Punk and Zen (14 page)
Authors: JD Glass
“Don’t,” I requested rather breathily, and Candace’s
eyes questioned me.
“Don’t shut off the light,” I asked again. “I like to
watch,” I explained, smiling sensually as I rolled my hips and slid against her
in such a way that she arched her neck.
“Kinky,” she breathed out as she undulated under me,
the muscles in her stomach rippling and her breasts heaving. “I like it.”
“You’re the one,” I sighed, “who insisted I keep the
jacket on,” I reminded her.
I picked up the pace, my movements a little sharper,
harder, just more deliberate, and Candace her spread her legs farther as her
cunt licked mine. Occasionally my clit would slide right into her, and we’d
both gasp.
“Oh, yeah,” I breathed when her hands grabbed my ass,
squeezing and massaging the muscles, pulling me closer. Her legs spread wide,
and her ass moved with the rhythm I now set. I tossed off the jacket so I could
feel free, then grabbed each of her ankles in turn, pulled her boots off—and
tossed them wherever.
“Yes, yes,” she hissed, her clit thumping solidly
against mine as we drove for that final push, unable to tell whether she was
moving me or I was moving her.
She scraped up my spine and down my shoulders to my
ass, and I arched into the added sensation, tossing my head back and lifting my
upper body, power building as I felt heat rush up from my happily moving cunt,
a flush that rose steadily up my stomach.
“Oh God, you are beautiful,” Candace gasped as we
fucked in desperate earnestness, that hot slide a pussy-pounding glorious sensation.
“Fucking magnificent,” she breathed again, and her hands came off my ass to
trail across my shoulders and my breasts, and when I felt a drop of sweat slide
down my neck and opened my eyes so I could see Candace, really see her, she
wiped it away with a finger, then just so sensuously slid that finger into her
mouth.
“Ooh,” I groaned as I watched her, the erotic thrill
adding to the roll of my hips, “fuck, yes.” I wanted so much to feel more, but
the sensual haze I’d been caught in slipped away. She scratched a sharp trail
down my rigid biceps, then squeezed my ribs before moving back down to my hips.
“Fuck, yes,” Candace echoed, “fuck, yeah, oh, yeah,
yeah!” she groaned, her hands clenching and unclenching my ass.
Her face revealed an almost unearthly beauty as her
head tossed back and her cunt strained in mine. “Your pussy is so hot,” I told
her. “You are so fucking hot!”
When that crimson flush began to crawl up her body,
painting her breasts with a rosy glow, she arched her back and pulled me into
her as hard as she could. “Oh fuck,” she groaned, and I could feel her clit
throb against mine as her hips bucked, her thighs squeezing my waist.
“That’s it, baby,” I encouraged, firmly holding her
hips so that no matter how she moved, the pressure would stay where she needed
it most. For myself, honestly, I felt nothing. Nada. Zippo. I don’t know why
that happened, but it did. One moment, I’d be riding the wave and getting to
the top, and another, well, I might as well be playing in the bathtub, for
whatever that was worth. But if only one of us was going to come, I was glad it
would be her. I would make sure of it.
“Oh, yeah, that’s it, that’s it!” Candace ground out
from her clenched jaw, her body tensed under me, the tendons evident in her
neck and shoulders as her hands dug into me, and I felt a pleasant rush shoot
from my chest to my head.
“God, Nina,” she purred as her legs relaxed and she
rolled her head from side to side a bit as she lightly stroked my lower back.
“What did you just do to me?”
I rested my head on her chest a moment and stroked her
arms lightly as I caught my breath. I could hear the deep and steady pounding
of her heart. “Hmm,” I exhaled, “what felt right, I guess,” I answered
honestly. “Did you like that? I mean, did you…” I leaned up on an elbow to see
her face.
Candace stretched under me, bringing her arms over her
head. “Come?” she filled in for me, and her lips curved gracefully in the way I
so liked. “Can’t you tell?” she teased, and brought a hand to my shoulder and
the other skimmed my nose, while I played with the tendrils of hair near her
temple.
