Higher Learning Kris Starr
Work on Anne’s master’s thesis is going well until her world is spun off its axis by the stunningly beautiful and very sexy Leslie. Interviewing this woman about her sexual history is turning into an exquisite form of sensual torture, but somehow Anne can’t find it in herself to stay away. On top of that, Leslie’s scorching kisses and electrifying caresses bring long-buried feelings and painful memories to the surface. And it doesn’t help that Anne’s boyfriend Michael is willing to let Anne do a little experimentation. Anne’s obsession with Leslie begins to spiral out of control, affecting both her work and her relationship with Michael, until all that remains is a possibility that Anne both craves and fears. But not everything is as it seems and it turns out Anne’s not the only one keeping secrets.
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Higher Learning ISBN 9781419929595 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Higher Learning Copyright © 2010 Kris Starr Edited by Jaynie Ritchie Cover art by Syneca Electronic book publication October 2010 The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please Please purchase only authorized electronic electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
H IGHER L EARNING
Kris Starr
Dedication
To the wonderful family members and dear friends who have encouraged, cheered, given the proverbial boot in the butt and otherwise supported me on this roller-coaster ride called being a published author—I love you all. Thank you.
Trademark Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: BMW: Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktiengesellschaft Company Dolby: Dolby Laboratories Licensing Corporation Honda: Honda Motor Co., Ltd. Magic 8 Ball: Mattel, Inc. Marlboros: Philip Morris USA Inc. Nickelback: Nickelback Productions Inc. THX: THX Ltd.
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Chapter One The door to the trendy downtown Brownstone swung open, revealing a tall, slender blonde. “Leslie?” I asked. “Yes,” she replied, ushering me into the foyer. “It’s Anne, right?” I smiled at the woman, admiring her graceful movements. Years of dance classes hadn’t given me one iota of elegance in comparison. “It is.” “A pleasure to meet you.” Leslie offered her hand and I took it, her fingers long and slender and warm beneath mine. “Where would you like to interview me?” she asked, closing the door. “Wherever you’re most comfortable,” I replied. “Thank you again for agreeing to this.” Leslie shrugged, her lips quirking upward briefly. “I don’t mind at all. Your posting piqued my curiosity.” She offered to take my coat, and I slipped out of the leather garment. She disappeared around a corner to hang up my jacket, and I took the opportunity to check out her place. First impressions included air. Light. Movement. Intimacy. God, it was gorgeous. These places were astronomically priced, especially in this neighborhood, but that didn’t stop me from wanting one. I wondered briefly how she could afford to live here. This was definitely not a student-heavy area of town. Leslie’s voice drifted to me. “Could you explain your research to me again, Anne?” “I’m studying sexual preferences in relation to human psychology. My thesis for a master’s degree deals with people’s first sexual experiences and how those experiences affect their lives.” At this point I experienced the usual pang of worry, wondering if she would be the one to ask about the impetus behind this project. Thankfully no one had, yet. I took a quick breath and pressed on. “I know my posting at the student center was 6
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pretty vague, and I guess I wasn’t much clearer on the phone. All I want to do is ask you a few questions. This’ll probably take no more than a half hour.” Leslie reappeared, nodding thoughtfully. She didn’t seem at all disturbed about what she was being asked to do, and that was mildly surprising. “That’s fine.” She paused. “I think the living room would be best. It’s this way,” she gestured down the narrow hallway and turned to walk ahead of me. Framed black-and-white photos lined the walls. Nudes. Elegant and erotic. Her place was sparsely decorated yet tasteful and sophisticated, with a very homey feel. I immediately felt comfortable. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea?” “Tea would be lovely, if it’s no problem.” “None at all.” Leslie turned into an open doorway on our right. “The living room is at the end of the hall. Make yourself comfortable.” I smiled at her. “Thank you.” Her answering smile was hypnotic. It showed even, white teeth and made her green eyes sparkle. “You’re very welcome.” Her living room was just as sparsely decorated as the other parts of the townhome. Compared to Michael’s and my apartment, it was absolutely pristine, which pleased me somehow. As hard as we tried, Michael and I could never keep our place neat. It was hard when we were both self-professed pack rats. I sat on the sofa, admiring the supple feel of black leather. The thought crossed my mind again as to how a student could afford such nice furniture, but I dismissed it. It wasn’t my place to judge. Glancing around the room, I noticed several healthy potted plants, a framed Antonia Adams print and a handful of artfully arranged amateur photos in frames— likely Leslie with family and friends; I didn’t look too closely. I turned my thoughts back to Leslie, my scholarly brain kicking in. In initial assessment, she was turning out to be quite fascinating. Eloquent and well-spoken, poised and so far appearing highly schooled and intelligent—it would be a pleasure to talk to her compared to some of the 7
