The Thrill of It (22 page)

“I want it,” she says. “I want you. It’s just that I’m not used to wanting it. Okay? I don’t know how to ask for it.”

I grin. I can’t help myself. “This is how you ask for it.
Trey, I’m dying for your face between my legs.
Say that.”

She narrows her eyes at me and huffs.

“Just try,” I say softly, nuzzling her neck.

“Why?”

“Cause it’s so fucking hot to hear you say that I think I might come just from hearing you say that.”

She smacks my shoulder. “Jesus.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re insanely hot, and I’m dying to taste you and I know you’re not vocal or into saying what you want and that’s fine. But fuck, Harley. I’ve never wanted anyone like this. And I could spend all night touching your body. And it’s not because you’re hot or beautiful. Because you are those things. It’s because you’re you. You’re the girl I want. You’re the girl I want to be with. You’re the girl I’m crazy for.”

She inhales sharply. “Trey,” she whispers. I meet her eyes, they are fiery and wild, but tentative too. Then she pushes through. “I’m dying for your face between my legs,” she says in a broken little whisper, so low it’s almost inaudible, but I hear every delicious word and they set me on fire.

I undo her jeans, pull them off quickly, then tug off her panties. I don’t even have time to admire them. I have a mission and I’m going for it.

My whole body is a live wire right now. I am consumed with nothing but desire for her. My bones, my blood, my nerves are all firing at mach speed with the need to have her. Of course, I’m pretty sure all the blood in my body has been diverted to one place and one place only because I am too hard for words.

But fuck words.

It’s time for action.

She trembles with anticipation and looks at me with desire, want and the tiniest bit of fear, but I know she’s not scared of me. It’s the fear of letting herself feel that’s gripping her. But I am going to make her feel everything. I place my hands on her knees. “I’m going to spread your legs now,” I tell her.

“Okay,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes, giving that lame-ass word right back to me. But her
okay
doesn’t bug me now. Because her body has made everything clear. She’s so ready, she’s beyond ready, it’s like she’s fucking glistening for me, and I can not wait to taste her.

She lets her legs fall open, and that’s it. I’m fucking done. I kiss the inside of one leg, from behind her knee, up her thigh. She shivers, the soft little hairs on her leg stand on end. Then I switch to her other leg, inching closer, and she’s already breathing harder. Her hands search for me, her fingers lacing through my hair as she tries to pull me in.

“Do you want me to lick you, Harley?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to taste you now?”

“Yes,” she says again, her voice nearing a beg.

“Do you want me to make you come on my tongue?”

“Yes, please,” she says, and that last word has several syllables as it turns into a long, low moan of pleasure as I bring my lips to her. To where she wants me. God, she tastes fucking amazing, and I have missed this, I have dreamed of this, I have jerked off to this many, many times. And now I’m back in the promised land, where I want to be. I want to have her, to kiss her, to do everything to her with my mouth. To feel her body move and arch against my face.

I grab her ass, cup her cheeks, pull her closer, and she makes another sound. A bit louder this time, but still, she’s a quiet one. She might always be a quiet one and that’s fine with me. I don’t need her to scream or shout to know I’m doing it right. I know because of how she’s moving beneath me, how she’s starting to rock her hips and grab my hair. I know because of how she’s breathing out hard and stilted, and how she tastes on my lips and my tongue. I will never get enough of her, I will never stop wanting this, wanting her, wanting to taste her come on my tongue.

Judging from the way she’s arching her back and thrusting into me, I’m pretty sure that’s going to happen any second. I follow her lead, kissing and tasting and licking her exactly how she likes, in the ways that make her go crazy, make her thrash around. I glance up, watching her reaction, as she grabs the pillow, digging her nails into it, gripping it hard.

Then she says the most glorious thing I’ve ever heard. She says my name so loudly, and she doesn’t stop saying it until the orgasm has rocked her body, and even then she’s still gasping, her legs trembling as it fades like a wave rolling back out to the sea at night.

Harley

I feel it in my fingertips. In my toes. In my hair. Hell, I feel that orgasm in my split ends. Not that I have any. Split ends, that is. But if I did, I’d feel it there too. It’s still radiating through my entire body, and I think I may be floating for days on this cloud of absolute and utter bliss, like the whole world has turned bright white and gold, and everything is beautiful.

