Can't Get Enough (16 page)

I held on to his back with one hand, my nails digging into him. The other gripped his soft length of hair. Some of it escaped my hands and fanned out around us. A tendril here and there would brush my breasts, my waist, and it heightened my senses even more. My breathing came faster as I wrapped my legs around him, trying to crush his body harder into mine, my feet catching in the opening of his jeans around his knees. One of his hands was next to my head to hold him off my chest, the other was still tight in my hair, both of them closed in a tight grip. His hips pressed harder into me and my back bowed, trying to get him deeper, even though it wasn't possible.

“Fuck. I'm gonna come. Come with me, baby.”

His words hit their mark, driving me straight over the edge. My orgasm crashed through me, wave after wave of poignant pleasure. Just as it started to wind down he slammed into me one final time, holding himself inside me. A grunt registered in my ears as he carefully released my hair. Half of his weight rested on my belly as he tried to regain his bearings.

The edge of the need was asleep, and now only the usual simmer kept me aware of my longings. I could deal with the simmer. I had done it for years. Lying still and languid, I waited
for him to get off me, savoring the weight and heat of him, committing it to memory.

I would feel every second of this encounter later, once the endorphins left me and I started to feel the need again. I should have been ashamed. I didn't even know the name of the man still inside me.

He climbed down off the bed, baring my body to the chilly air. I followed him down and rearranged my clothes on before turning to face him. This was always the awkward part. To my surprise it wasn't this time. He leaned down and gently kissed my forehead, tucking my hair away from my cheek, then walked away.

I waited a moment before following him back into the diner. My pancakes were finally ready. I looked at him from my table, and he gave me a wink.

I smiled and started writing.

THE GIRL ON YOUR SKIN

Giselle Renarde

H
ow could I complain? I was breaking my own rule.

Nesta and I made lots of rules when we opened up. She wrote them down in the back of her daybook, and we kept those pages pinned to the corkboard by her computer:

       
Don't bring dates home

       
Don't fall in love

       
Don't rave about how great the sex was

       
Don't come to bed smelling like another girl

The list went on, but I was hung up on that last point in particular. All night, I'd been tossing and turning in my sweat-soaked sheets. TV was boring. I went to bed with a book, but the book was boring, too. Brought out my vibe. Didn't do a damn thing. The room felt different when I was alone in it, when I knew Nesta was fucking someone else.

Waiting was killer. Lying alone in our bed, I waited to hear
her key in the door, waited for the hinges to creak, for her to unzip those big boots and kick them off in the hallway. Even the sound of her breath, the shallow guilt as she tiptoed to the bathroom, flicked on the light, closed the door—it was all there, right in my ear. The squeal of the shower. I heard every step in the process like an echo as I waited for Nesta to come home.

I felt feverish, searching for a cool spot on my hot pillow. My head was burning up, and buzzing like a beehive. I bucked up against Nesta's side of the bed, smelling her hair, her perfume, her body. It was all there in the sheets.

Where the hell was she? Fuck, it was…
9:45?
How was it only 9:45? Felt like three in the morning. I covered my eyes and rolled onto my stomach, growling. My breath saturated the pillow, and I rolled again—onto Nesta's side of the bed this time. I wasn't going to preserve it anymore. When she got home, she was just going to have to deal with messy covers.

“Do you know what time it is?” I asked, in my mind. But that was a stupid question, because it wasn't really late. “I've been worried sick.” Or maybe, “Who was she?” Or, “
How
was she?”

No, I couldn't ask that question. It was in the rule book. We weren't supposed to ask about sexual performance. I rolled back onto my side of the bed. More and more, I was starting to think it took a special type of person to survive an open relationship, and maybe I wasn't that special. Did everybody feel this jealous?

When I finally heard Nesta's key in the door, it came as a surprise. Maybe I'd given up hope or something, because I sat straight up in bed, on high alert, as if I thought the figure coming through the front door might not be Nesta at all.

She unzipped her boots, kicked them off in the hall. I couldn't
see her until she tiptoed past the bedroom door, and even then she was only a shadow. The shower would come next….

No
. Something inside of me was adamant about this. I whipped off the covers and stomped across the room in basketball shorts and a T-shirt. Nesta shrieked when I grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the bathroom. She shrieked like she didn't know it was me, like I was some faceless attacker in the night.

I pulled her tight to my body and held her there, like we were dancing. Her breath hit my chin in hot little bursts as I pinned her against the bed.

“I haven't showered yet,” she said in a whisper.

That day, for the first time, I didn't care. My lust for Nesta superseded any jealousy. I was so hot for her I didn't even know where to start.

Pressing her body tight to mine, I kissed her hard. She was too shocked to react, and I had to pry her teeth apart with my tongue, dig inside her perfect mouth.

Her perfect mouth tasted like pussy.

The sweet tang, the aftertaste that stuck at the back of my throat—it was pussy, unmistakable. And I shouldn't have been surprised, because I knew what she'd been up to, but knowing and tasting are different things entirely. That girl, that other girl, whoever she was, had found her way inside my mouth. She was a stranger to me, but her pussy was on my tongue. I could taste it.

“She fucked your face,” I said, holding Nesta's head in my hands. My palms looked huge against the fine line of her jaw. “You ate her. You ate her good. Her pussy's all over your skin.”

“Is it?” Nesta asked, like she wasn't sure if I was angry or what.

“Shh, shh, shh!” I didn't want her being scared. “Baby, it's all good. It's all good.”

I licked her cheek and she shuddered. “Oh god.”

“I can taste her pussy,” I said, and kissed Nesta's chin with an open mouth. “I can taste her cunt. It's everywhere. That chick must have been riding your face hard.”