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idiot freshmen I’d interviewed earlier in the month. But above and beyond the brains, Leslie was also drop-dead gorgeous, in a blonde Scandinavian-goddess type of way. Genes had been more than generous with her. I wondered if she had any siblings and if they were as blessed as she appeared to be. “Do you take milk and sugar, or lemon?” Leslie’s honeyed voice drifted to me through the hallway, bringing me back to reality. “Milk and sugar, please.” I opened my satchel and took out a notepad, pen and mini-cassette recorder. I had discovered early on I could concentrate on my subjects more easily if I wasn’t constantly scribbling through their monologues. Leslie entered the room, carrying a tray laden with tea accessories, which she placed in the center of a large steamer trunk acting as a coffee table. As she fussed with the pottery mugs and matching teapot, she said, “Why don’t you start with your questions, Anne, and I’ll pour.” She sat on the matching leather loveseat directly across from me. I nodded. “Sure.” I held up the device. “Can I record our conversation?” “Absolutely.” Leslie poured the fragrant, steaming liquid. At my glance toward the mugs, she added, “It’s a blend of green and black teas. An unusual mix I found at my favorite teashop downtown.” I watched Leslie’s movements with interest. Her grace was hypnotic, her movements elegant and captivating. I reminded myself to quit staring and get back to work. “Smells good.” I placed the device on the coffee table, beside the tea tray, and pressed the record button. “As I mentioned on the phone, I won’t be using your real name, nor the real names of anyone you mention during our discussion. All of that information is strictly confidential. Now please state your first name and your age.” “Leslie. I’m twenty-eight.” “What is your sexual preference?”
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“I’m bisexual.” Leslie added lemon to her tea and settled back against her seat. Her gaze was clear and direct. I hesitated for only the merest of seconds. “How old were you when you lost your virginity? And can you describe for me how that took place?” Leslie took a small sip from her mug. “You mean the first time I was penetrated, or my first sexual experience?” “They’re different?” “Yes. My very first sexual experience was with another woman. It was a short time later that I was sexually involved with a man.” Leslie’s features became perfectly composed, almost masklike, causing an inexplicable frisson of tension to run through my shoulders. It felt like sawdust was coating the back of my throat. I took a sip of tea and pretended to think for a moment as I gathered my composure. “Tell me about the experience with the other woman first.” Leslie slid one leg sinuously over the other—a well-practiced movement meant to draw attention. It worked. Better than Sharon Stone ever did it. “I was eighteen, and the woman was the assistant coach of our high-school volleyball team. Her name was Christine, and she was actually the older sister of one of my classmates.” “Was this classmate a friend of yours?” “Yes, a rather close one, actually. We drifted apart after what happened, because I never told Stephanie about it, and I felt uncomfortable with keeping that secret. There’s a lot more to that relationship, but it’s not what you’re looking for, Anne, so I’ll just get back to Christine.” I took a sip of tea, enjoying the delicate flavor, and nodded. “Sure. That would be fine.” Leslie’s gaze slipped away, and she stared silently out the window at the gray autumn day as if gathering her thoughts. “Christine and I became close shortly after I
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joined the team. My volleyball skills weren’t the strongest, and I was the last person to make the cut, which was on the condition that I spend extra time with Christine after practice, brushing up on my serves and spikes. “I quickly discovered we had the same quirky sense of humor, and we laughed a lot during those extra practices. After a while she felt I had a talent for coaching too, so once my playing skills were improved, we’d spend extra time in her office discussing games and ways to correct the mistakes that had been made. “At the time, my parents were divorced, and it made my home life difficult. Christine knew about it and became my shoulder to cry on, so to speak. She helped me deal with the situation and the emotional stress that went along with it.” My cheeks tingled, and I knew the color had drained from them. Leslie paused and looked at me directly. “You’re thinking that Christine took advantage of my emotional state at the time. That’s not true at all. What happened between us was mutual.” I had the decency to be slightly embarrassed, and I searched carefully for the right words. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s just that there have been many other stories that have tended along those lines.” Leslie smiled. “It’s perfectly all right. I guess I would have made the same assumption.” She set down her mug and stood. “I have a photo of the two of us. I can show it to you, if you’d like.” “Sure.” Leslie walked over to a teak bookcase against the far wall and searched for her photo. I took the opportunity to study her. She was tall—matching at least my five-footeight-inch frame, and slender, but in a healthy way, and she carried herself with obvious confidence and determination. She also had the most magnificent hair I had ever seen. It hung perfectly straight down past her shoulder blades and was the color of sun-ripened wheat. I tucked a wayward brown curl that had escaped my hairclip behind my ear with a small sigh. Oh well. We can’t always get what we want, I acknowledged. 10
