Tell Me More (19 page)

HE WAS UNDER THE SAME ROOF, MORE OR LESS,
and it drove me crazy, but at the same time I loved the craziness and the longing. I couldn’t wait to get home from work the next night. Patrick led me to the kitchen, claiming I should eat, but the pot of pasta suffered as we found excuses to rub up against each other and kiss.

“Jesus Christ!” Patrick dropped the pan into the sink and turned the faucet on, disappearing behind a cloud of steam. He emerged, drying his eyeglasses on his shirttail. “You’re a menace. We could have burned the house down.”

“I am? You’re the one who wanted to cook me something.”

“You need to maintain your strength after slaving over that hot board in the studio.” He bent to rummage in a cabinet. “Oh, get your hands off my arse, woman.”

“You have a great arse.”

“So do you, and I intend to get up it as soon as we begin to have sex. Unless of course we develop burned-food fetishes. Tuna?”

“A tuna fetish?” I moved my hands over his ass.

“A tuna sandwich.”

“Sure, thanks.”

He straightened, a can of tuna in one hand, and turned to face me. “Let’s go away somewhere for our first screw.”

“You’re such a romantic. What’s wrong with my bed? Or yours, for that matter?”

“I want it to be special.”

He looked so incredibly sincere I didn’t want to say how girly that sounded; besides which, his erection, pressing against my hip, wasn’t at all girly, and was distracting me.

“How does that fit into your idea of easing into real sex?” I thought fondly of that remarkable appendage easing into me. “Forget the tuna. I’ll have a banana.”

“Excellent.” Patrick propped himself on the kitchen table, a wide grin on his face.

“I
love
bananas.” I caressed the banana in a lewd sort of way. “Love, love, love.”

He cleared his throat.

“I bought some condoms today,” I continued. I peeled the first strip down with infinite care. “Ooh, this is such a big, firm one.”

“I bought some, too.” His voice sounded a little tight.

“But of course it doesn’t mean we’re actually going to use them. Not yet.” I continued my slow peel. “Mmm. I wonder if I can get the whole thing in my mouth?”

Patrick darted forward and took the banana from me, pressing me against the counter. “Fuck it, let’s go to bed. Let’s do something. Let’s get our clothes off and fool around. Do you know how much I want to see you naked? To kiss and lick you all over?” He paused to bite the top off the banana.

“Freud would have loved that.” Despite my flippancy, I was hoarse and shaking with desire, clutching at him. “Come on, then. My bed’s bigger.”

We ran upstairs, and as we entered my bedroom I was horribly aware of its untidy state, including an unmade bed. “I’ll change the sheets—”

“No. I want to be covered by your smell.”

It was quite the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to me. Patrick unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it on the floor next to a pair of my socks.

I grabbed the bottom of my sweater to pull over my head.

“Stop!” Patrick unzipped his jeans, toeing off his socks. “I’m going to undress you. Why are you giggling?”

“I love the boxers.”

He glanced down at the pattern of bright green frogs. “I knew you’d like these. Get on the bed.”

Oh, God, I’d forgotten my vibrator blatantly tangled in the sheets. I made a grab for it, but Patrick got there first. “And what’s the meaning of this, young lady? Did I not service you adequately last night?”

“Uh, well, yes, but this morning…” I was embarrassed but at the same time highly turned on at his discovery.

He switched it on and ran it over one finger. “We’ll have a demonstration of this implement of desire later. Now, brace yourself.”

He removed his boxers and I was treated to my first real sight of his cock, sturdily erect, and I wanted to take him in my mouth and kiss and lick. He swatted me away and I realized what a master of sensuality the man was.

He took his time and caressed every square inch of skin as he lifted up my sweater.
Just wait until you see my bra, Patrick.
It wasn’t the best item of clothing to wear on a bike, but I was glad I had. He stopped his gentle caresses and stared, before tracing my nipples through the lace, and finally bending to kiss them.

After an eternity he reached behind me to unhook my bra and then stared at my breasts with a look of reverence on his face.

“I want to touch you,” I said, but he shook his head, no.

He slid down my bike pants and then my cotton underwear—as much as I’d have liked to wear the matching panties I knew that particular pair would give me the mother of all wedgies on the bike—and finally we were skin against skin, naked together, kissing and touching.

