Engaged (The ABCs of Erotica) (2 page)

He softly laughs between my lips as we kiss.

Our mouths rub together through my finish. Richard stops thrusting, and I shudder to trembles.
 

He still hasn’t cum, and won’t until perfectly ready. Instead of fucking me into his finish, he leaves his fat cock inside me as I swivel my hips and wiggle around his shaft, taking what I need, moving around on his hard cock like a toy, purring, and wondering if it could really be this good for the rest of our lives.
 

I lift my ass from the mattress and press it back, feeling his fullness inside me. He must be aching, but of course doesn’t show it. If he was like any other man in my past, he’d be relieving his throb inside me.
 

Instead, like always, Richard gives me the morning.

I’m greedy, craving more than I’ve had. I want to cum again, and for Richard to fill me. I want to climb him like a cowgirl, fuck him hard until I have control and he’s begging. Without losing his cock, I maneuver myself onto Richard. He helps, holding me by the side and lifting me higher, controlling his cock enough to ease it deeper into me as I’m shifting positions, guiding his body so he doesn’t fall out. As I get on top, his dick slides out to the tip, staying inside with his swollen head tickling my soaking lips. I groan from the pleasure.
 

Pleasure is immediate: another orgasm thrusts away. I fall back, my body arching above him. I plant my palms on the sheets at his sides. I start lifting my body up and bringing it down, feeling the fullness of his footlong with every descent.
 

Richard holds me by my sides, just above my ass, inching me closer to the edge, just to hurl me over the side.

The worst happens: Richard falls out. I whimper and moan.
 

“No!” I cry out.
 

My hands fall between my legs and fumble for his cock. I find it, then stuff it inside me, moaning with relief as it slips into my tunnel and I slide to the base. I feel whole again as I’m rocking, gliding up and down his shaft.
 

Richard tries to help. I won’t let him, growling
no
as I fuck myself, still using his dick like a dildo. Richard grabs my ankles, holding me steady as I lift my body and slam it back, until I’m cumming hard.

Heaven: rocking back and forth so his dick is touching every part of me.
 

Still patient, still not fucking me into a puddle like he wants, Richard laughs from beneath me.
 

“Having fun?”
 

I am, and tell him with a scream that could break a window.
 

He laughs louder as I rock on his cock, taking what I want while he lies there and lets me.
 

I whimper, “How does it feel?”
 

“Amazing,” he breathes. “Like you always do, Liza.”

I barely know what he’s saying. This is what Richard does: gets conversational when I want him to shut up and fuck me. He thinks it’s funny, which is why he does it so often.
 

I roll my ass on Richard’s pelvis, taking his full length inside me as he palms my ass to lift me, then gently lowers me back, over and over. Our baby-soft skin kisses, and fills me with shivers each time.
 

I look down and stare, loving the way Richard’s dick seems to stretch me, widen my cunt to wedge more pleasure inside it, and make me want for nothing more.
 

Richard reaches up and grabs my tits. This is good; it means he’ll be wanting more soon. This time he’ll take me.
 

His breathing shifts. I hear gravel inside it.
 

I arch my back, preparing for what Richard will do.
 

His hands are still at my sides. He presses them harder to my skin and starts slamming me onto his cock. By the third time my pelvis slaps him I scream loud enough to startle myself. I laugh, but my laugh is lost in hysterical moaning. I try catching my breath, but lose it instead — slipping through my lungs like memories through my mind.
 

Cooper awkwardly making love to me in his parent’s guest house. It’s the third time I’m there. Three days before Halloween. I’m 16.
 

The first time with Leigh, experimenting, not knowing what I wanted, but knowing it was with her.
 

The long weekend with Zoe, when I knew I had to go.
 

Now, Richard’s all I want. The way he fucks me is perfect; how he loves me is better. No one turns my insides brighter.
 

I tremble at the end of my orgasm. He hugs me closer to him. Richard is barely moving inside me, just enough to prove his restraint. Further show me why he’s the man to please me forever. Not that I need reasons. I said yes and meant it.
 

We kiss, then I pull off of his cock. I want to feel him in my mouth, suck him until he explodes between my lips. Richard always shakes when he finishes inside me: spills in my mouth a trembling mess.
 

I scoot back toward his face, and lean down above his giant cock. I’m parallel to his body, tits above his stomach as he pulls me back, palms on my thighs. I lower my ass and he buries his face between my cheeks. I wrap my small hand around his large pole, admiring his tool, smiling even though he can’t see me.
 

I give it a flick with my tongue, swallow the tip, lower my lips, then drag them from his shaft. I do it again. And again. He moans, and pushes his face into me.
 

I pump from the bottom, and lick hard at the top.
 

Behind me, Richard laps my folds, starting low, running his tongue along the length toward my asshole. Each time he finishes a drag, he spreads my cheeks and rakes his tongue again, slightly deeper.
 

He kisses my inner thighs: sticky, gummy, and sensitive. Every kiss is sharp on my skin. I ignore my pleasure to service his dick, holding it tight at the base so I can fuck him hard with my lips at the top. I work my tongue along his shaft, slide up and down at his head. His pelvis shakes below me, threatening to tremble.
 

I want him to cum in my mouth, and feel his heat down my throat.
 

Richard stabs me with his tongue. I cry out and fly back toward the headboard. He wedges it deeper, then with his face inside me, starts to hum. He vibrates my body. I cum again and shake on his face.
 