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Leslie finally selected a small album from one of the lower shelves and came to sit beside me on the sofa. She flipped to a photo partway through the book and leaned closer as she passed the album to me. I caught a whiff of a very sexy, musky scent— Leslie’s perfume. It struck an unsettling chord in me. “That’s Christine and me after a championship game. We’d won and were pretty excited about it. It was that same night that we first made love.” I studied the photo for a moment. There was no mistaking Leslie. Although she was quite a bit younger then, her appearance hadn’t changed much. Her arm was around another blonde woman, and their free hands were up in the air making the V-forvictory symbol with their fingers. Their matching grins sparkled off the paper, and I could sense a special closeness between them. Leslie studied the photo for a moment, a smile playing about her lips. “The rest of the team had headed off to the victory party at the coach’s house, but Christine and I had to return our equipment and the mascot costume. We weren’t too pleased about the delay in getting to the party, but we were glad for the opportunity to just be together and chat.” I made a few notes on my pad and also swallowed a mouthful of lukewarm liquid. I suddenly wondered what Leslie’s body looked like. Her cream cotton sweater was formfitting, and I could tell her breasts were small and pert. The skin that wasn’t hidden by her clothing seemed smooth and silky. Where the hell did that thought come from? I wasn’t interested in Leslie that way. No. That was crazy.
“Please continue,” I said, trying to get back to my project. Think thesis, I thought. Leslie looked at me for a moment, and I wondered if my thoughts had been readable on my face again. I sincerely hoped not. Slightly anxious, I waited for her to resume her story.
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Chapter Two The storage-locker door closed with a quiet click, and Leslie spun the combination lock. She glanced over at Christine, whose arms were full of papers and clipboards. “Chris, everything’s locked up and I’m going to go take a quick shower before we go to the party.” “Go ahead. I’ve got to bring these things back to the office.” The fitness center was eerily quiet at this time of night, and Leslie’s footsteps echoed strangely against the tile floor. Something nagged at her, a strangeness that felt weird and somehow also appealing, but she shrugged it off. Perhaps it was remnants of game-induced adrenaline. In the ladies’ change room, she dumped her uniform into her locker, pulled the elastic from her ponytail and grabbed the small plastic shower basket that contained various bathing products. She selected a towel from a nearby shelf then headed into the giant communal shower room. Selecting a showerhead, Leslie cranked the water on full-blast. At this time of day, there were no other plumbing demands, so the water was pleasantly hot, instantly sending billows of steam through the room. Dunking under the spray, Leslie shivered and let out a soft groan. The pounding water felt good against her aching shoulders. Turning, she gasped as the stream struck her breasts, the needlelike torrent painfully pleasurable. Her nipples hardened, and Leslie closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation. The sudden thought occurred to her that she and Christine were probably the only ones left in the building now, and a tingle of arousal sparked in her pussy. Sighing, she cupped her breasts, running her thumb over each rock-hard tip.
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“I should have suggested she come for a shower too,” she muttered under her breath, regretfully reaching for her shampoo bottle. It would have been so tantalizing to see Christine naked again, even if the other woman had no idea she was being watched so closely. Closing her eyes again, Leslie shampooed, scrubbing her scalp with likely more force than was necessary. At that moment, the sound of water running intensified. Rinsing the soap from her face, Leslie turned to see Christine at the next station, wetting her hair. Heat flared in her core. “A shower sounded like a good idea. I thought I’d join you.” “Sure,” Leslie replied, forcing herself to try to sound normal. “So that was a really good game tonight, wasn’t it?” Christine asked, dropping a dollop of shampoo on her head. “Definitely,” Leslie replied, watching Christine surreptitiously. “Great plays by Samantha and Kayleigh, for sure.” “Mm,” Christine replied, her head under the spray as she rinsed her hair. She’d seen the woman in the shower before, but this time Leslie could watch more openly without fear of being seen by other women. Rivulets of steaming water spilled over Christine’s small, perfect breasts and down her flat stomach, over the tiny heartshaped tattoo on her hip. Her nipples were hard, and Leslie couldn’t move her gaze from those pale pink tips. She wanted to touch them, to taste them, and the thought was both shocking and arousing. Christine’s movements stilled, and Leslie glanced up to meet her gaze. The woman’s expression was intense, serious, and Leslie suddenly felt self-conscious. Ducking her head back under the water, she closed her eyes, needing to break contact. “Uh, is something wrong, Chris?” she asked quietly.
