Curve Ball (7 page)

And another one, when I see how he’s looking at me as this goes on. Or more: how he’s looking at
himself
, as he masturbates and I suck him. After all, that’s kind of what he’s doing. He’s watching my mouth on him through slitted lids, and when he’s not watching that he’s watching his hand and his tensing thighs, and yes, I know I should find this vain or weird.

But somehow it’s not either of those things. It’s utterly hot and kind of like he can’t believe this is going on – which is probably
why
it’s hot. Apparently, I really like men who get so into sex they can’t stop looking at everything and touching everything, like it’s the first time they’ve done this.

Even though it can’t possibly be the first time he’s done this. I’ve actually seen him doing it with other people – but I’ll admit, it didn’t really look as intense as this does. For a start, he’s not eating a sandwich while it happens. And then there are also his words, his glorious, magical words.

‘Jesus, you’re sexy,’ he says.

And then he adds, ‘You make me fucking crazy.’

Which I might frame after this is over. I don’t have time right now, though, because apparently he’s tired of blowjobs, and wants to fling me around like a football. Or, more accurately, he pulls me up for a kiss that makes me think of a thousand things, like how sweet he might taste in his own mouth, and how satisfying it is to be so wanted that someone actually does impatient things that say they want you.

And then he pushes me back on the bed, and drags me tight to him with one big hand.

I wonder if I can frame that too. I particularly enjoy the way his palm slaps into the meat of my thigh – like he fucking loves the sound it makes, the feel of it, the way I gasp in a far too excited sort of way. And I love the way he
yanks
me.

So much so that I blurt out, rather embarrassingly, ‘Yes please.’

And of course he takes full advantage.

‘Please? What are you saying please for, huh?’ he asks, which is pretty much standard Steven practice. Once, I accidentally said hello when I meant goodbye, and he made fun of me for hours. He’s definitely going to make fun of me for this.

Thankfully, however, it comes in a much more exciting form.

‘Please, Steven, could you run your hands all over my body?’ he guesses, but he doesn’t wait for me to confirm or deny. He just tries it out, in one long, slow slide all the way from my collarbone, down to the underwear I’m still somehow wearing.

My favourite bit is the slalom around my breasts, which lingers long enough to cup both of them in a rough, can’t-help-himself sort of manner.

‘Or maybe it’s
please, Steven, fondle my pussy
. How about that?’

‘That’s … I like that.’

‘Uh-huh. Take those little shorts off for me, then.’

Oh God. Oh God. He’s too good at this game. This is supposed to be what I’m saying please for, but I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what he wants. And then I jolt beneath the weight of this theory – this
revelation
 – because in truth I’ve
never
been sure of anything he wanted, before. Not when it comes to me, anyway.

But for once, I really know.

He wants to touch me there. He wants to see me. He can’t even wait for me to do as he’s asked – he just rips the shorts right off, when they’re at the halfway mark. And then once I’m completely naked – once I’m spread open for him – he sits back on his heels and takes everything in, in a way that should make me feel acutely self-conscious.

It doesn’t.

I’ve no idea why.

‘Ohhhh yeah. Look at that beautiful cunt.’

OK, maybe I have some small idea why.

‘You usually get this wet when you fuck someone?’ He pauses, closes his eyes. ‘Don’t answer, don’t answer. Lemme just think it’s all for me.’

It
is
all for him, but sadly I can’t say, now. Mainly because he’s told me not to answer, but also because he’s currently sliding one thick thumb through my slippery folds, stroking and exploring and just generally making me utterly mute.

When he sinks one finger into me, I move my lips around a sound that won’t come.

But that’s about it, in terms of vocalisation.

‘Ah, man. That’s so, so good. You like it, huh? You like me fucking into you, like this?’

I nod in reply, though I can see it’s not going to be enough for him.

And I’m right too – if in a really scary way.

‘Tell me you like it. Tell me you want me.’

For a second, I feel like the room has revolved. Like he is me and I am him. How many years have I spent aiming those same words at him, in my head? Too many to count. Too many to ever admit to, consciously or otherwise.

