The Awesome (18 page)

“You’re awesome, Mags.”

I’d have told him I knew it, maybe said something glib and witty, but he tugged up my shirt and licked over my stomach, and all thought promptly flew out the window.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I
WAS PRETTY
sure I had reasonable expectations for The Sex, Round Two. I’d gotten an idea of what Ian was like from the party, and for all that things went askew towards the end, I’d enjoyed ninety percent of the precursors. Sure, he attacked my girl bits with the fury of a thousand suns, but he meant well when he did it. At least, I had to assume he did, otherwise he had some serious vagina rage I didn’t want to think about.

Boy, was I in for a treat, and by treat I mean an orgasm. Like a real one, not one of the practice runs done in the privacy of my room. The differences between a drunk Ian and a cognizant Ian were night and day. What felt good before—the kisses and touches and nuzzles and licks—were so much better when he was aware of how his actions affected my body. Like, instead of taking my invitation to screw as a reason to toss my legs over my head and have at me, he kissed me for what felt like hours. His mouth nudged at mine, tongue flicking out to tease my lips before pulling away. He got me so eager to make out I wanted to yank his ears off his skull and scream at him to stop wasting time. I didn’t because that wouldn’t be very gracious and I was all about being a lady and shit, but I did make impatient sighing noises and tug on the ends of his hair. He had the audacity to smile at me before giving me what I wanted, which was the type of lingering kiss that curled toes and made me groan in the back of my throat.

My eyes closed, my arms slid over his shoulders. His hands ran down my back, fingers looping under the bottom of my shirt. He pulled away from me to yank it up, ignoring the buttons in front and going for the clean strip. I lifted my arms, my eyes skittering over to the light switch on the wall. I didn’t want the light on anymore. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see him, it was that I didn’t want him to see me, not sitting in his lap like this. Flab squished out over the top of my jeans and I had those weird wing things under my arms.

“The light.”

“Mmm?” He threw the shirt onto the floor, his mouth finding the side of my neck and nibbling. My palms flattened against his chest, and I shoved so I could lean past him to flick the switch. For good measure, I also locked my door and put on the radio.

“Why’d you do that? I like looking at you.”

“’Cause I’m squishy.”

“It’s a good squishy.” I’d have argued, but his hands squeezed my bum and he rotated around so he could lower me down onto my bed. I shoved a book, a
Cosmopolitan
magazine, and a sweatshirt to the floor so I could lay flat beneath him. My mattress had become a raft floating in an endless sea of crap. “Shoulder’s okay?” He asked as he kissed over my bra, his fingers sliding around back to unlatch the clasp. He fumbled with it some, jerking at the hooks hard enough to bend them. Eventually, they came free, though whether it was because he got them properly unhitched or because he ripped them out, I didn’t know.

“Y... shit. Yeah.” I felt the satin sliding off of my skin, exposing my chest completely. We hadn’t done this at his house last week; we’d kept my bra on, so this was a new experience, and with all new experiences, it was freaky. I had big boobs, which was good on one hand, bad on the other, namely because the weight of my boobs made them ooze their way towards my armpits. I’d seen the movies—women on their backs should have boobs pointed at a ninety-degree angle at all times. We weren’t supposed to go floppy and spready. Gravity wasn’t supposed to do its gravity thing.

Gravity sucked. Fuck gravity.

“I’m sorry I’m...”

I didn’t get to finish the sentence because there were hands squeezing and kneading and lifting and then a mouth was sucking. I was afraid Ian’d be poking me and snickering that I’d gone all floppy on him, but no, he seemed utterly oblivious to the migratory pattern of Maggie’s boobs. And because he wasn’t hung up on it, I couldn’t be hung up on it either. I was too preoccupied with the happy tingles to worry about the interstate running between my cleavage.

“Oh, tha... nngh.”

Words failed, moans did not. In fact I did a lot of moaning then—quietly, of course, because the last thing I wanted was for my mom and her boyfriend to clue in to what we did, but that’s what the radio was for. I was thankful for it, even if it played a commercial for a plumbing company when I got my freak on with my boyfriend. Nothing says loving like poop chutes and drain clogs.