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“Nothing’s wrong,” Christine replied. There was a moment of silence. “Do you know how stunning you are?” The words were almost like a physical blow. Blinking water out of her eyes, Leslie looked at Christine again and shook her head. “You’re a strong, vibrant woman, Leslie,” she said, “and I’m attracted to you.” Somehow the words weren’t really a surprise. A click echoed softly in Leslie’s head, as though something was appropriately confirmed. A sense of rightness hung over the room. “I feel dumb saying this, because I know it’ll sound cheesy, but let me help you. Please. I want to touch your skin, Leslie, but if you don’t want me to, just say so.” Something else clicked inside her at that moment. Leslie discovered she wanted Christine to touch her. And that she really wanted to touch Christine in return. Lathering up her hands with a bar of soap, Christine stepped behind her. At the first contact of Christine’s touch against her skin, a tingle ran through Leslie’s body. Sure, they’d hugged and high-fived before, but this was different. So very different. “I love your skin, Leslie. It’s so soft and smooth, and it seems to be like that all over your body. I’m so envious.” When Christine’s fingertips touched the curve of Leslie’s bottom, she knew she needed to put her hands on the other woman. A trickle of dampness ran down her inner thigh, and it wasn’t just soapy water. A small fire had sparked in her belly, and Christine’s hands were stoking it. Leslie turned and took the soap from the other woman. “You can touch me wherever you want, as long as I can touch you too.” Christine was speechless for a moment, her blue eyes darkening. The thought seemed to be arousing. She leaned in close then and kissed her.
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Leslie’s nipples tightened at the feel of firm, soft lips against her own, the kiss gently possessing, a sensation like nothing else ever experienced. She closed her eyes, focusing simply on Christine’s touch. The hands slipped partway down Leslie’s arms, stopping just above the elbows. Christine’s thumbs touched the outsides of Leslie’s breasts, caressing down and underneath. She didn’t come near the aching nipples, but Leslie knew that was on purpose. Tentatively she placed her own hands on Christine’s waist and slid them up, mimicking the other woman’s actions. Christine moaned against Leslie’s mouth, and her knees nearly buckled at the sound. Soapy hands slid over Leslie’s breasts, slick fingers teasing her nipples, tugging on them. Fire blossomed between Leslie’s legs, familiar sensations from having regularly masturbated before, but now made even more powerful because of Christine. Reaching up, Leslie played with Christine’s nipples, parting her lips to flick her tongue against the other woman’s mouth. Christine responded eagerly, teasing, sucking on Leslie’s tongue. The sensation was so arousing that Leslie came, an orgasm like a lightning bolt out of the blue. Obviously realizing what had happened, Christine slipped a soapy hand down between Leslie’s legs, rubbing and touching. With that added pressure, the orgasm lasted for several seconds, Leslie’s legs shaking with the pleasure of it. The orgasm was emboldening. Feeling heady with the rush of sensation, Leslie slid her hand down Christine’s flat stomach, between her legs, seeking out her clit. Unsure of exactly what to do, she figured it was simply like touching herself. She copied Christine’s actions and rubbed her fingers over the soapy flesh. The woman was so slippery and wet, and her soft moans so exciting, that heat pooled once again in Leslie’s pussy. It wasn’t long before Christine came, her shudders intoxicating to Leslie. For a long moment the two women simply caressed each other under the stream of water until simple touches were no longer enough. Christine kissed Leslie again before slowly moving down her body, licking and sucking on newly hardened nipples, until
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she knelt on the floor. Gently parting Leslie’s legs, Christine leaned forward and licked Leslie’s clit, flicking her tongue over the sensitive nub. The sensations were indescribable—gentle, yet insistent—and pleasure built higher and higher in Leslie until suddenly Christine slipped a finger inside her pussy and the orgasm rocketed through her again in an explosion of sparks. Leslie shuddered against the woman’s touch for a while as Christine kissed her clit repeatedly until she was ready to continue.
The tape recorder stopped with a loud click. For a moment I was too absorbed in her story to even acknowledge it, but when Leslie turned to look questioningly at me, her cheeks flushed, lips parted, waiting for me to change the cassette, I had to turn away from the heat in her eyes. My God, I couldn’t believe it. I was completely turned-on. That hadn’t occurred at all during the other few dozen or so interviews I’d already conducted. I made a few gibberish scratches on the note pad, hoping that Leslie wasn’t paying attention to me, but a quick glance told me she had noticed my squirming. A slight flush colored her cheeks and her nipples pressed prominently against her sweater. She was crossing and uncrossing her legs with unnecessary frequency, and it looked as if she was arousing herself with her own story. The traitorous thought that I wanted her to notice my arousal flickered through my mind. No no no. This is not going to happen.
