Women in Lust (6 page)

Gijs is just as excited as his friend—and who can blame him, given the show we’ve just put on for him? He finds my clit, rubbing it as he fucks me. His voice is a rumble in my ear, but he’s speaking in Dutch and I can’t understand him. Catching a word that sounds familiar, I realize he’s asking—or maybe ordering—me to come for him. That won’t be difficult. My nerves are taut, sensation building to the point where it threatens to become unbearable. I’m so acutely aware of the fat, latex-sheathed cock buried deep in my cunt, the way it stretches my lips around it as it pulls out almost all the way, then jams back up into me. Control is finally wrested from me by the combination of Gijs’s plunging cock and busy finger, and I’m babbling, “Oh, fuck! Oh, Gijs, oh, fuck!” as my orgasm zips through me.

He keeps pounding into me for another few seconds, then he loses it, too. For someone who’s made so much noise until now, he does little more than sigh as he comes. My pussy clings on to
him as he pulls out, as if reluctant to let him go. This was even better than I’d hoped, a nice memory to come back to on nights when the warmth of summer and the relaxed mood of holiday time are far away.

When the three of us emerge from the alleyway, we look respectable, but our flushed faces and a faint aroma of musk must give the hint something’s been happening. The lads return to the terrace table and their half-finished drinks. I slip back inside, returning to my wonderful, patient husband, who’s ordered me a fresh drink in my absence. Mike will be so glad I’ve finally had the adventure we hoped I would when we originally booked the holiday. He’s not much of a watcher, but he loves to listen, and he’ll adore the tale of my frantic threesome with Peter and Gijs. And to prove how much I love him, I’m even forgoing my usual postsex cigarette to share it with him.

J
amie finished his sandwich and licked a bit of mustard off his fingers. “I hate being practically the last one still here.”

Lene tossed back the last of her iced tea. “But just think of all the peace and quiet. We could email without anyone standing around looking impatient, take a nap without waking up to people stampeding down the hall, or, you know, whatever we want.”

“Right, okay, I’ll try to think of it that way.” He didn’t really intend to, though. He was anxious to move into his new apartment.

She set down her empty bottle and reached across the picnic table to take his hand, which she turned palm up. “Here, let me tell your fortune. I learned how to do this in sixth grade for a library fundraiser.”

Jamie let her look at his palm. Any excuse for her to touch him was good, as far as he was concerned. “I thought you said you were shy.”

“In some ways.” Lene turned his hand a few degrees away from the sun so that the lines were shadowed, and scrutinized it.

While she read his palm, he watched her. Lene’s long hippie hair looked almost white in the sunlight. That and her lack of fussy grooming, her utilitarian clothes, and the brisk, purposeful walk were what had first attracted him to her. Here was a girl who only needed a mirror to know she looked great. He’d once said as much to his friend Roger, who replied, “She’s a dyke, dumbass.”

She traced a finger across his palm. It tickled. “You’ve got a good strong lifeline. That’s supposed to mean you’re healthy and energetic. Your head line goes all the way across and even starts to wrap around the side a little down here. Mine does the same thing. It means we analyze things to death.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.” He was proud of his ability to consider problems from different angles.

“It’s not really good or bad. Now, your fate line is a complete mess.” She bit her lip as she considered it. “I don’t even know what to make of it. You will live in interesting times, I suppose. Would you relax your hand and let it curl just a little?”

Jamie obliged.

Lene squinted at his hand. “Oh, wow. That’s interesting.” Her lips moved a tiny bit as she evaluated something.

“What?”

“Your marriage line says you’re going to have five children,” she said gravely.

Although he didn’t really believe in the predictive value of palm reading, that pronouncement distressed him. He tried to tell what part of his hand she was looking at.

Lene looked up at his face with a thoughtful expression, then burst out laughing. “Just kidding. I don’t even see a marriage line.”

Jamie pulled his hand back. “All right, that’s it. No more fortune-telling for you today.”

“Oh, come on. Please? I promise I won’t make any more things up. I forgot to look at your heart line. That’s a major one.” She held her hands out to him.