Ian worked his way from my chest to my stomach, and I was reminded of his drunken girl belly ramblings from the party. It made me grin in the dark, and I put a hand on his head, my thumb stroking over his brow. He pulled back and I heard some shuffling, then he climbed up over me to give me another kiss. His bare chest met mine, and I ran my fingers down the warm skin of his back. I liked how this felt, his weight on me. I liked that from our mouths to our bellybuttons were sealed tight against one another, like you didn’t know where one body started and the other ended. It felt intimate. It felt good. It made me make growly noises I equated with livestock.

We kissed until I needed to come up for air, and I pulled back to pant into the dark. He kissed my neck, my ear, and my shoulder. I heard the jingle of his keys as he pulled off his pants. I took that as my cue to do the same, and my hands went to my waist band, shaking so badly I feared I couldn’t manage a simple thing like a zipper. I wasn’t scared so much as tense. This part we’d done before, this part I knew. He hadn’t died of shock and horror the last time he’d touched my bits; I was pretty sure he wouldn’t this time either.

I shucked the undies with the pants, dumping the whole lot onto the floor and waiting for Ian to do something interesting. He may have only been with one other girl before, but that was one more person than I’d been with, which meant until I had my bearings with this whole sticky thing he was the ringleader. I couldn’t see much in the dark of my room, so I had to rely on my hearing to figure out what he did. I heard fumbling, a tearing sound, and then a murmured curse.

Swearing while putting on a condom wasn’t a good sign. I made a vow then and there that if another attempt at The Sex went wrong, I was forsaking men and hunting and joining a convent because God clearly didn’t want me to get laid. I’d be the surliest, most foul-mouthed nun ever, but that’s what He got for ruining this for me.

“Everything all right down there?”

“Yeah. Can’t see a damned thing. It’s good now.”

“Did you miss your dick?”

“... no.”

“Oh. Good.”

His hands went to my legs, running up to my knees, and I felt him kissing my hip. I idly wondered if that’s because he missed my stomach, but no, he seemed perfectly content pressing his face against my side as he touched my thighs. I braced, waiting for him to pound his fingers against me until I begged for mercy, but again, the difference between drunk Ian and not-drunk Ian was overwhelming. He didn’t push and mash and stab at me. He took his time, stroked, and the moment I made a squealy noise because he did it right, he kept doing it that same way. Over and over. Back and forth. And when I breathed heavier and faster, and my fingers fisted in the sheets at my side and the muscles in my legs flexed and my toes pointed at the wall, he sped up, matching the pace my body set.

And then it was there. The perfect moment—the hard pulses and the shuddering breaths and the head thrashing back and forth. I’d like to say I said something eloquent then, maybe something mushy and romantic in appreciation of the totally-unexpected-yet-utterly-awesome-orgasm, but the best I could manage was a loud, half chicken squawked, “FUCK YES.” Ian didn’t seem to mind my outburst, though; he ran his hand up and down my body and let me ride out the waves.

It would have been nice to sit there and drool over what happened, maybe make happy noises and gurgle until the aftershocks went away, but Ian kissed my stomach and moved over me, nuzzling at my neck and reminding me that ‘oh yeah, he has a boner and wants to use it.’ My arms wrapped around him and squeezed him tight, my mouth skimmed over his cheek in invitation to finish what we started. Everything was good, everything was perfect. I was so very glad I was with this guy here and now.

But then he said, “You’re wet” right into my ear, and the perfect STUFF went right out the window. It’s not that I didn’t expect it as a side effect of what we’d done, it’s just I didn’t want to think about it. It seemed unsanitary, like mentioning those burps where you taste puke in your mouth.

“Ugh! I’m sorry!”

“I love it. It’s hot,” he said, and I felt him shift and press up against me. It was hot? News to me—I thought it was bogus—but I wasn’t given long to mull it over. We were almost there, almost at the moment where I’d go from ‘Maggie Cunningham, Vampire Bait’ to ‘Maggie Cunningham, Punching Vampires in the Spleen,’ but oddly, none of that occurred to me. All that mattered was Ian being there with me, that Ian kissed me, that Ian held me, that Ian...