Juice pours from my hole onto his face. I scream and moan. He reaches up and offers his hands. I grab them and squeeze, using my grip to fuck his face harder. I wiggle, writhe, and wrench my cunt. I slam it in circles.
 

I have to get his dick in my mouth, make him spill inside it.

I lean down and wrap a shaking hand around Richard’s giant pole. I hold it steady, bring him to my mouth, purse my lips at the tip, and slide down, victorious.
 

Richard relaxes behind me, withdrawing his face. I smile, grab him tighter, and use my mouth to fuck his dick into a creamy finish.
 

He fills the room with one
Oh yes!
after another. Then, when he’s barely coherent and I have my way, I slow to spend forever on the final few drags.
 

He shakes, trembles, rattles, and heaves, bucks up from the bed, screams, “OHMYGAWDLIZA, I LOVE YOU!” then cum floods my mouth.
 

There is always so much. This time there’s more.
 

He shoots loads between my lips down my throat. I swallow fast and miss only a little — the final unexpected shot after I pull away from his freshly milked member. The final glob rolls from his tip, over my knuckles, and into a pool at his lap.
 

I keep stroking Richard’s shaft, gliding up and down to keep his body shaking.

Finally he stills, and I come up to kiss him.
 

We lie in silence until I say, “Now we eat cheesecake.”
 

He feeds me until the slice is all gone.
 

Then, we nap.
 

I fall asleep happy, knowing we’ll wake to the rest of our lives.
 

The Proposition
 

I open my eyes.
 

Richard is gone.
 

I smell him in the kitchen, making wonderful. I roll to his side, hug his large pillow to my small frame, inhale his scent, and wish he was beside me.
 

I’m never sated. Still wet, my body’s still wanting. Life feels fuller than ever, yet being full makes me want more.
 

I think of him always. I crave his touch and his smile, his swollen cock in my hollow, his whispers in my ear and kisses on my skin. Promises and stories, wise words and
I love yous.
 

I wasn’t looking for Richard, but I’m grateful he found me.
 

I lower my hand to my slit and run a finger between my wet lips, feeling me, stirring Richard’s milk and my cum, mixed and drying inside me like glue.
 

He’ll fill me more later. For now I’ll shower.
 

He’ll hear the water and know I’m awake. When I go downstairs, we’ll share our first morning meal engaged. I still can’t believe this is happening.
 

I step into the shower, water hot but not scalding. It beats on my scalp, neck, shoulders, and back. I think of life where it’s been, and where it’s now going. I feel happy and scared, timid and fierce. There’s not a cell inside me that doubts Richard is perfect for me, or that I am perfect for him.
 

He’s 23 years older. So what. I’m in touch with my body. I love sex and would trade it for nothing. There’s no purer form of human expression. Richard’s a world renowned sex therapist with seven clinics in six major cities, author of
Cunt
” a tome he has publicly insisted he never meant to be controversial. The truth: He knew what he was doing and loved every minute.
 

I was born rich, and have high expectations for life. A troublemaker in school: artistic, fiercely opinionated, too smart for my own good. I went to a small, and ridiculously expensive, art college, and dropped out my sophomore year to do a lot of nothing. I left a broken heart and country behind, taking my parents’ blank check suggestion to trek Europe. I wandered Europe without a backpack, preferring posh carpet to hostels, until I finally came home and met the man I’m going to marry.
 

Richard is also highly artistic, fiercely opinionated, and too smart for his own good. I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone. More than myself. I love Richard for who he is and how right he is for me. I love him for who he makes me want to be.
 

I touch my pussy. I’m hot and wet from more than the shower.
 

I wonder how it’s possible, to be satisfied, and still want more. I consider touching myself, but know I won’t stop if I start.

I kill the water, reach for a towel, dry myself off in the giant stall, step out naked, and pull a dress from the closet. Richard bought it for me, and loves when I wear it. It’s white, like most of the things that he buys me, and too short for leaving the house.

Richard smiles as I enter the kitchen, eyes up from his tablet. “Good morning,” he says.
 

“Is it morning?” I ask, looking outside. Bright and beautiful: heat pours through the windows. I’ve not seen a clock. It feels good to not care and have nowhere to go.
 

“No,” Richard laughs, shaking his head. “It hasn’t been morning for a while. So I suppose, a good afternoon is in order.”
 

I sit at the bar. Richard slides his tablet across the counter, dips his fork into a mess on the plate between us, and brings it to my lips.
 

I close my eyes and savor.
 

“What is it?”
 

“It’s an oven omelet. Do you like it?”
 

“I love it. How is it different?”
 

Richard puts another bite into my mouth, and I make a long
mmmmmmm
noise as cheese drips in a string from my chin.
 

“It’s a baked egg dish, creamy inside. Almost like a casserole. This one has ham, parmesan, and parsley.”

“S0, like a quiche?”
 

“No crust, so it isn’t a quiche.” He tapped the granite. “Even Liza Elway can make this. Easy and fast. Whisk some eggs and milk, herbs, salt, pepper, whatever, add vegetables or meat. Bake it. Want to make one together?”
 

“I would.”
 

“Here, you finish this, and I’ll get our ingredients ready for the next one.”
 

I smile, watching Richard as he walks to my side of the bar, still naked — I’ve never met a more confident man — to pull ingredients from the fridge: leftover steak, red and green peppers, jalapeños, cheddar and jack cheeses, avocado.