirty.” It didn’t sound so bad. Maybe there was
hope. My mother was sixty-three, and she had a boyfriend. Maybe I’d even meet someone tonight. The thought of having a man
in my bed again made me wet. I imagined a smooth, sculpted chest against my tits, hard thighs, warm hands cupping my ass.
I tried to imagine a face, but all I saw was the round, grinning mug of the obnoxious lawyer I worked for, and I definitely
did not want him anywhere near my cream-colored satin sheets.

I prowled my apartment restlessly, waiting for Diana, feeling more and more horny. I lay down on the couch, settled myself
against the big pillows, and slipped a finger into my underwear to touch my pulsing clit.

The phone rang.

“Damn,” I said. I just couldn’t ignore a ringing phone. It’s one thing that drove my husband crazy. We would be in the middle
of dinner, or an argument, and I’d have to answer instead of letting the machine pick it up. It’s like a compulsion. The only
time he didn’t mind, actually, was when we were having sex; then he got a kick out of me trying to talk while he was licking
my pussy or my nipples, or sliding his cock in and out of me.

Here I was thinking about my ex, and getting depressed again. Maybe he was calling now, I thought, to wish me a happy birthday,
to say he’d realized that getting a divorce was a bad idea. He had never called, but I always
hoped it would be him, always rushed to answer, somehow expecting his voice.

Diana was on the phone. “Ready?” she asked.

“I guess,” I said. “I mean, I’m all dressed. What time will you be here?”

Diana laughed. “I’m right out front,” she said, “on the car phone. Go to the front door.”

I crossed the living room and opened my door. “Happy birthday, pal,” Diana said on the phone. Then she hung up, and I watched
her car disappear down the street, and looked in disbelief at the man standing there holding out a red rose.

“Michael,” I said. Michael was Diana’s boyfriend, and I had secretly lusted after him for the entire year the two of them
had been together. I liked his impish, little-boy smile, the light in his blue eyes, the way he had held me when we danced,
the one and only time we danced. How often had I slipped my fingers into my pussy at night, fantasizing that they were Michael’s,
writhed alone on my sheets until I came, and then felt guilty about wanting my best friend’s boyfriend.

“What are you doing?” I asked. I got it, but I didn’t get it. Diana must have forgotten something. She’d be back in a minute,
and the three of us would go out as we had often done, to a restaurant somewhere, and I’d wonder whether to tell her that
for a silly moment I’d thought she was actually giving me her boyfriend as a birthday present.

“Surprise!” Michael said. “Can I come in, or are you going to give me back?” He was wearing black jeans and cowboy boots,
a white T-shirt and a black leather jacket. A red ribbon with a big bow was tied around his left wrist where he usually wore
a thin gold chain. He handed me
the rose, and I backed into my living room with him following me.

“Let’s sit down,” Michael said. He took off his jacket and tossed it onto a chair, then strolled over to my couch. He leaned
back, flung his arms out along the back of the couch, crossed his legs, and grinned at me. “Come and join me,” he said.

“Right,” I said. I went over and sat down next to him, but at the very edge of the couch. I smelled his cologne and wanted
to drown in it, to sink back and let the waves of heat washing over me pull me all the way under. I wanted to claw at his
T-shirt like a wild animal and fasten my mouth onto one of his nipples and throw my arms around his neck and drag him deep
into my pussy, wrap my legs around him and squeeze his ribs tight and not ever let him go. Instead, I sat primly on the edge
of the couch, my legs together, and tried not to breathe.

“Uh—” I stammered.

“It’s okay. Just relax,” Michael said, and I felt the palm of his hand, hot as an iron, against the back of my neck. As he
started rubbing my right shoulder, I took a long shaky breath, and the rose fell from my hand and lay there, red on the white
wall-to-wall.

“Good,” Michael said. “You’re the birthday girl. Just enjoy it. You don’t have to do anything. I’m here to give you pleasure.
You’re beautiful,” he said.

“I’m thirty,” I moaned, my head falling forward.

“So what,” Michael said.

“You’re a man. You’re twenty-four. You just don’t get it,” I mumbled. It was harder and harder to talk. Both his hands were
on my shoulders now, squeezing, his thumbs pressing in, the little knots of stress dissolving. The tension I’d built up from
hunching in front of a computer screen
all day was traveling outward, humming through my nerves, leaping into the room like sparks. Michael’s hands moved down my
back. I opened my legs and slumped all the way forward, hanging my head, feeling the blood rush into my brain. His fingers
were at the base of my spine now, moving to massage my ass in deep, delicious circles. I went completely limp.

“I know how you like it,” Michael whispered. “I’m going to do everything you like.”

“I can’t believe Diana tells you that stuff.” A thrill of excitement and shame ran through me, making me shudder.
Oh God,
I thought,
I can’t believe he knows all the things I told Diana.

“You’d better sit up before you pass out,” Michael said. He got a firm grip on my hair and pulled me back toward him. I found
myself lying in his arms, my legs sprawled apart, my dress up, exposing my bare thighs above my stockings, and my panties.
I turned my face toward him, and we began kissing, his hot tongue filling my mouth, going down my throat, running along the
edges of my teeth. I kept my eyes open, looking into his. I was afraid that if I closed them I’d see Diana, or my ex, watching
us disapprovingly. I wanted to pinch myself, to make sure I hadn’t made up me and Michael, passionately kissing, his hands
roaming over my ass as I maneuvered into his lap and pressed my soaking pussy into the hardness of his crotch. Diana had told
me a few things about Michael, too: that he loved the taste of pussy and would lick her practically forever; that he shaved
the hair around his balls, and liked to rub them in her face, over her eyes and nose and down to her mouth so she could lick
and suck on them. The thought of Michael’s balls in my face and the feel of his cock as I ground myself into the fly of his
jeans was too
much. I started coming, holding on to him as I squirmed and whimpered, the juices flowing out of me, soaking my already dripping
panties, dampening my thighs, hot from friction.