Did me. Oh. Right.

He went slow, which was appreciated, but it didn’t change the fact that he was a girthy guy and I was tight. There was a bit of discomfort, which became a bit more discomfort when he surged ahead. I felt a twinge, a sharp pain that abated immediately, and he paused. He nuzzled at my neck, breathing heavily into my ear.

“Tell m-me when it’s okay to go.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant. It was good to go now, wasn’t it? Sure, there’d been some ouch factor involved, but that was expected. He hadn’t mauled me from bellybutton to knee with his penis. I mean, he was decent sized, but it wasn’t like he impaled me with Dick-O-Tron over here. Getting the glass gouge in my shoulder had hurt way more than anything he’d done.

“Uhh. Go for it.”

He moved, capturing my mouth in another kiss as he worked faster and harder. It chafed, even with that wet he’d been rude enough to mention, but I didn’t have to bear it long. A minute or two later he went rigid, yelped into my mouth, and buried himself deep, going very, very still and slumping on top of me. I’d read a bunch of
Cosmo
articles about women who wanted their guys to last forever, but I was glad he finished. I’d had fun up to the actual sex part of things, and I figured eventually I might want the whole kit and caboodle for hours, but not this time. This time I wanted to curl up next to him and bask in the knowledge that not only had we gotten the deed done, we’d done it well.

D
ESPITE MY INSOMNIAC
tendencies, I dozed off for about an hour, content to lie around and be lazy. I woke when Ian kissed my shoulder and sat up, trying to sneak around in the dark to get his clothes. He hissed as he stubbed his toe on a random piece of furniture.

“I’ll get the light.”

“Thanks. I got my boxers and pants, but my shirt’s, like, gone.”

I wrapped myself up in a blanket and flicked on the switch, having to blink for a good minute to adjust. He found his shirt draped over the stereo and tugged it over his head, turning to look at me with a smile. He crawled across the bed to give me a kiss, his fingers skimming over my cheek. “You’re pretty.”

My eyes swept to the vanity and I snorted. I was as pink as a pork chop thanks to the holy water splash, I had major bedhead, and my ‘clothes’ consisted of a comforter riddled with holes and an unidentifiable oily stain along the top. Oh yeah, I screamed sexpot.

“Uh huh.”

He grinned and donned his shoes. “I gotta head home before my ’rents freak out. You got plans Friday?”

“Probably not. I doubt my mom’s going to take me on any hunts ’til this ghoul thing is over.” Didn’t that figure; I’d finally slept with someone for my journeyman license, and I’d be sitting around waiting for Max’s blood tag to run its course before I could do squat. It should have pissed me off a lot more than it did, but I guess I was so stoked from getting my bang on with Ian I couldn’t muster much in the way of irritation. Maybe this was that silly afterglow thing I’d read about.

“Cool. I’ll call Jules. We’ll hook up. Maybe a movie?”

“Sure, okay.”

He finished lacing up his sneakers and patted his pockets for his keys. I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top before combing my hair. Mom would catch on to my outfit change, but there was no way I’d make Ian head downstairs alone, even if that meant risking a smart-ass Janice comment. He was probably terrified of her, or assumed she was a psycho slut from Hell. I couldn’t blame him for either; the first time he saw her she was bare-assed and riding a dead guy. This time she burned his sort-of-girlfriend with holy water. I didn’t have time to do it before he left, but I wanted to talk to him about Mom. I loved her even if she did things that made me want to rub my face with a cheese grater. I didn’t want him ragging on her or getting the wrong idea. She was important to me, freakish tendencies and all. Ian and I had gotten a do-over. Maybe Ian and Mom could have one, too.

“Hey, Friday why don’t you and me go out?” I blurted. He probably figured I meant for The Sex, but whatever. It wasn’t like I was against the idea. “Maybe we can do something with Julie and John Saturday? I mean, if you want to hang Saturday. I don’t know your schedule.”