He nods, his gaze darting all over my naked body.
I recline against the pillows and watch him. He’s taking some private inventory of me, thinking of whatever it is I am to him—a conquest, a kink, a gig. I don’t mind what. I only care that he’s here, and he’s hard, and he’s going to give me what I’m after. And look great doing it.
Bonus.
He pushes his underwear and jeans down his strong legs. The powerful shapes of his arms and sides and hips and thighs look like art in the cool December light struggling through the half-open blinds. In two paces he’s at the edge of my bed, then kneeling at my side, tilting the mattress with his weight.
“Would you touch me?” he asks, demonstrating with his hand.
“I’ll do anything you want. Just ask.”
He straddles me, knees sinking into the bedspread on either side of my waist, hard dick looming above me. His hands moves
away,
and I reach out to take him. Warm. Goddamn hard, pulsing softly. He smells potent and ready and dirty in the best way possible. His eyes close, and little noises, tiny grunts, escape his throat as I stroke him.
“Tighter,” he whispers. I clench my fist and give him rough pulls until he’s moaning, rhythmic and steady.
“Just like that.”
I masturbate him until I’m light-headed with excitement and impatience, wishing he was touching me too, but thinking it’s not my place to make demands. I stroke him until
precum
glistens at his slit and his hips are thrusting him into my hand, urgent.
His dark eyes open, staring down at me. “I’m ready,” he says. “You have lube?”
“Yeah.”
I reach over with my free hand to open my bedside table drawer and find the little bottle and pass it to him. He moves back, taking his cock and his body heat away, taking my excitement away and replacing it with fresh nerves. I want him inside me now, shutting out reality and replacing it with pure animal selfishness.
He scoots his knees between my legs and squirts a dollop of glistening gel onto his first two fingers. When he touches me, the length of my spine curls and the pleasure drives the crown of my head into the pillows.
“Do you want this?” he asks softly as his fingers leave me.
I glance up, and he’s rubbing the remaining lube over his big dick, looking a little flushed, a little dangerous, a lot horny.
“Yeah, I do.”
“You want me to fuck you?” There’s a new roughness to his voice, a harshness that catches me off guard and tightens my pussy.
“I’m dying for it,” I say.
He lowers down, bracing his arms at my sides. I shudder as he runs his warm, slick cock between my legs, over my folds.
“I like it kind of rough,” he says. “Is that okay?”
“Whatever you need.”
“Just tell me if I need to back off,” he murmurs, reaching between us to guide
himself
to my entrance. His movements are deliberate and slow as he teases me with the head of his dick.
“You’ve really never done it without a condom?” I ask. The idea thrills me, like a tiny scrap of virginity I’m about to take from him.
“Never,” he says, and I can practically smell his excitement. He pushes in with a groan.
“Yeah.”
“More,” I whisper. I watch him disappear inside me an inch at a time, the sweet pressure of him redoubling my excitement, banishing the doubt.
“Shit, you’re tight. And warm.” His lips stay parted, his eyelids heavy. “Fuck, this feels amazing.”
“Use me.”
“Okay.” He pushes in deep, almost all the way,
then
draws back. His expression transforms, looking mean in a good way, promising me greed and aggression, things I’d never ask for but long to see.
“More,” I coax. “I want all of you.” The dirty talk feels a little forced, but I’m determined to be a fantastic lay for this man.
He starts pumping, slow, faster, until he’s surging deep.
“Yeah.
Fuck, yeah.”
“Good.”
“Say my name,” he says, a little taste of the roughness he promised.
“Rob.”
Faster now, greedy.
“Yeah.
Tell me what I’m doing.”
“You’re fucking me, Rob.
Deep and hard.”
“That’s right.” He leans backs, pushing his knees under my thighs so he’s on his haunches, still pumping. I watch the way his belly contacts and expands with his breaths and thrusts, muscles tensing, and I’m so hungry for him I feel a growl rising in my throat. His cock is thick.
Dark.
I watch his wet skin slide in and out, in and out.
“Rob.”
“Yeah.
Yeah.”
His broad hands grasp my thighs, pushing me wide as his hips take me faster. His aggressive touch heats my blood like a drug. “Tell me you love it.”
“I do. I love the way you fuck. I love your cock,” I say. “It feels so good, your thick, bare cock. Fuck me.”
“Oh yeah… Tell me I’m big.”
“You’re huge, Rob. Nobody’s ever fucked me this deep.”
I watch with satisfaction as his excitement mounts from my words. I feel raw and elemental and
grateful
. I want
him
to feel like the most powerful beast in creation. I wonder if I should fake an orgasm for him.
“Fuck me, Rob. I want
your
cum.”
He sucks in a rasping breath, as though I’ve uttered the magic words he’s been waiting for. “Yeah, you want
my cum
.” He takes me harder and faster still, the impact of his body echoing just how desperate I feel.
“I need it. I need you to shoot it inside me.”
He groans. “Turn over.”
I ache for the handful of seconds his cock leaves my pussy, leaves me feeling empty. I shift to my elbows and knees.
I feel his head teasing my lips. “Beg for me,” he orders.
“Please, Rob. Fuck me, please. I want your cock.”
He gives me half his length.
“More. Fuck me deep with your big cock. Please, Rob.”
“Yeah.”
He pushes farther, feeling hot and thick and forbidden. “Yeah, you’re so tight.” He holds my waist roughly, a tug matching each of his thrusts, the damp skin of his hips slapping my ass. He pumps mean and fast, and I can feel his balls hit each time he rams deep. “I want to spank you.”
“Okay.” I hold my breath, anticipating the sound and the sting.
He slaps my ass lightly a couple times.
Then harder.
“Take my dick.”
“Rob.”