“I already know what it says.” He crossed his arms.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “What does it say?”

Jamie didn’t actually have an answer, let alone a clever one, so he said, “That’s classified information.”

“And my clearance level isn’t high enough, I suppose?” She batted her eyelashes.

He shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Hm.” She looked over her shoulder with mock furtiveness. “Would you accept a bribe?” she asked in a stage whisper and brushed one of her legs against his under the table.

It took Jamie a moment to process the question and conclude that she was definitely hitting on him. His blood all went south, leaving him dizzy. “Maybe we should discuss this matter somewhere more private, and warmer.”

“Indeed. The birds have eyes,” she said as she got to her feet. He went with her as soon as he got his wits together enough to remember how his legs worked. When they got a few steps away from the table, a sparrow fluttered down from the roof to pick at their crumbs.

She put her arm around his waist with her hand on his hip, and stopped him for kisses twice before they even made it to the dormitory building. It felt good to be wanted so enthusiastically, though he was kicking himself for not starting anything with her sooner.

As the front door swung shut behind them, Lene stopped him again and leaned into him. He wobbled and braced his shoulder
against the sheet of plywood that covered the broken front window. Something sharp jabbed his back near the shoulder blade. She snuggled up to him and kissed his neck and shoulders. Her movements dug the pointy thing into his back harder, and his brain predictably channeled the pain straight into lust.

He concentrated hard to avoid making a sound. It was habit; experience had taught him that if he let a girlfriend know she was hurting him, she would stop, and it would be impossible to persuade her to start again. He tilted his head down to kiss her ravenously. She stood on her toes and her weight shifted. The point against his back broke the skin. He held her close and imagined that she’d done it on purpose.

A moment later, she bounced away from him and launched herself up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He stepped away from the wall and looked back. Three pushpins were stuck into the wood, and a fourth was missing its plastic cap.

“You coming?” Lene called from the second floor.

“Yeah,” he said as he started up the stairs.

Her footsteps moved along the hall to his room. How did she know where his room was?

Jamie climbed the stairs slowly, brooding. It was ridiculous that at twenty years old he had to resort to getting his jollies from a defective pushpin. So far, without fail, girls called him weird and accused him of being obsessed if he so much as hinted at what he’d like in bed. He resented it. Most of all, though, he felt starved enough that he was ready to find out whether his feeling about Lene was intuition or wishful thinking.

With determination, but without a plan, he walked down the hall to the room where she was waiting for him on the edge of his bed. She’d taken her sweater off, and the top two buttons of her shirt were undone. The implied invitation registered, but it didn’t count yet, in his mind. He meant to sit down next to
her, but when he got close enough for her to reach, she wrapped both arms around him and tipped over backward, pulling him down on top of her. He caught himself with his elbows to avoid squashing her.

“Hey, I want you to do me a favor,” he said, before he had a chance to lose his nerve.

She said, “Hmm?” and then waited quietly while he tugged his shirt off. Her hands settled on his back again, cool against his skin. “Ooh, you’re warm.”

“Bite me.” He offered her the inside of his left arm.

She looked bemused, but caught a bit of skin between her teeth and toyed with it gently.

In the pit of his stomach, a host of little demons readied a vat of despair in case he needed to wallow in it. “Like you mean it,” he added with forced optimism.

That got her to apply a little more pressure. It felt slightly pinchy.

“Harder?” He wanted her to make him scream.

A little more pressure. The tiny increments were driving him crazy. He clenched his teeth, as though that could make her bite down harder.

“Like you’re a vampire who’s been starving for a week,” he suggested.

She let go. “Herbivore teeth. Not made to draw blood.”

“I know, but it’ll hurt like hell,” he told her, desperately willing her to understand.

She looked into his eyes. He wished he could read her expression, but for several long seconds, all he could see was his own reflection. He held his breath and his heartbeat filled his chest. “Are you okay?” he asked when he couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“Yes,” she said.

He couldn’t tell if she meant it. “Then talk to me. Say something.”

“I’ve never had any inclination in that direction.”