Leslie suddenly turned to the side table next to the sofa. She opened the single drawer and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. She lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and gave me a slightly guilty look. “Occasionally I need one,” she murmured. I felt an inexplicable sense of triumph. At that moment it seemed as though the temperature in the room had shot up twenty degrees. A trickle of moisture dampened my panties. To distract myself, I decided to take a sip of tea, but my hand shook noticeably when I picked up my mug, so I just as quickly put it back down. It was amazing how much detail Leslie 16
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remembered, and I realized wryly that the old saying was confirmed once again—you never really forgot your first time. No matter how hard you sometimes tried. “Are you bisexual, Anne?” Leslie ashed her cigarette in a small glass tray she extracted from the same drawer. It was the last question I ever wanted to hear from another woman, and the first one I should have prepared myself for. I reached for the cassette recorder, my suddenly uncontrollable fingers fumbling awkwardly with the device. I refused to meet Leslie’s gaze. “I, uh, well—you see, uh…I’m…” I was a fool to think I could talk my way out of this one. Years of denial and curiosity were warring, playing havoc with my brain. It was easier to just change the topic. “Leslie, maybe you can tell me what happened next in the shower room.” A weight settled on the couch beside me, and Leslie’s warm hand appeared on my arm, her leg touching mine. “Anne?” I couldn’t avoid her gaze any longer. Her body was radiating intimacy and warmth, and I didn’t want to lose that sensation. Goose bumps appeared on my arms. “Have you ever made love to a woman?” Leslie’s voice was low, husky. Mouth parched, I couldn’t speak, and after a moment I mutely shook my head. There was no way I could answer her—I couldn’t even meet her gaze. This was something only my boyfriend Michael knew about—the erotic dreams I had on a regular basis that were little better than nightmares, the private, almost obsessive, thrill I got out of watching certain adult movies. Part of me was ashamed of my reaction to her; the other part felt wicked and horny. But Michael, the kind soul, understood the revulsion and curiosity. He had told me many times that he was willing to help me do whatever I needed to purge this need from my soul, even if that included a sexual encounter with another woman. His only stipulation was that I didn’t lie to him about anything I’d do without him.
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Leslie butted out her half-finished cigarette and took the notepad and pen out of my hands, placing them on the steamer trunk. “You want to know what I did to Christine, Anne?” No. “Yes.” My voice was a choked whisper.
“Would you like me to show you?” Leslie’s warm hands cupped my face, tilting my head up. Her gaze was dark with arousal, searching my face for acquiescence. She leaned in toward me, her breath warm on my face, and she paused. Please don’t do this. “Yes, Leslie.” I could barely get the words out.
I had barely finished speaking when Leslie’s lips touched mine. Memories came flashing back in rapid-fire succession, and the world rotated faster on its axis. Her lips were so smooth, so soft. Just like… Suddenly the situation was completely out of control. I panicked, breaking away from Leslie, my breath coming in sharp gasps. I fumbled for my notebook, pen and recorder and grabbed my purse, all the while beginning to babble. “Uh, listen, Leslie, this has been great. Uh, good information for my research. I-I’ve got another appointment, so I…uh…I’m going to have to leave.” I stood, feeling completely awkward and horribly embarrassed. Leslie’s lips were deep, deep red, and her cheeks were flushed. For all other intents and purposes, however, she appeared completely calm and under control. “Certainly, Anne.” She stood as well. “Let me get your coat for you.” She led the way back out to the hall and brought me my jacket. At the door we both hesitated, and I could see the indecision and heat tangling in her gaze. “Listen, Anne, if you have any other questions for me, please don’t hesitate to call. I’d be more than happy to meet with you to discuss sex again.” There was a flash of something almost hypnotic in her eyes, and for the briefest of moments, I wanted to taste her body, lick her clit, hear her cry out when she came. I bit my bottom lip and attempted to hide my anxiousness behind a polite smile. “I appreciate that, Leslie. You’ve been really helpful, and I’ll definitely let you know if I 18
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need some more information from you.” I stepped out into the street and glanced back at her. Her clear gaze told me she’d seen right through me. She wanted me, and she knew I wanted her just as badly. Even if I couldn’t admit it, least of all to myself.