Trey flops down next to me, looking immensely pleased.

He nuzzles my neck, whispers in my ear. “You are so sexy when you come.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling the slightest bit embarrassed. I’ve only had five, maybe ten orgasms tops, in my life. I’m guessing four have been ones he’s given me. All the others were self-delivered, and I’ve never been terribly preoccupied with rubbing one out. Sex has always reminded me of things I don’t want to be reminded me of. There was too much sex around me anyway—smells and sounds, all those awful sounds from my mom’s bedroom or her office. Sounds I never wanted to hear. Sounds I never wanted to make. To be honest, I’ve never wanted to be touched before. I didn’t want someone trying to get me off, trying to make me feel good. I didn’t want to know what I’d sound like when someone did that to me.

But with Trey, I let go of all that. He’s the only man I’ve ever wanted to feel things with, feel things for. With him, I am learning to let go. Learning that sex doesn’t have to be embarrassing. That contact doesn’t have to remind me of all the ways I grew up. Giving up control, and trusting another person doesn’t have to be the scariest thing in the world. It can be incredible on its own.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” I say back.

“You look woozy. But that’s a compliment.”

I smile, but say nothing. I’m not sure what to say.

“I know I should feel guilty since I’m supposed to be a monk or something,” he says, tracing lazy circles on my belly. He bends his lips to my stomach, kisses me there, makes me tremble. “But I don’t.”

I run my fingers through his hair, so soft to the touch, so nice on my hand. “Me neither.”

He tugs me closer. I’m naked against him and he’s still wearing his jeans. With him wrapped around me, I can feel his erection. I can feel how hard he is through the denim, his size pressing against my naked skin.

I feel a rush of heat between my legs, thinking about how hard he is. Damn. I already had an orgasm and now I’m wet again, ready again. I squeeze my eyes shut, and I don’t know what I feel. If I’m ashamed, or excited, or both.

He kisses my eyelids. Then I open my eyes so I can look at his beautiful face and trace his scar that I love.

“What’s wrong?” He runs his hand along my arm, concern in his features. I don’t think he can stop touching me.

I open my mouth to try to speak, but my throat feels dry. How was I able to be such a seductress when I worked the men up and down Manhattan, and now with him I can barely eke out anything but
okays
? This is a new language I am learning. I am relearning the basic words, saying them for the first time, mucking up the pronunciation.

But this is Trey. He wants me as I am. He takes me as I am. He wants me sans makeup, sans costume, no lies, no airs, no tricks. So I try on the words for size, hoping I can get them out. “I’m turned on again, feeling you against me.”

His eyes widen with lust, and he groans loudly. He clamps a hand onto my hip, pulls me closer. “Fuck, Harley.”

“You say fuck a lot,” I say.

“I know. But fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You say these things to me and I’m dying. You don’t even know how sexy you are. How hot you are. How much I want you.”

Want.

I decided to borrow his words. To mimic. “I want you,” I say.

He raises. “You do? I thought on the subway you said…”

“I know. And I’m not ready for sex. But you know that thing I said I’ve never done? In the drinking game?”

“Oh god,” he moans roughly, pushing his hand through his hair.

“Can I?”

“Please,” he says, his voice has already turned into a beg, and he’s so ready, so turned on that he already has his hands on his jeans and is starting to unbutton them.

“Wait,” I say.

“For?”

“I don’t know how to do it. You have to teach me.”

“It would be my greatest pleasure,” he says.

I sit up on my knees. Place a hand on his belly. On his ridiculously flat and carved abs. “You have to let me undress you.”

“I won’t argue,” he says, and lies flat, tucking his hands behind his head.

I undo the button, then unzip his jeans, tug them down his hips, over his knees, and off. He pushes off his socks. I return to his underwear. White boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. He’s so hard and I can see the outline of his cock perfectly. I draw a sharp intake of breath because he’s So. Fucking. Big. I don’t know how I can take him in my mouth, let alone have him inside me someday. But yet I want to know. I want to learn. Because I love that he’s big and I place my hand on him through his briefs, and he groans and rocks his hips against me instantly.

