Red Hot Blues (13 page)

I’m looking away, at the window.

He kisses my neck, licks me like a razor left
to right, then moves up to my ear again. Nibbles it.

His hardness below is maddening. I have no
underwear on and I can feel him poking from behind his jeans, just
scraping my nub as he grinds and moves so delicately, so perfectly,
over me.

He grabs my head in his hands,
forces
my eyes to his! I shut my eyes. “Look at me,” he says. I don’t. He
growls, “Look at me!”

I do, feeling the sting of years of tears
behind my eyes.

“Don’t ask me again
why
I’m with you,
OK? You’re
beautiful
, Gin—”

“I’m not.”

“Stop it!” He’s angry. So angry. “Your eyes
are angelic. Your figure is statuesque. Your shape is womanly.
You’re unique, Gin.
Hot.
”

“Let me guess, you’ve always been into fat
girls?”

His grip tightens. Disappointment flashes
through his eyes.

“Sorry, that was mean,” I say.

“You have no idea how enticing you are. You
have raw sex appeal, Gin. You have
style
as well. Show me
one of these bimbos who doesn’t even spend a moment touching up her
hair, her make-up, or picking the right dress. They think they can
turn a guy on by being sloppy couch potatoes.”

“That’s the difference between them and me.
They
can
do that. I have no choice.”

“You do have a choice. And you chose
elegance. And you chose confidence. That song you sang, it’s the
real you.”

“You like the
Red Hot Blues
?”

“I like the girl character in the
Red Hot
Blues
. I like it that she takes no shit. I think that’s you,
Gin. I think you wrote it because that’s really who you are.”

He’s still inches away from my lips. Still
holding me behind my head. He smells so perfect, so wonderful.
Soapy and lickable.

“I want to see you naked, completely naked. I
want to look at you in the light and I want to worship your body. I
want to kiss and lick every part of you, every crevice, every
dimple, every hill and hillock. Every mound and surface. Every
opening. I want all of you, Gin. All of you. Because everything
I’ve said about you, how hot you are, how sexy—that’s just what got
me talking to you. It’s not what got me into this bedroom with
you.”

I’m crying now. Not gasping. Not sobbing. But
silent tears falling, yes. Tears have broken through, little ones.
He’s got me front-stage with a huge bright spotlight on me. His
eyes are the spotlights. And it hurts because everything he’s
saying is so kind, so caring, so loving.

But none of it’s true. None of it.

“What got me into this bedroom with you, Gin,
was not even your voice. If your voice were a supermodel it’d be on
every edition of Sports Illustrated’s Swimsuit Edition.” I laugh.
“No, what got me into this bedroom with you, lying on top of you,
wanting with all my might to get inside you, and forcing myself
against every bit of good judgment not to do it because I know I’ll
let you down—what got me here, was what happened yesterday. What
you did for me. When you held me. When you were there for me by
saying nothing, by asking nothing, but letting me know
that...someone was there for me. You can’t imagine how much I
needed that yesterday. You can’t. No one’s ever done that for me.
Not like that. Not so honestly. Not so purely. Some people pretend
that shit. They pat you on the head like a puppy and pretend to
care. You really did care. I could feel it.

“And...” He clears his throat. “Gin, I...like
you more than I planned on liking you. And...I’m being honest with
you. I’ll break your heart. I will. I swear it. I’m on the run,
always on the run. I can’t stop, can’t stay somewhere, I
can’t—”

“Shhh.” I put my finger to his lips. “You
won’t break my heart.”

“I will. I swear it.”

“No, you won’t. Even if we don’t stay
together, you won’t break my heart. Simply that you care about
breaking my heart, means you won’t. Just don’t stop talking to me,
Ace. When this is over, when you can’t commit and when I can’t stay
with you because I’m too scared, just promise me we’ll stay
friends. That we’ll talk.”

A hurricane bursts behind his eyes. Anger and
fury flash in them as if I’ve insulted him. “You don’t even need to
ask that. But I’ll promise it to you anyway. I promise.”

“OK.” We hunt each other’s faces, feel the
charged electricity sparking between us.

And then I make a decision.

“Ace.”

His voice is hoarse. “Yeah.”