***** “Michael, there’s something I need to tell you.” I pulled the duvet up over my chest as I settled back onto the pillows. Michael turned to look at me from his side of our queen-sized bed. “What is it, babe? Something to do with the interview today you were telling me about?” Drawn in to his dark blue gaze, I was once again struck with how much I wanted this man. We’d been together for three years now, sharing the apartment for two, and just a single look from him was enough to make me hot. He had longish, slightly curly dark brown hair, sexy sculpted cheekbones and an incredible mouth. A sportsadministration/physical-education graduate student, he was in amazing physical shape and was enthusiastic and energetic in all facets of his life. Our relationship was remarkable in that we were both surprisingly honest with each other—likely a direct result of previous relationships we’d both had. Neither of us wanted to play any games, and it made for an incredibly stress-free partnership for both of us. I was sure that Michael was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I nodded. “Yes.” I turned on to my side in order to look at Michael directly. “Partway through her story, the woman—Leslie—kissed me.” One of Michael’s eyebrows arched, and his lips quirked briefly into a grin. “Oh? And was she a good kisser?” I sighed. “Cut it out, Michael. I’m trying to be serious here.” I was torn between appreciating his attempt at lightening the mood and feeling irritated that he was making jokes about something like this. “If you really want to know, yes, she was. But that’s not the point.”
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His expression now serious, Michael was the picture of concern. “I know, baby. How did it feel? Did the memories come back?” “Yes, they did. I didn’t know what to do. It was as though I couldn’t stop myself. The worst part is, I actually wanted to keep kissing her. I wanted to see her naked. I wanted to fuck her and have her fuck me. It’s only the second time in my life that I had a reaction like that to a woman. None of the other people I’ve interviewed for this thesis, men included, had that effect on me. I was able to listen to their stories completely impartially. But not Leslie’s.” “Well, does she want you?” I smiled wryly. “She wouldn’t have come on to me the way she did if she didn’t want to.” “You know what I’m going to tell you, don’t you? What if Leslie can help you? What if she’s the one who can give you closure?” Michael’s expression was intense. “You know I told you before, Anne, that if you feel you need to experiment a little bit as a way of dealing with what happened, I’m okay with that. I just don’t want you to keep it a secret from me.” He slid across the bed to lie right next to me. With one finger he pulled the quilt downward, revealing my upper body. He stroked one fingertip along my forearm, his voice turned husky with lust. “I know this is really hard for you to hear, but it turns me on listening to you talk about getting naked with another woman. It might even intrigue me more than it does you. The very thought of you tonguing her clit, or the two of you sixty-nine-ing makes my cock so hard I feel like I’m going to burst.” Michael’s skin radiated heat as usual, and his woodsy, musky scent reached my nostrils. My nipples were suddenly rock-hard and pressing up through the flimsy tank top I was wearing. After all the discussions about sex today, Leslie’s kiss and the unearthing of some memories that fluctuated between painful and erotic, I needed to be fucked in the worst way. Purposely selecting the arousing memories and pushing the difficult ones away for the time being, I smiled slowly, playing idly with the light
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smattering of crisp hair on his chest. I lowered my voice as well, vocalizing some of the thoughts that wouldn’t stop tormenting me. “So what if I told you about me sucking her nipples?” With a groan, he lowered his mouth to nuzzle my neck. Between nips he growled, “God, I’d pay money to see that.” His fingers teased the bare skin between the bottom of my tank top and the waistband of my shorts, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I squirmed slightly under him, alternately dizzy and giddy with want. I slid my fingers down his washboard stomach to the waistband of his boxers, which were firmly tented outward—hard evidence of his arousal. I brushed my fingertips over the taut, already slightly damp fabric and he shuddered. “Watch it, babe,” Michael said, his head moving down over my collarbone to the shallow valley between my A-cup breasts. “Too much of that and you’re going to have a problem on your hands.” I giggled very softly. “I’ve already got a problem on my hands. What to do, what to do…” And I pressed against the hot, hard flesh again, more firmly this time, my fingertips seeking the fly of his shorts. In retaliation, Michael pulled one nipple into his mouth, sucking through the fabric, and fire exploded in my clit. Now, although I was more conservative than most, I think, I wasn’t too much of a prude about sex. Michael and I had always had a healthy sex life, but I had never burned with the kind of ache I had now. Writhing on the bed, I arched up against him, urging him to take more, take me, take it all. Locating the opening on his boxers, I reached in and grasped his cock, the skin hot and damp and satiny smooth. Suddenly the fabric of my tank top bunched under my chin, and Michael was hungrily devouring my breasts—tonguing my nipples, sucking them deep into his mouth, lightly biting. The sensations sent another wave of fire between my legs, the tops of my thighs slippery with wetness. One of his hands slid down my belly, under the waistband of my shorts, and he slipped his middle finger over my clit—oh, God— and into me. 21
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“Jesus. You’re so wet. Anne, baby, come for me.” I couldn’t do more than whimper. Michael’s finger was thrusting in and out of me, stroking me, penetrating my core, and the warm, wet suction of his mouth on me had me gasping for oxygen. The buildup had started; like a bullet train, my orgasm was rocketing toward me, powerful, unstoppable, explosive. Michael stopped suckling long enough to whisper, “What if Leslie were here, sucking your tits?” The world froze. Imagining Leslie’s mouth in place of Michael’s, Leslie’s tongue laving my nipples while Michael finger-fucked me, made me come so hard my body arched off the mattress. And it didn’t stop. Shudder after shudder claimed me, drained me, swallowed me whole. My reaction apparently surprised Michael as well—he came in my hand, his creamy semen covering my fingers, his entire body shaking as well. Finding my voice, I murmured slowly, “What if she was?”