His skin was even paler than mine, silvery in the dim light in the bedroom, with a springy mat of reddish curls on his chest—I’d noticed that as he undressed—but at this moment it was all touch and slide of skin and delicious texture. I wrapped my hand around his cock and he reached down to guide me, showing me how he liked to be touched, unselfconscious and trusting.

“Condoms are…” I gasped when his mouth left mine to tickle deliciously along my collarbone and nip beneath my ear.

I liked what he was doing—I liked it very much—but at the same time it troubled me. The intensity of our contact, the sheer lightning of his touch, sent me way beyond what I’d considered pleasure, into a realm of unknown sensation. Fucking—whenever he decided it would take place, for it was clear the decision was not mine—would return me to safety. I thought I knew all about teasing and sexual play after my time in the Great Room, but with Patrick I was a novice, troubled and clumsy.

“What’s wrong?” He had progressed downward, doing amazing things to a spot on my hip bone that I hadn’t realized was an erogenous zone.

“I feel I should be doing more for you,” I said feebly, his dick being out of reach at the moment.

“Ach, don’t worry. This is sex, not some sort marketplace barter.”

“Yeah, I had noticed.” I didn’t even sound sarcastic; just pathetic.

He sighed and planted his chin on my pubic mound. “Is fucking so very important? Because if it is, we’ll do it.”

This was the first time I’d ever had a guy reluctant to do the deed. “I don’t know. I’m out of my depth with you.”

“Shit,” he said and returned his head to mine. “Stop worrying. Enjoy yourself. What would you like me to do?”

“I hate it when guys ask that.”

“Really? Why?”

“I feel like I have to give some sort of grocery list.”

“Ah. Half a pound of cunnilingus, please, and I’ll take a bit of anal play, but only if it’s fresh, not that nasty frozen stuff. Is that what you mean?”

“Something like that. So if I asked you what you like, what would you say?”

“I’m a guy. It’s much simpler for me. Suck my dick, scratch my balls with your fingernails, but very gently, play with my arse—do you have any lube? Jo—”

I’d taken him at his word, scooting down the bed and grasping his cock. I rolled it into my mouth. This I knew I could do; I was back on familiar territory. Yes, like this, lick him from balls to tip, suck on the delicacy of his foreskin and head, and then—

Oh, yes, he groaned, and reached for my head, guiding me, showing me what he liked. I ran my fingers up the crack of his ass, the soft hair moist and warm, and relaxed my throat to gather him in. Deep tremors, the tightening of his hands on my head warned me that he was close, and sure enough his hips bucked and he flooded my mouth, warm and salty.

“Well,” he said and reached a thumb to clean a drop of semen from my mouth. “Well, that was something. That was lovely. I’ll reciprocate if that’s all right with you.”

He kissed me, my mouth still salty and my chin wet from his orgasm, and turned me over and at that point I was avid to come, by any means possible. One of his clever fingers trailed over my clit.

“Patrick, just do it. I don’t want subtlety.” I was mortified.

But he laughed and gathered my thighs in his arms and nibbled and licked at my clit, fingers inside me probing and my orgasm was like a bolt of lightning that left me limp and amazed. I really couldn’t complain when Patrick started another long, slow delicate traverse from collarbone, down and down, culminating in another wicked orgasm.

I opened my eyes— I couldn’t believe how heavy my eyelids felt and how my whole body sank into the bed. He sat back on his heels and regarded his cock with a mixture of admiration and pity, hard and dark red against his belly.

“You’re gorgeous,” I said.

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” He clasped his cock, stroked. “I’m about to be absolutely crass.”

“How?”

“I want to come on you. Sorry, I’m a dirty bastard and you’re damn gorgeous yourself. Think of it—” he pumped his cock with his fist “—as me marking my territory. I don’t know why…it’s this urge—I want to see my come on you. Okay? Say no, and I’ll stop.”

“Oh, no, please. Please, do it.” I touched my breasts and I saw his jaw clench. “Go on. Do it.”

“Yes, touch your tits. Play with them.” His hand moved steadily on his cock. “Open your legs. I want to look at your pussy.”

I did, proud to expose my secret flesh to him, awed at his lack of inhibition, thrilled by the expression on his face. I recognized the sounds he made, the changes in his breath, the shudder in his thighs that indicated he was about to come.