“Make love to me.”

A tear cracks in his eye, the one above the
swollen cheek. It drops on my lips and I stick my tongue out to
lick its saltiness.

“I’ll hurt you. You don’t know me. I’m bad.
I’m a bad person. I hurt people.”

“Don’t make me beg, Ace. I’ve had sex with
one other person in my life. One. And I’ve never trusted anyone
else to do it with again. No one. And I’ve had offers. I’ve had
plenty offers.

“I’m trusting
you
.

“If you make me beg, you refute everything
you just said to me about me being sexy and how you feel about
me.”

His eyes search mine.

A century goes by. Then another.

And then he nods.

I feel his grip tightening on the back of my
head, his other hand tightening on my waist.

And then he does what I asked him to do.

I’ve broken through something here. I’ve
pushed past some barrier. I’m not sure what it was, but it’s not
there anymore.

I know what’s happening. I know it’s too soon
for us to feel anything of consequence for each other. I’m not
naive. I’m not expecting more from this than what is really
occurring: Two people, caught in the moment, making love. Two
people, fascinated by each other, feeling a spark, feeling some
magic, drowning in each other. Helping each other forget.

With his teeth, he grips the neckline of my
dress. Pulls. His hands are up at my shoulders, grabbing the
straps, pulling them down to my arms, taking my dress off the wrong
way.

My right breast flops out. His eyes go wide
with hunger. And then his mouth engulfs my large areola, licks it,
sucks it, sucks the nipple, bites it. His hands, both of them, grab
my breast and fondle me so that my nipple gets harder and taut and
down below I start
begging
for him.

He stops, slows, licks the pink disc fully
and completely, slowly, until little bumps of desire and coolness
break out around the hard and tensed nipple. My skin breaks into
shivers. He tries to get my dress down lower, to expose the other
breast, but it won’t budge, too tight. I wriggle. His tongue goes
under the dress, licks, tastes. But nothing. The dress won’t come
loose!

“I’m going to rip your dress off, Gin.”

I’m too stunned to say no.

“I’ll get you another one, before we
leave.”

Through hot breaths: “Stop talking, just rip
the fucking thing off.”

He gets on his knees on the bed, between my
legs, grabs the neckline of my dress with both fists, tenses his
muscles—
oh, god, he’s so fucking hot and hard
—and he
rips
.

There’s a long, wrenching tear—and screaming
want rips through every part of me. Every hormone I’ve ever
produced is raging full force now. I want him. I want him so bad
because
he’s
so bad. All my fears are gone. Gone gone
gone
! It’s just me and him, baby. And I know he feels I’m
sexy. Right here, in this bedroom, alone—I’m sexy to him.
Sexy.

And that’s all that counts. No competition.
Not here.

In this bedroom,
I’m
the girl.
He’s
the boy. No one else. And we’re hot for each other.

Cold air-conditioning sends shivers across my
skin and at the same time he swoops down, onto my stomach, and
licks, up, down, around, all over me. Wetting me. Kissing. Driving
me crazy for him.

Down below, I throb. I run my hands through
his hair and finally get a better look at the tattoo on his right
arm while his hands fondle my breasts and his tongue moves down,
down, down...
Oh my god, I’ve only ever been kissed there once
before.

And I’m so glad it’s you, Ace. Stay friends
with me. Stay friends with me. That’s all I ask.

The tattoo is a shield, and in front of it is
Lady Justice. Blindfolded, holding a sword, and the Scales of
Justice in her other hand. There’s text above it, three lines, in a
curve, but I can’t read it because he’s moving. I only see the ends
of each line:

—shadow

—Justice

—se can

His tongue flicks and licks and presses
lower. I hear my dress rip some more, the last little bits. And now
it’s finally completely in two. Split apart. And I’m lying on top
of it. Completely naked.

Completely. Naked.

I feel no shame, just confidence. Because the
way he’s kissing me, the way he’s
loving
me, I feel all
woman. I feel perfect. I feel cared for and hot and bad-ass.

And then I feel his tongue on me.

There.

And now I feel something else entirely.

Now I feel exhilaration. Pinpointed. In one
spot.

And it’s gonna blow.