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Chapter Three The college graduate student offices were a throwback to the sixties—institutional, no more than functional and plain in every way. The walls were the dingy army green of old military bases and hospitals. The desks were probably purchased the same year I was born, and the faded linoleum was scuffed and curling in spots. I stared at the computer monitor in front of me, the only evidence of a new millennium in the room, but the text on the screen was gibberish. This damn thesis was due in a month, and I’d barely listened to any of the interview recordings. No, scratch that—I’d barely listened to the other recordings—I’d listened to Leslie’s cassette at least two dozen times in the past week. Seven days. I stared at the day planner that lay open on the desk in front of me. Seven whole days, and all I’d done in that time was think about Leslie. Replayed her kiss in my mind in full, vivid color, on a continuously repeating loop. If I closed my eyes, I could smell her musky perfume, feel the gentle, insistent pressure of her lips. Sense the tingle that zapped through my clit—the same tingle that still remained with me, showing no signs of abating—as though Leslie’s touch had completed some sort of electrical circuit in my body that now kept me in a constant state of arousal. Warring with that was the fear, the anxiety. Feeling as if everyone I passed on the street or in the hallways knew. Knew what I really wanted deep down. Knew that even after all this time, the feelings couldn’t stay buried—not with this kind of constant stimulation. I didn’t have a scarlet A on my shirt—I had a scarlet L. Groaning, I folded my arms on the desktop and dropped my head onto them. I was so distracted I was miserable, and although I knew I was putting up a good front, I figured if I didn’t do something about it soon, Michael was going to notice. Hell, we’d had sex at least once every day since “the Leslie incident”—as I’d dubbed it—and
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frankly, even though we have a rather healthy sex life, even that was somewhat of an anomaly for us. I decided it was about time to face the proverbial music. There was no way I could keep the memories locked away any longer. Not at the rate they kept breaking through my consciousness. I’d wallowed for long enough. Start at the beginning, because at least I knew and understood the beginning. It was the here and now that I was having trouble with. No, not the beginning. The beginning meant going back to high school. Being eighteen again. The unforgettable hurt. I wasn’t going there. Not today. Another random thought teased the edges of my brain and I chased after it instead, the flickering image taunting me. I pushed the other memories away. For now. Instead I thought about Michael. The first few months of our relationship. When Michael and I met, I wasn’t a virgin, but my sex life had been more of a burden to me than anything else. I slept with a man for the first time late in life— compared to my girlfriends—at twenty. And the two other sexual relationships I’d had had been mediocre—although I didn’t have Michael to compare them to back then, so I didn’t know—and short-lived. Besides, my heart hadn’t been in it at the time. It was all a matter of going through the motions—giving in after being pressured long enough. I wanted to believe I’d found true love but knew in those instances I was just deluding myself. It was all in an attempt to take the shame and guilt away. Boy, did that backfire. But Michael was so completely different. He surprised and intrigued me right from the first day we met. It was at the campus fitness center one evening, right after Christmas break. I’d made another one of those ridiculous resolutions about losing the extra ten pounds I’d gained over the previous year and was at that moment struggling to get the electronic touchpad on the treadmill to cooperate. Michael had likely seen me either pounding away at the poor defenseless machine or had heard my sailor impersonation all the way across the room, but regardless, he was kind enough to take pity on me… 24
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“Did the poor machine insult you that badly? It can’t deserve that kind of punishment, can it?” The low baritone snaked its way down my spine and settled right at my hips. With a chuckle, I said, “But I have been insulted. Either that or this treadmill is cursed. I can’t quite decide which—” And at that moment, I turned to glance at the form beside me. A pair of sapphire-blue eyes fringed with long, dark, sooty lashes immediately took my breath away. Even slightly sweaty, obviously in a post-workout state, this tall, lean, well-toned man was dazzling. It was only at the last minute that I remembered to keep my mouth closed to avoid gaping like a fish. What I couldn’t do, however, was keep my hand from flying up to touch my hair, which had been thrown back in to a loose ponytail. At least it didn’t look too horrid, I thought. And I sent up silent thanks that I hadn’t started my workout and therefore wasn’t yet a sweaty mess. “I think it most definitely is cursed, because it couldn’t be the user having problems. Excuse me,” he said, reaching across me to tap several buttons in quick succession. With a soft beep the viewscreen cleared and indicated the machine was ready for use. I grinned at him, relieved to have the problem solved. “Thank you—” “Michael.” “Anne.” I took the proffered hand and hesitated for the briefest of moments to enjoy the warmth, the strength. “I haven’t seen you here before, Anne.” Michael released my hand very slowly, almost as if he didn’t want to let it go. I filed that tiny bit of information for later, when I could obsess over it at my own leisure. I chuckled, aiming for normalcy. “To be honest, this is my first time back in the fitness center since early in the fall. I used to be here first thing in the morning, though.”
