The Clinch ( An Erotic Novella ) (3 page)

When he finally called, I had worked myself up into a tizzy. When I heard it ring, I sat frozen in doubt. By the third ring, my heart was pounding. By the fourth, though, I lunged across the room now scared he would hang up.

"Hello" I blurted out, winded from my sprint. "Hello" he said, "Brianna?"

His voice was smooth, (too smooth? How often did he make calls like this?)

"Brianna, this is Mike. How are you, darlin?" (DARLING? What kind of thing is that to say to someone the first time you had ever talked to them?)

I guess I don't have to tell you how the first call went. Simone had me so worked up that the man didn't stand a chance.

He was convicted without a trial.

Sure, we talked for a while.

Discussed inane things, how is the weather, how was your day, my son, his daughter, ex spouses even.

If I hadn't been poisoned with doubt, it might have been pleasant.

I do have to give it to Mark for hanging in there though. I would have hung up after the first few minutes, if I had been him.

That night as I lay in bed, I felt so lost. Like something wonderful had been wrenched away from me. I had to laugh at myself at one point.

Here I was, mourning a relationship with a person I had never met!

But in all truth, I felt I was mourning. There had been something there.

A connection between Mark and I had been torn. I felt sick to my stomach as I tossed and turned trying to sleep.

The next morning, I busied myself with housework. Laundry, dishes, vacuuming, anything to drown out my own thoughts. I cleaned my fears away, or tried to.

As I passed James's room, on my way to the linen closet with freshly laundered towels, I paused.

Peaking in, I felt the pull of his computer.

It seemed to even call to me.

James was at his dads, for his every other weekend visit, and I had the house to myself for at least 8 more hours.

Setting the towels down on his bed, I pulled out the computer chair from under his desk.

Sitting there, my fingers already wrapped around the mouse, I realized, I had made a big mistake.

I had blown it.

I was even a little frantic as I pressed enter and sent my password across the phone lines, opening the door to where I had felt so at home for the last six weeks.

My breath caught in my throat as I realized I had mail.

My fingers trembled as I clicked on the icon to open the mail. Had he written me, or was this just one more piece of junk mail that found its way into my mailbox for no apparent reason?

I hurriedly scanned through the mail that had accumulated over the week, looking desperately for mail from Mark.

Seeing his name, I opened it, and read what he had to say. I quickly realized that this had been sent prior to our telephone conversation.

In it he said how much he had missed our conversations. He said he had come to rely on them to close his days, and without a goodnight kiss from me, he felt lost climbing into his empty bed.

He also told me that there were times during the day, going about his normal routine that something would happen and he would store it in his "to tell Brianna" file so he could relate it to me later.

He mentioned his disappointment seconds later when he remembered that it would be the end of the week before he got to talk with me.

His excitement as he wrote of the upcoming phone call showed through his words.

I sat there reading and felt myself a traitor.

Here was a person who truly enjoyed me, and a more real me than anyone else had ever met.

I felt I knew him so well, and I had allowed another person to cloud my judgment.

I didn't know what I would, or could do to make up for my behavior on the phone but I knew I had to do something.

Sitting there, I began typing an email to him. One I hoped would explain my lack of feeling on the phone, apologizing for letting my friend work me up and make me doubt him.

I had to tell him how I truly felt for him, my only chance at begging forgiveness lay in truth.

As I typed, I realized the truth, that this man, who while he started out as a pretend person, with whom I might flirt and act as I would otherwise not, was now an important entity in my life.

I realized I needed him.

I realized I wanted his interaction.

I wanted his input, I wanted him. I was frantic over the thought that I might have blown it.

I was scared he might have moved on, hurt but unwilling to allow me to try and make it up to him.

I sat there, typing that email, my feelings gushing out onto the page. It wasn't until I glanced up that I noticed he had signed online and was messaging me.

It started with a tentative hello, and then a question, asking me if I was busy.

I answered him, my heart pounding. I told him I was in the middle of writing to him.

He asked me if it was a Dear John letter. He acted like it was a joke, but I could tell by the slowness of his responses that he was concerned that it might be.

I then told him I was so sorry.

I was a beast for the way I had treated him on the phone.

I asked him to forgive me.

I launched into my reasons for my behavior, I told him how Simone had played devils advocate, and how I had caved to her reasoning.

I then told him that I knew now that I was wrong. I told him I didn't care how we had met, or that I didn't really know who or what he was on a regular basis.

I told him what I didn't know didn't matter. What I did know was that I needed him.