“But you didn’t,” she stated softly, the corners of
her luminous eyes crinkling with observation.
I smiled gently. “It’s okay,” I reassured her, then
nuzzled her neck. “I like making you come,” I whispered as I slid my body down
hers and painted circles on her breast with my tongue.
“Oh,” she groaned softly as her nipple hardened
between my lips, “but Nina…”
I switched my attention from one breast to the other
and twirled the one wet from my mouth between my fingertips as hers dug lovely
trails up my neck.
“Shh,” I gentled her and kissed the center of her chest,
“let me…” I licked a path to her navel, scratching lightly down her ribs.
Her hips jumped beneath me a moment, and I could feel
the hair from her pussy rub against my sternum.
“Fine, then,” she sighed as I fit my shoulders between
her legs and lightly bit and licked at her thigh. “So,” she breathed, “what do
ABC you think of French?” she asked in an attempt at conversation.
“Well.” I paused a moment, glancing up at her. Her
eyes were closed and her head tilted back, exposing the long length of her
throat and opening up her breasts to my view. “
Je comprends le Français un
peu
,” I told her in mock seriousness, then sucked on the tendon that ran
from her thigh to the light brown hair of her pussy. That brought me another
rewarding, somewhat anticipatory groan, and Candace shifted her hips.
“Eh,
je parle un peu
,” I told her as I brought
my hands up to her hips and my thumbs massaged along the edges of her lips. “
Mais,
pas très bien
,” I finished, grinning at her.
Candace leaned up on her elbows to stare at me. “You
understand a little French, and you speak a little?” she asked, shaking her
head incredulously.
I blew softly on the curls before me before answering.
“
Mais, pas très bien
,” I reminded her.
“But not very well,” she translated, then smiled at me
in appreciation of the joke. “Is there anything else about you I should know,
you wicked, clever girl?”
I drew my lower lip up against the length of her lips
before answering. “Yes,” I breathed against her. “I’m an American, not an
idiot. They’re not synonymous, so no more assumptions,” I requested as I
lightly parted her lips with my thumbs. I glanced at her a moment, hoping she
could tell from my eyes that I was playing. “And you were right,” I whispered,
“I am a colonist.” I flicked the tip of my tongue against her clit, then drew
it into my lips.
∗ ∗ ∗ ∗
Change
Your Pretty Mind
Send a perfect hero for one day
Ride right in—take all the pain away
The hero halo’s broken—another lie is spoken
And I’ve a broken heart when the image falls apart
“Lead Me On”—Life
Underwater
∗ ∗ ∗ ∗
It’s funny. After I had picked up my guitar, I locked
myself in the only private place in the apartment—the bathroom—and played for
three hours, enjoying its full and glorious voice. Well, as full as it could be
without an amplifier. When I finally quit playing for the night, I eased it
into its hard-shell case, and, for the first time, I really could see its
beautiful amber-honey burst. The sound and feel of it had so entranced me since
I’d first played it in the shop, I didn’t even know what color it was until
that moment. It wouldn’t have mattered if it was avocado green with pink
stripes; it played with delicious ease and sounded so ABC incredibly
fine. Okay, maybe avocado green and pink stripes might have mattered, but
still, it wasn’t an eyesore; it was both functionally and visually beautiful.
Cap had left me a note on the table that night,
letting me know I could use the large empty closet in his room for my guitar,
since it would be safe there and out of the way of general traffic. Funny
thing. Despite the fact that Cap, Jackie, and Trace had all gone to high school
together, I always got the feeling that, somehow, Cap was older, though he
wasn’t—not at all.
I’d mentally thanked him and added a note to the end
of his:
You, dude, are awesome. Thank you. Nina.