He rolled off of her and flopped on his back. “Story of my life.” He didn’t care if he sounded bitter. What was so hard about hurting a guy? You’d think he was asking for someone to bite the head off a kitten.

 

“I know, but it’ll hurt like hell,” Jamie said. He was staring at Lene too intently for someone just asking for a simple favor. Just fantastic—she finally had him half naked in bed after daydreaming about him for months, and he was springing a fetish on her that she didn’t understand. It was like one of those moments in a movie where something goes wrong and the grand swell of music grinds to a halt.

Lene ran through a few choice swear words in her head, but kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to say something rash and hurt his feelings before she had time to process the information.

“Are you okay?” he prompted.

“Yes,” she said.

“Then talk to me. Say something.”

She tried to think of the most neutral way to say it. “I’ve never had any inclination in that direction.”

He rolled off of her and flopped on his back dramatically enough to bounce. “Story of my life,” he grumbled.

So much for not saying the wrong thing. She turned onto her side and propped her head on her hand. “I’m not saying I won’t do it.” Mom used to say,
You don’t know you don’t like something unless you’ve tried it.
Granted, the advice was dispensed in the context of casseroles and green vegetables, but it generalized well. One bite was the least she could do.

“Oh.” His face relaxed.

“But you threw me a little.” She stroked his short dark hair.

“And tell me if I’m wrong, but the way you were looking at me, I got the feeling that you wanted more than one little thing.”

He closed his eyes. “Sorry. I thought you might like to bite, but really, it’s just that I like pain with sex. Or messing around or whatever it is that we’re doing. There never seems to be a good time to mention this.”

“So you’re a masochist,” she said.

He winced, squeezing his eyes shut tighter for a moment. “Technically, but I hate the word. The guy it’s named after was an asshole to his wife and wrote a really bad book.”

“I didn’t know.” She let her hand slide down from his hair to his chest, and finally hooked a finger through one of his belt loops. He might ask for odd things, but that didn’t interfere with her desire to tear the rest of his clothes off and run her hands and her tongue all over his beautiful mocha skin. “So give me some idea of the scale here. Do you want a little nibble here and there or…”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I was taking that for granted. I just want to know what you want so I can see if I’m comfortable with it.” She was starting to feel annoyed with him. If she was going to be a good sport and humor him, making it simple and explaining exactly what he wanted was the least he could do.

“Anything short of permanent damage is all good. At least I think it is. I haven’t had much chance to find out.” He bit his lip.

Lene suspected that he was wrong. She thought of three probable exceptions in as many seconds: Hundreds of paper cuts. Being stung by a Portuguese man o’ war. A bad hangover. “That’s awfully open ended. Don’t people usually spell it out
a little more?” She tugged on his belt loop and inched a little closer. She had a few specific ideas about what
she
wanted, at least.

“I’m not people, and this isn’t usually. I don’t have a laundry list of kinks.”

“This is surreal enough already, I’m not a telepath, and you’re being about as helpful as a hookah-smoking caterpillar.”

His response was a flippant, “Bite me.”

In a moment of pique, she actually did feel like hurting him, so she found the faint imprint of her teeth on the inside of his upper arm and bit fiercely. The visceral jolt inside her when he drew a short, sharp breath and tensed up startled her. His eyes were open when she looked up. “That good?” She halfway expected him to say no.

He pulled her on top of him and wrapped her in a full-body hug. “Very,” he whispered. His skin was warm and soft against her cheek. He seemed so happy about her biting him that her irritation vanished like a snowflake in a mug of hot chocolate.

“Okay. Let me try again.” She turned her head and nipped at his other arm. His hands pressed harder against her back and he squirmed under her. She clamped her teeth down slowly, taking time to taste his reaction and hers. At first, he relaxed a little bit and stroked her back, making little contented sounds, but gradually shifted to a more conventional response to pain. When he arched his back, squeezed her and tightened his throat to keep from yelling, a rush of elation poured into her body through the heart. It would have taken her breath away if he hadn’t already been squeezing her so hard she could barely breathe.