“Take them off, Harley. Please,” he says, and this guy, he has no problem asking for it. Like he asked me to kiss him. Like he’s asking me to undress him. I don’t want to linger on the why, but he has no hangups and there’s something so freeing about that. Maybe because he’s so different from my clients. Because this is so different from any encounter I’ve ever had. It seems so normal, so right, so the way a guy and a girl feel for each other. All want and heat and lust.

I reach for the waistband, pull down his briefs, and his erection springs free.

I touch him and he’s hot and hard and smooth. And I have no fucking clue what to do next. Do I just wrap my lips around him and suck?

His eyes are closed and he’s already breathing hard. “Um, Trey,” I say, red rushing to my cheeks. I’m an absolute idiot. A clueless idiot. Because I’m a former call girl and I don’t know how to give a blow job.

He opens his eyes. They are hazy and glassy and he looks like he’s drifting off to a happy land.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admit.

He props himself up on his elbows and this is awkward. His cock is in my hand, twitching against my palm, but we’re talking about what I’m about to do as if it’s a medical procedure.

“It’s actually pretty simple,” he tells me. “You just take my dick in your mouth. And you try not to bite, and the way you do that is like this,” he says, then he shows me by pushing his lips over his teeth. “And that’s really the most important part. Trust me, as long as you don’t bite down hard, I’m going to be coming in about a minute.”

I nod. “Okay, here goes nothing.”

Then he stops me. “Wait. Do you want me to come in your mouth?”

“I don’t know. Do I?”

“That’s up to you. But if you don’t I’ll just tell you when I’m about to come, and you can stop sucking, and then just use your hand, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, and I smile, and I laugh, and I drop my face into my free hand.

“What is it, Harley?”

“Nothing. I mean. It’s just this is funny, right?”

He nods and smiles too. “Kinda.”

“I mean, we’re sitting here, and your dick is in my hand, and I’m asking you for tips, and you’re giving me advice for my first blow job, and I’m laughing, and you’re laughing, and it’s kind of awesome.”

Then I lick the head of his cock. “Holy fuck,” he says, and that’s all I’ve done, but he’s into it.

I lick more, kissing the head, then bringing more of him between my lips. He groans and moans, and I love the way he sounds, how he just lets go, and curses like a sailor, or a biker, or a guy in a bar.

Or really, like himself.

Like my Trey.

I pull my lips over my teeth, like he said to do, and I take him in further. I can feel myself start to gag, but then I relax my throat. I don’t know that this is my new favorite thing in the world, I don’t know that I’ve found a hobby like knitting is for Joanne, but I know this – he likes it.

And he likes it because it’s me. Because
I’m
doing it. Because I’m licking him, tasting him, and wrapping my lips around his hard length, and he likes it because he’s not paying me, and I’m not seducing him, and there’s no agenda. We are just a guy and a girl trying to figure out what it’s like to be with someone when it’s not a game, when it’s not an addiction, when it’s not a transaction.

Soon, as in seconds later, he grabs hard on my hair and moans loudly. “Fuck, Harley. Fucking, fuck. Use your hand too. Grip me with your hand,” he tells me in a hoarse voice, pulling me close, but not too far that I gag. Because, let’s face it, he’s occupying a lot of my mouth right now and I had no clue I could open that wide. I wrap my hand around the base as I move my mouth up and down. He’s salty and musky, and it’s a scent I could get used to because it’s him and I want him. I want him so badly, I am aching between my legs again. I am slippery wet because the sounds he’s making are the complete opposite of me. He’s loud as he curses and narrates everything. “Just like that. Oh god, Harley I’m going to come. I’m going to fucking come now.”

I could finish him off in my hand, but I’ve gone all in. I’m not giving my first blow job in a half-baked, half-ass way. I’m going all the way. He comes in my mouth, and I swallow the taste of him.

He shudders and hisses, and then he whistles. Yes, he actually whistles as I release him and slink up next to him. His eyes are closed, but his lips are curved into this crazy sexy grin, and he’s fucking humming.

“That’s adorable that you whistle after a blow job.”

“I’m whistling a happy tune,” he murmurs. Soon, he opens his eyes, and he looks drunk and happy. “Congratulations on your first blow job, Harley.”