And now he’s saying them to me, as though they were on the tip of his tongue, all along. It almost makes me angry – like I should pay him back, for all the times I’ve longed to hear it and never have. But then, when I think about it, what am I paying him back for?

He never knew.

He still doesn’t know.

He’s just holding his breath, waiting for a no I’m never going to give. But it’s that possibility in his mind – that I might not, that I don’t, that I’m uninterested – that makes it easy to answer.

I’m not some fat chick he’s taking for granted. I’m something else. Something I’ve never even contemplated before.

Something worthy.

‘I want you so much,’ I tell him, and the look of insane relief on his face opens up a whole world for me. A great big worthy world where I’m beautiful and desirable and not the one who has to wait, or pretend I don’t have feelings.

It might just be for now, but I don’t care.

I’m taking it with both hands.

‘Do you want me?’ I ask, without the slightest doubt that he’ll answer me in a way that doesn’t hurt. It’s a startling sensation – this lack of fear, this ability to say whatever’s on my mind – but it’s a welcome one. It rubs against all the excitement and the arousal, until I’m a dirty-mouthed ball of flaming fire.

When he nods in this deliciously desperate, near mute-way, I counter with this:

‘Do you want my hot little cunt around your cock?’

Even though I’ve never used the word “cunt” before. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken it aloud, and it sounds alien and near-brutal in my mouth.

But brilliant, at the same time. It makes his eyebrows jump almost into his hair, and his body does this little weird jerking thing. As though the word came out of me and punched right into him. And once he’s processed what I’ve just said, he shoves out his own words.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘
Fuck
yeah.’

Though that doesn’t quite cover how he sounds, when he says it. He sounds like he would punch a bear, if a bear got in the way of this happening. He sounds so fierce I’d be frightened, if I wasn’t so turned on.

As it is, all I can manage is more lusty rambling.

‘Come on then, baby,’ I say. ‘Come on and have me.’

Though I’m not sure I expect him to actually do it. It feels like a dare, I think – until he produces 700 condoms from the back pocket of the shorts I recently yanked off him. And then it feels more like something that’s really going to happen. He’s going to fuck me, I realise.

I’m going to fuck Steven Stark.

But first, I get to watch Steven Stark put a condom on – which is actually much sexier than it sounds. Usually I get one in the eye before the whole thing’s done, or maybe the guy’s too anxious, and three hours of wrestling with latex sort of puts him off a bit.

This isn’t the case with Steven. Of course it isn’t. He’s some sort of condom expert, obviously. He’s put on so many of the things in his long, lurid sex life that he could do it blindfolded during a doomsday countdown. I think he actually does it one-handed, and so quick I’m not sure it’s happened.

I have to hold him off with one foot on his chest, just to double check.

Though doing this has some unintended consequences. Let’s put it this way: he isn’t pleased that I stop him in his tracks. His lips part and those eyelids of his get even heavier, until he’s looking at me like I’m a gazelle trying to leap away from him, on the plains. And then he says, ‘Oh, so you want to play it like that.’

Which isn’t all that good for my libido.

I think my libido swoons, and slides right off the bed.

‘What do you want me to do? Beg you?’

Oh God, wake up, libido, wake up! He’s saying things you’re gonna want to hear!

‘Maybe.’

‘Please, baby,’ he says, but oh, that’s not the best part. The best part is when he turns his head on the word baby, and bites at the ankle that’s far too close to his mouth. He bites at it, and then he works his way further down and
licks
.

The inside of my knee goes absolutely insane.

‘Just let me touch you …,’ he says, and as he does he runs a hand across my hip, and down over my leg. ‘Let me kiss you …’ For that one he presses his mouth to the inside of my thigh, though I confess I have no idea how he got there. Aren’t I supposed to be holding him at bay? I think I am, but I’ve completely forgotten why.

‘Let me make love to you …’

It’s hard to remember, when he says things like that. I mean, I know he probably says it to all the girls. He’s likely got business cards, with
make
and
love
written all over them. But for right now, I can easily pretend that he means it. The kiss I eventually let him have says he means it. And the way he holds me in his arms … That says it too.