I’m taut and tight, turned on. My stomach’s
in my chest. Crazy butterflies swooping and slamming against my
inner walls; psychotic butterflies—drugged-up, crazy horny
butterflies!

He bites my nub, just lightly, and the stings
of exquisite pleasure and pain it fires through me make me lift my
butt from the bed and arch my back and
growl
with need.
“Fuck!” I yowl.

My hands clutch his hair and my nether lips
sing. I’m right on the edge. Every flick of his tongue is magic and
heaven and each one threatens to catapult me over the Grand Canyon,
down the ravine and into the ground below with a splattering smash
of orgasmic molasses.

He pulls. With his teeth. And I scream.

Then he pulls away, moves down. Waits.
Nothing. Just his hot breath on my soaking, begging entrance.

Finally his tongue appears, calmly, just the
tip,
right
at the bottom of my slit. He presses it there.
Leaves it. Waits. Presses. Waits some more...

“Mmmmmmmm,” I beg, my hands moving to his
glorious black hair, fingers interweaving through it, begging him,
begging, begging and pleading with every movement to
take
me!

My legs tighten around his ears, but he
pushes them away, forever leaving just the tip of his tongue right
below my entrance. Pressing.

And then he moves it up.

And in.

And he
thrusts
.

His hands go to my thighs. He pulls me down
to him and thrusts so deep and then licks around, above, in, out,
on the lips, over.

He stops. I feel myself sliding down, trying
to reach his tongue, trying to feel that heavenly chocolate on my
center again—but he moves away.

My entire body shivers, shakes, trembles. I’m
so close to the edge.
So
close!

My hands rub his sweaty hair. In, out,
weaving through. “Oh, fuck me, baby. Fuck me, please. Please.” I’m
talking dirty. But I mean something else than what I say. I want
him to enter me. I want to feel one with him. But these things are
a little too poetic for the bedroom. (I think.) I don’t know. I’m
not a pro at this. I’m just saying what comes to my mind.

And I feel good saying these things to
Ace.

What finally does push me over the edge,
however, is not another lick, or a press, or a push, or even a
thrust.

It’s wind. From his lips. His breath,
blowing. Right onto my sweet spot, focused, and cold.

I begin to sizzle.

And then I shatter, into a million shiny
pieces of glass.

The bed slams against the wall as my
convulsing weight shakes and moves it. My whole body goes into
shock. The orgasm lasts a day. And what’s worse, is that he isn’t
touching me! Not touching me at all! If he’d only touch me it might
end!

The pleasant pain is excruciating. Just his
breath, moving out in a pressurized hose of air, blowing on the
most erotic point of my body while I burst, and nothing more.

I howl. Yowl. Scream! I blaspheme
imaginatively, ever so creatively.

And then I burst.

Finally,
finally
, he takes two
fingers, pushes them deep inside me—
oh hell god what a
relief!
—and presses down against my core with his palm. Hard.
And he eases me, eventually, over the edge.

In the end, I reach for him, reach for his
sweet ears and his soft face and his charming eyes.

I bring him to me, and I kiss him. I kiss him
forever. I kiss him nakedly. All I want to do is kiss him. And hold
him. And lie here. Hugging him. Kissing his chest, his abs, his
ears and his back and his arms. I want to put my tongue in him, rub
him, hold him. I want to feel his warmth and his hardness. And I
want to hear him groan. Want to feel him weep. I want to never let
him go.

I push him onto his back. Start undoing his
belt buckle. Quickly.

I kiss him on the lips. Wrap my hand around
his warmth and hardness below. That alone sends me reeling again,
gets me ready again, moist and taut and my stomach climbing.

I pull his pants off fast. His socks are
still on. I don’t care. I rub his gems, feel their softness, their
warmth, their slight sheen of sweat. I squeeze his shaft, watch the
scintillating tip ooze a drop of shiny pleasure. He’s ready for me.
I wish I could feel his naked skin on mine, inside me. Maybe one
day we’ll do it like that. Maybe.

If we’re still together.

I start hoping we will be...

Looking at his cock, I say with desperation,
“
Please
tell me you have a rubber.”

I look up at him, and his face says,
What
do
you
think?