I wanted him in my life, and that I couldn't bear the thought that I might lose his presence.

I couldn't believe when he finally replied to my onslaught of words. His only reply was one word.

{KISS} it said.

I melted.

He took me in his cyber arms and held me, he rocked me, and told me everything would be ok. He stroked my hair and touched my face. He wiped the tears from my eyes, and kissed my eyelids. I could do nothing but sit there and let the emotions I felt wash over me.

He pulled me close and held me, then bent his head down and kissed my lips.

I pressed against him, and kissed him back, our tongues sliding next to one another's.

My hips pressed against him, and I could tell that not only had he forgiven me, but he wanted me.

In our other cyber encounters we let the act itself be of importance, the words described what he would do to me, what I would do to him, but this time, the words were buried under an outflowing of emotions.

I was breathless as he picked me up and carried me over to the bed.

My arms around his neck, kissing him as he layed me down.

Sitting on the bed beside me he ran his hand from my shoulder, slowly down and around my breast, then across the flat of my stomach, over my hip and down my thigh to my knee.

With his hand on my knee he bent down and kissed me. As I arched my body up toward his, my lips pressed tightly to his, his hand climbed my thigh.

Our kiss became more passionate as his hand slid up and he held it tight against my pussy.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and my tongue slid into his mouth.

My body came up to mold against his as his fingers pressed against my cunt.

Laying back, I began unbuttoning his shirt, and once it was off, I ran my fingers over his chest.

He continued massaging my pussy as I tugged at the waist band of his pants, unbuttoning them.

My fingers dipped into them as I unzipped them, and pulled out his rigid cock.

My hand gripped at it and then, I suddenly sat back up, this time to pull my own shirt off, unlatching my bra and removing it also.

He watched me as my breasts hung free then reached out and took one into his free hand.

He leaned down and his lips closed over my nipple.

He sucked it deep into his open mouth, his tongue stroking the nipple to the roof of his mouth.

I cradled the breast from the side as he sucked it, my free hand caressing his head.

I leaned down to kiss his head as he sucked harder.

My body responded quickly to his loving, and I was wet and wanting.

I pulled his face up to mine, my lips covering his mouth, as I kissed him passionately.

We both removed the last remnants of clothing from one another and he pushed me back down onto the bed, his body covering mine.

As he slid between my legs, I could feel his cock pressing against my thigh.

I parted my legs around him, my ankles locking around his waist and as I stretched up to kiss him, I felt his cock slip easily into my soaking pussy.

He teased me.

I was desperate for him and he would sink his cock barely into me, then withdrawal it.

Over and over he would do this, stopping when he felt me pressing upward.

I finally forced myself to relax and let him control our lovemaking.

My body pressed to his, he finally plunged his cock deep into me.

I arched against him and grinded his cock tightly against my cervix, my pussy gripping and clenching his cock.

He pressed his chest against mine, pinning me to the bed as he drove his cock deep into me again and again.

I began meeting every thrust as we both were driven higher and higher towards orgasm.

As our bodies met, so did our minds.

Every word written was a perfect meld of lovemaking, him responding to my every move in exactly the right way.

We were connected on more than just a physical plane. Our connection made this internet lovemaking more than just words.

I felt his body on mine, I felt his cock deep inside me, and when our bodies came together, both of us peaking and cumming at the same time, I felt my body responding to him, my pussy clenching around his cock, his cock pulsing inside me as his cum sprayed my inner walls.

I was breathless as we both held each other tight.

I had never had such an intense experience in my life. I was thunderstruck.

I couldn't have asked for a better way of showing forgiveness than he gave me that night.

I felt so close to him, I wanted his even more now, than I had before.

I dared to say I loved him.

To my delight and surprise, instead of pulling back, he too, declared his love for me.

I went to bed that night feeling high from our session. My body was thrumming with sexual tension.

I felt so strong a need for this man that my body ached for him. My fingers played across my clit as I recalled our lovemaking.

As I stroked myself, my fingers dipping deeply into my wet and hot cunt, I thought of Mark, I thought of his cock, stroking the inner walls of my pussy, I thought of his mouth on mine.

As I writhed on the bed, my pleasure peaking, my fingers flying across my clit, my other hand pinching and twisting my nipples, It was Mark who was on top of me.

As my pussy clenched around my fingers and my clit swelled and my hips arched up off the bed as I orgasmed, it was Mark whose ear I moaned into.

I lay there panting afterward, on the brink of sleep, and as I rolled onto my side, a pillow clutched against me, it was he who I said good night to.