He slaps me again, harsh and loud, making my skin prickle and burn, making pain and pleasure tighten my core. But hotter than the spanking is Rob himself, the way it feels to be under his command.
“Say it.”
“Rob.”
Another spank.
“I’m
gonna
come in your pussy,” he promises—
threatens
—and I can hear him losing control.
“Do it,” I say. “Shoot
your
cum in me.” His fingers knead my ass, and I gasp as he slaps me again. I like him rough, the messy contrast of it compared to his self-possessed facade. I want him to feel huge and strong and full of himself. I clench my pussy around him and join his rhythm with my body, meeting his plunges, feeding his pleasure. A talented pair of fingers teasing my clit would probably get me there too, but this is all about him. That’s how I want it. That’s how I want to remember him in case we never fuck again—the embodiment of pure animal greed.
“Yeah, take my dick.”
“Oh Rob.” I arch my back. I moan for him.
“Yeah, you love it. You
gonna
come for me?”
“Yeah,” I lie.
I feel him losing coordination; I feel the desperation in his body, the quaking in his hips. I hold him like a fist and moan his name, pushing my ass into him.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
He eats my performance right up, even eases his thrusts considerately for a few beats. “That’s right. That’s right.”
I let out a theatrical “
Mmmmm
.”
“Now me.”
“Come, Rob.”
“I will.” He takes me hard again—harder. “I’ll shoot you full of
my cum
.”
I moan for real now, so fucking hot for this moment.
The headboard clatters against the wall, and he’s groaning like a maniac. I wish the whole neighborhood could see me getting fucked by this gorgeous, aggressive man. I wish I were horrible enough to have hidden a video camera.
“Oh fuck. I-I’m
gonna
give you what you w-want,” he stammers.
“Good.”
He slaps my ass. “Say it,” he orders.
“Rob. Come for me, Rob.”
He slams inside me, pushing deep, mashing our bodies together, his hips pressed hard into my ass, fingers digging into my flesh. I feel him spasm two, three, four times. I feel him emptying himself for me, squeezing every drop into my thirsty cunt. His moan crescendos and fades in perfect time with the fantasy, and reality
begins
to intrude.
As soon as he slides out, I roll onto my back and hug my knees to my chest. I know it probably doesn’t really help anything. But hell, it can’t hurt, right?
Rob’s kneeling beside me, catching his breath. He watches me, and as he comes down from his release, his expression turns uncertain.
Cognizant.
As if he just woke up in some stranger’s bed after a drunken one-night stand, blinded by the glare of sobriety.
I sigh and purr luxuriously, telling him he did everything right.
Because he did.
He got the job done, and it was hot to boot, my ideal outcome. I can’t wait for him to leave so I can masturbate, thinking about everything that’s just happened, and satisfy the ache between my thighs. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says with a little laugh.
“I’m going to keep lying like this for a bit,” I say. “Whenever you’re ready to head out, there’s an envelope on top of the microwave for you. But feel free to recover. Use the bathroom. Shower if you want.”
He nods. I can tell he’s relieved, glad to have been given permission to take off.
I offer a dorky smile, since that’s all I can be expected to pull off given that I’m curled before him in a fertilizing ball on my bedspread. “I thought that went really great. Can I e-mail you in a couple days?
To maybe do it again?”
“Sure,” he says, neutral.
“If you feel weird when I do, feel free to ignore me or say no. But seriously, this was just what I was looking for. I’d tip you if it didn’t seem so lurid.”
He laughs out of protocol, but I can tell he’s a little uncomfortable. I hope if I drop off his radar until later in the week, he’ll conclude that I’m not a nut and take this at face value and offer me a repeat performance.
Rob stands and picks up his clothes. He wanders out of my room, and eventually I hear the toilet flush, and he reappears in the doorway, dressed.
Handsome.
I wave at him good-naturedly, still hugging myself tight. “Find your envelope?”
“Yup.”
He looks unsure. He summons the nerve to walk over, and I’m surprised when he plants a warm, friendly kiss on my forehead.
“Drive safe,” I say, sounding cheerful and ridiculous. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Sounds good.
Bye, Abby.” He gives me a wave as he leaves my bedroom. I lay still, listening to his far-off rustlings as he pulls on his shoes and coat, as the front door opens and closes, as the weight of him makes the house vibrate faintly when he descends the steps.
I decide to lie this way for ten more minutes; then I’ll grab my vibrator and probably come quicker than I ever have in my entire life. I turn my head to look at the clock’s red digits. 2:36.
Nice. I can still catch
This American Life
with time to spare.
“Oh, you’re bleeding!” My smile fades as I open the door to the landing and find Noah Aubrey holding a bloody Dunkin’ Donuts napkin to his knee.
“Hi, Abby,” he says brightly, half bent over. He sets a paper shopping bag at his feet. “Sorry about this. I slipped on the sidewalk.”
“Out front?
Shit, I’m so sorry, I should have salted it again. Well, come in, anyhow.”
He shuffles past me. “It was your neighbors’ sidewalk.”
“Let me get you a Band-Aid. Here, take your shoes off.” I close the door and pick up his bag. I see a bottle of wine and a DVD case inside, and I steal a glance at him. Even injured and hunched over, he’s more handsome than I remember, especially with snow still melting in his hair and an apple green scarf wound around his neck. His handsomeness doesn’t punch you in the face like Rob’s. It sort of sneaks up from behind and gives your shoulders a massage, makes you forget about how stressed you felt before he arrived. Having Noah here relaxes me. I take his sporty black coat and toss it over the loveseat. “Hang on a sec.”
I jog to the kitchen and return with a wet hand towel and a big bandage. “You may as well take off your pants,” I say, laughing.