He holds me so tight I can feel his heart, thudding through his chest and into mine – like in the water. His hands seem to span every part of my body, all at once … But that’s not the best part. The best part is that he does these things right the way through this long, slow slide into my body, and well into the sex, which isn’t like any other kind of sex I’ve had before.

It’s so easy, for a start. So soft and syrupy and easy. I’m used to fighting for every bit of pleasure and comfort I can find, but the only thing he makes me fight are the various parts of his body that pin me in place. I strain against the heavy weight of his chest, and the push of his amazing thighs.

And when it’s so good I can’t quite take it, he
makes
me take it with arms like iron bars. ‘No, no,’ he says. ‘Stay with me, stay with me.’

He can’t possibly know that staying with him is all I want to do. I might squirm and gasp and be unable to believe that something can feel this good, but the sane part of me knows I don’t really want to escape.

I’ll never have it better than this. He doesn’t
plough
into me. He
rocks
, in this insistent, deliberate sort of way. Like he knows just where all of my sensitive parts are. He knows how to fuck harder when I don’t want him to and grind to a halt just when I’m desperate for him to give me more, until I’m such a fucking mess I’m incoherent.

‘That good, huh?’ he asks me, and I answer by waving my hands.

I just hope he understands me.

‘Or maybe you need a little more of this …’

I don’t think he understands me. I definitely don’t need a little more of his thumb, on my clit. It’s bad enough that he’s fucking me with his enormous cock, while looking the way he does – practically gleaming with perspiration and absolutely covered in taut, flexing muscles – but to touch me there, to touch that little swollen too sensitive thing …

‘No not that,’ I tell him, but of course he does it anyway. He kneels over me like some golden, glowing god, face a picture of heat and excitement, cock still thick and swollen inside me … And then he just eases his thumb over my stiff clit.

Just a little. Just enough to make me cry.

‘Oh yeah. That’s it, baby. Give it up.’

He’s such a bastard, honestly.

‘You gonna come on my cock, huh? Yeah, do it. Do it. I want to feel it.’

So do I, in truth. I don’t think I’ve ever come on anyone’s cock, before. I’ve come on other things, of course, like my own fingers, or a vibrator, or the contents of the salad drawer in my fridge … But never a cock.

It’s a brand new experience for me – one in which I feel compelled to say his name, over and over again, and maybe struggle to get away for the second time. Luckily for me, however, he keeps right on holding me in place. He’s got one hand on my hip, and that’s pretty much all it takes to glue me to him.

While my orgasm rattles through my body like a runaway freight train.

Seriously, it’s the most intense sensation of my life. I think I kick him, in the middle of it. I know I try to squeeze the mattress into a pulp, with my forehead. And my back arches at such a funny angle I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to walk again.

But the best bit … Oh, the best bit is just what he talked about, a moment ago: the feel of him fucking me, through it. The feel of his big, fat cock easing in and out of my pussy, as my pussy shivers and tightens under the pressure of it.

It’s unbelievably good. Like squeezing a stress ball or punching an arsehole in the face.

And even better: he totally agrees with me.

‘Ohhhhh God,’ he says, followed by a bunch of other things that aren’t really words. And then he spreads himself back over me, and gives in to whatever he’s feeling in a great rush of fucking and feeling me and hot wet kisses that drive me insane.

He’s close, I think, then thrill at that thought. I’ve never known something like that so clearly, before. I’ve never seen it on someone’s face – in the way his brow is furrowed and his eyes are half closed and his mouth, oh God, his mouth – or felt it in the frantic way they’re fucking me.

And, most of all, I’ve never heard them gasp it in my ear, after the hottest 30 seconds of sex of my entire pathetic life.

‘I’m gonna come so hard,’ he tells me. ‘Baby, you make me come so hard.’

He says the last bit like a sob, like he can’t believe it … But that’s fine, because I can’t believe it either. He actually digs his nails into my hip, when it happens. And he groans, oh Jesus he groans so loudly. It’s almost like he’s panicking, though I can’t say I’m in any rush to calm him down.

I want to remember this for ever, and remembering it for ever means grinding the memory of him choking his way through orgasm right down into my mind. I want it so deep I can never dig it back out again, and as it turns out, that instinct is the correct one.