His hand blurred and a stream of warm semen splashed onto my chest and stomach. He moaned and dropped forward, one hand at my side, his face against my breast.

“God,” he said. “Oh, my God, Jo. I don’t know whether I should apologize or fetch a towel. That was so damn amazing.”

I giggled. “We’ve gone all triple-X rated and it’s our second night together and we haven’t even fucked yet.”

He gave a long sigh of contentment and settled between my legs, nibbling at my nipple in a lazy sort of way. “So what depraved act would you like to commit next? I think you should give me a demonstration with the infamous vibrator.”

“Which one?”

“Which one? How many do you have?”

“A whole stable of them,” I said proudly. “Look in that wooden box.”

He opened the box, shaking his head. “And here I was thinking that this was where you kept your girlish mementoes, the corsage from the prom and so on.”

“They
are
my girlish mementoes.”

He turned one on and gave a yelp of alarm at the loud buzz. “Please don’t tell me you use this with the windows open. I’ve had power tools quieter than this. Your neighbors must think you’re really into home improvement.”

“Not my choice. It was a Christmas present.”

“I hope you didn’t open it under the tree with your family looking on.”

I picked my favorite from the box. “This one is the Rolls-Royce of vibrators, very expensive, very sexy, produces quiet purrs.”

“And loud screams, I hope.” He settled with his head on one arm, and scratched his chest. “You have a couple of orgasms and then we’ll find some other naughty things to do.”

I loved it, watching him watch me. At first. He nibbled on my ear and whispered sexy things that got me hot, but then that reminded me a little of Mr. D. And I hadn’t thought of Mr. D. once until then.

I switched the vibrator off.

“What’s up?”

“I think I’m all orgasmed out. Sorry.”

“We’ll give you a break, then.” He reached for his eyeglasses from the bedside table. “What’s wrong, Jo? I feel like you’ve faded away.”

I shook my head. “I’m tired.”

I was lying, and I think he knew it. Sometime I’d have to tell him about Mr. D. and how sex had become for me something in which I participated with glee, but always with that thought at the back of my mind,
Wait until I tell Mr. D., or Mr. D. will love how I spice this up when I tell him.

But I wasn’t gathering material for a story. It was just Patrick and me, and that was what scared me and now made me back off. I’d forgotten the intensity of crawling into another person’s skin and how the boundaries between two bodies, two minds, dissolved.

“Sleep, then.” He gathered me in his arms, my butt against his cock, his leg flung over mine. He reached over me to put his eyeglasses back on the bedside table.

“You’re still hard,” I murmured, wondering whether I should offer a polite hand job.

“Like I said, I usually am around you. Just ignore it. I’m sure it will go down on its own.”

I reached behind me and stroked him.

He sighed. “Ah, that’s nice, but you don’t have to. Here, let me show you how to get me off fast.” His hand clasped mine and together we pumped hard, his breathing quickening until he buried his face into my neck and warm wetness spread on my back.

“Your territory’s marked again,” I said.

He kissed the back of my neck. “Is it?”

I didn’t answer; there was nothing I could say that did not open up a whole new dangerous area.

Then he said, “I suppose it’s too soon to talk about love.”

One of the advantages of wearing glasses was that particular thrill you got from seeing them on the nightstand in a woman’s bedroom after your first night together. Or an approximation of a first night, since they weren’t actually fucking. But there his glasses sat, along with a paperback flipped open, cover up, to keep her place—she was reading Ursula Le Guin, which he thought he’d like to talk to her about sometime, except he hadn’t read this one and had some catching up to do. There was so much he’d like to talk to her about, although he knew he had to tread carefully. She was cautious around him, and that was smart; hadn’t he warned her he was damaged goods? And he was being cautious around her, with his fucking embargo, which, with his dick prodding against the bedclothes, seemed an exceptionally bad idea.

He was already in deep enough that the insertion of his tab
A
into her slot
B
(or
C
) couldn’t possibly make much difference to the way he felt about her. Christ, he’d mentioned love last night. No wonder she wasn’t around to greet him and his morning erection with cries of delight. But he hoped she’d been asleep at that point and missed that bit of post-orgasmic idiocy.