“Yeah,” Nesta admitted. “She was.”

“Tell me what she looked like, girl.”

Nesta inhaled sharply as I tore open her top. “Are you sure you want to know?” she asked. “I thought we said…”

“Forget the rule book.” I leaned her down on the bed and kissed a sharp path from her neck to her nipples. They stood up hard against the cool night air, and I asked, “Did she do this, too?”

Petting my hair, Nesta said, “Yeah, babe. She did, but not like this. We were standing by the window, all the lights on. She stripped me bare so everyone could see, down on the street.”

My pussy clamped tight when I pictured my Nesta naked, all eyes on her, getting her tits licked by some girl I didn't know.

“Was she wearing lip gloss?” I asked, because Nesta's nips had a tacky texture that didn't come from me. And they tasted like strawberries.

“Yeah,” Nesta said. “Gloss over dark lipstick. Fake lashes. Golden eye shadow and thick black liner.”

“A real femme, huh?”

“Yeah, babe.” Nesta pushed down on her pants, and I helped her. God knows what happened to her panties. I'd never seen her go commando before. She must have lost them at this femme's place. Her pussy was bare where it mattered, with just a landing strip.

“You're still wet,” I said, tracing my fingers over the slick line of her pussy lips. She was drenched with juice, just dripping
with it. “Did this girl eat your pussy before you ate hers?”

Nesta nodded. “How'd you know she went first?”

I didn't know. I wasn't even thinking anymore. My body was taking her because that's what my body wanted. There were days when I wished to hell I could grow a cock and fuck her with it, fuck her hard. My system was in overload mode. Too much heat.

“Get me off,” I said, begging for it. I didn't even know what I wanted her to do, exactly. “Get up on the bed. Spread your legs.”

My cunt was throbbing for real, actually pounding like my clit had its own heartbeat. I pulled off my clothes as Nesta climbed fully onto the bed. Her top was open, hanging off her shoulders. Her bra was pulled down under her tits, but her bottom was bare. Even in the dark I could see her pink glistening. How much of that was pussy juice and how much was a stranger's saliva?

I'd never wanted to know before. I'd never wanted to think about who Nesta fucked outside our bedroom. But that's because I was scared. Scared these women were bigger than me, stronger than me, butcher than me,
better
.

That was it. That's what I'd been afraid of—that Nesta was looking to replace me, when all that time she'd been looking in the other direction.

I don't do feline and feminine. I like the look, but it isn't me. The girl who'd planted her face between my Nesta's legs had all that going for her. I could practically see her pouty purple lips parting to lap my Nesta's nectar. Pretty girls playing in front of open windows, for all the world to see.

My pussy pounced. Turning Nesta on her side, I spread her legs so I was straddling one, with the other launched over my shoulder. Yeah, I split her right in half and pushed my cunt right
up close to hers. She shrieked and grabbed her tits, like that would protect her from me.

“You're crazy,” she said, and I wasn't totally sure whether she was amused or afraid. “What's going on here?”

“I'm getting off on you,” I said, pressing my fuzzy cunt right up against her. “Fuck, your pussy's wet, girl. You're all slippery wet.”

I licked her smooth calf, and she moaned, thumbing both nipples. “God…”

She looked good like that, damn good, and I asked her, “Is that what you were doing while that other girl sucked your fat little clit? You twisted your tits just like that while she ate you?”

Nesta's eyes were closed, but she nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”

“You keep tugging on those tits, baby.” I rammed my cunt right up against hers, banging our bones together, searching for the sweet spot. It wasn't easy to find. Usually I'd have the patience for all sorts of bumping and grinding, writhing and adjusting, but not this time. “Squeeze your tits, girl, just like that.”

Nesta pushed her big breasts together as I pulled her ass off the bedspread, holding her up until my muscles trembled. She wasn't heavy, but the effort got to me. I needed to come, and fast. I had to find that perfect place where I could rub my fat clit against her pink. I wasn't getting there fast enough, and it made me want to scream.

I pictured this girl, this stranger, between Nesta's thighs, lapping at her soft flesh. Would I be beat by some chick I didn't even know? Never.
Never
. I traced my clit up and across the plump folds of Nesta's pussy until I found what I'd been looking for.

An imagined tongue licked our clits as we grinded together—hot, wet, slick and powerful. Every woman had a tongue, but
not every woman knew how to use it. Whoever Nesta spent the evening with knew just what to do. I could feel it like an echo in Nesta's pulsing body. I could feel it in the way she bucked against my pussy while we tribbed. There was something between us, something we could both feel even though it wasn't physically there.

“What's her name?” I grunted. I could barely speak.

“We said we wouldn't tell.” Nesta pinched her tits and squealed. “It's in the rules.”

“Fuck the rules.” I pounded her pussy with my clit, making it a cock, fucking her like she wanted. “Tell me her name.”

“Won't you be mad?”

Holding her hips aloft, I traced my clit over hers, feeling her shudder. I trembled so hard I couldn't speak. I didn't care about that girl's name anymore. I didn't care about anything. My orgasm was coming on strong, riding up my thighs and swelling in my belly before shooting straight to my clit.

It was fireworks, the way we exploded together. Her hips rattled in my hands. My cunt blazed against the soft, wet pink of her pussy. There was another element in the mix, too—a lingering scent, or feeling, or taste. Something foreign, not of us. Nothing else had ever felt this good, and I knew it was the unnamed femme, the ghost of a threesome. The tang of her pussy clung to my throat as I grunted Nesta's name. Her tongue was there on my woman's clit, lapping up hard while we climaxed together. The unnamed girl was there the whole time. No use denying it.