I played every day (still do, in fact), getting used
to the different feel of an electric guitar as opposed to an acoustic in my
hands in those first few weeks of having it, and that night, like the first, I
reluctantly slid the case into the walk-in closet in Cap’s room and went to
work. I was still actively avoiding my roommates—Cap was always working anyway,
Jackie still had no kind words for me, and Trace, well, the whole thing just
confused me. Since I didn’t know what to do with my feelings, I decided I
better get my head clear before we spoke again rather than be so off balance
when I saw her. Given the mutual work-shift craziness and my penchant for
traveling into Manhattan and staying over at Candace’s on occasion (well, not
staying exactly—I never really slept there—I went back to Staten Island—“the
Rock”—around sunup), it was pretty easy not to see anyone.
I was coming home kinda late. I’d stopped at a local
studio so I could finally plug in my guitar and play it at its full
honey-throated throttle—I had a bona fide, honest-to-goodness possible new band
audition/meeting the next day, and I wanted to be more than ready for it. After
I’d played till my time was up, I’d stepped out to pay for it and ended up
speaking with the owner, and then some guys came in, and the next thing you
know, we were back in the studio just jamming out some tunes for fun.
Needless to say, I was in a really great mood, so when
I rounded the landing on the second floor and ran right into Trace, it didn’t
throw me as far off track as it could have.
“Hey, Trace,” I said with my usual smile. Ah, what the
hell, right? I was feeling way too good, the rhythm and the melodies running
through my head, and as I shifted my gig bag on my shoulder, my fingers
twitched with playing memory.
“Hey yourself,” she drawled back, the beginning of a
smile edging her lips.
“Off to work?” I asked. It wouldn’t be unusual for her
to pick up a night shift.
She hesitated a moment before she answered. “No, just,
you know, hanging out. You?”
I smiled widely, too happy to contain it. “Just
getting back—from the studio,” I told her. “I have an audition ABC Page
69tomorrow.”
Trace nodded and smiled, and when she did, her eyes
grew wide and deep. “That’s really cool, Nina, really cool. You’re gonna do
great,” she said with the warmth she usually had for me in private.
“Yeah, well, we’ll see how it goes, you know? I’m a
little nervous,” I admitted.
“Well, you know the cure for that, right?” she asked.
I kinda sorta thought I did—preparation and focus—but
maybe she had a better idea. “What?”
“A good run. Gets the nerves right out.”
I smiled despite myself. “I was kinda sorta gonna do
that anyway.”
“Ah,” she grinned at me, “but it’s always better with
company. Want some?”
That startled me. It had been so long since we’d
really spoken, and even longer since we’d run together, especially after what
had happened between us—well…I thought about it. Oh, hell, why not, right?
Maybe we’d be able to communicate; maybe we could work things out.
“Yeah, sure, that’d be really cool.”
“Set then,” Trace returned, clapping her hands
together briskly. “Come get me in the morning?”
“Sure. Cool.”
“Yeah, cool.”
We said our good-byes, and I continued up the stairs
to my apartment. I took loving care of my guitar, checking out the strings,
wiping off the fingerprints, then giving it a good polish before I carefully
put it away. I took a few moments to pick out what I’d wear the next day, hit
the shower, then dropped into bed after I snapped my little light on, and I
made sure I left enough room for Jackie when she got home.
So, early enough in the morning, I carefully wiggled
out from the bed, holding my breath so I wouldn’t wake Jackie, and I was
dressed and ready in minutes. I hurried quietly down the stairs to Trace’s
apartment in the early morning silence and knocked, but no answer. Probably
still asleep, I figured, so I let myself in like I’d done a thousand times
before. I opened the closed door, expecting to find Trace in bed. I did.
She leaned over the mattress, forearms braced against
it as Van pumped her furiously from behind. She must have heard me, because her
expression changed from a curious, somewhat inward concentration, to concern.
“Nina, wait,” she called out to me as she straightened
up, trying to shake Van off her. He snaked an arm around her waist, and she
slapped it.
The sound snapped me out of my shock, and I shook my
head as I closed the door.
“Get the fuck off me,” I heard her tell him as I
walked to the exit, and I heard the sound of hurried feet as I jogged down the
steps. I had to get my run in.