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Michael nodded. “Then it makes sense that I didn’t recognize you. I’m a night owl myself.” He hesitated for a moment. “Would you be interested in grabbing a coffee after you’re done your workout?” I blinked. Was this a date? I’d just met this breathtaking man and he was asking me for a date? Not about to miss out on this lovely little karma ticket being handed my way, I grinned at him. “Love to. Can I meet you in about an hour?” His grin was electric—wide, sensual mouth, straight, white teeth—and for a moment I actually forgot to take a breath. I had no idea what I’d done to deserve this good fortune, but I wasn’t about to start complaining. “Sounds perfect. How about if I meet you at Cat’s over in Aldur Hall?” I nodded. “Fine by me. I’ll see you there.” Michael flashed one more of those killer smiles at me and departed. I have absolutely no recollection of that workout. All I know is I exercised, showered and dressed in a haze of wonder. Fate was certainly on my side that night, because I had even packed some makeup in my gym bag—something I normally didn’t do. Michael and I sat at a table at Cat’s Café, the student-run campus coffee shop, until they finally closed at two o’clock in the morning. We talked about absolutely everything, as though we were old friends who had reunited, and it thrilled me to learn that he was so much more than just a pretty face. Michael made me feel so comfortable with him that it didn’t take me long to begin falling for him. But after several dates I started to second-guess myself. The conversation was intelligent, thought-provoking and interesting, and Michael had a razor-sharp sense of humor. On top of that, he seemed to truly listen to me. If it weren’t for that overwhelming sense of closeness, I wouldn’t have told him about my past the way I did. But he invited that kind of honesty and was respectful and very supportive. But he still hadn’t done more than chastely kiss me goodnight. And although I felt wanton and reckless and giddy being around him, he seemed not to feel the same way
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about me. And it worried me that, although it would still be a wonderful thing, our relationship might end up as more of a friendship. But surprisingly enough, the clincher came six months into our relationship. Michael invited me out to see a recently released documentary on human sexuality that was playing at the indie art house theater downtown. I was more than a little surprised about his choice in movies, but he insisted, saying that I could probably use some of the information in my studies. “And who knows? I may be able to pick up a new trick or two,” he joked, winking at me. Amused and mildly skeptical, I agreed to the date. I mean, we could have spent the evening sitting in a room watching paint dry. It didn’t matter to me. The only thing that really mattered was spending more time with this unbelievably gorgeous, intelligent man. If I have to tell the truth, I wasn’t entirely sure this movie would even hold my interest. But like I said, I was just giddy to be spending time with Michael. It was then I discovered I didn’t need to worry about a lack of sexual magnetism between Michael and me. The documentary included snippets of actual, no-holdsbarred adult video footage with nary a pixel to be seen, and in the dark intimacy of the movie theater, serenaded by faux moans and groans in THX Dolby surround sound, a new, deeper awareness shimmered between us as thick as fog. Early in the film I’d leaned back and put my head on Michael’s shoulder, and he’d put his arm around me. Enveloped by his musky scent mixed with a soapy cleanliness, plus a hint of spicy aftershave, not to mention the feel of his hand on my shoulder… Well, all that in combination with the movie’s assault on my other senses—I was beyond aroused. On screen, the slutty nurse was having her breasts thoroughly examined by the horny doctor. Michael’s husky voice in my ear made me jump slightly in my seat. “I know we’ve been taking things slowly, Anne,” he whispered, his lips barely brushing my earlobe, “and that’s perfectly okay, but I need to tell you how much I want 27
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you. I can’t stop thinking about it. You’re on my mind from the minute I wake up to the minute I go to sleep. And at least twelve dozen times during the day.” The fingers on his left hand were now stroking my shoulder, sliding down my arm and back up. “I know you’ve been hurting for a long time. And I want you to know that I’ll let you set the pace for everything. You can have full control.” The doctor was now apparently fascinated with the nurse’s stockings and garter belt, and it appeared she was helping him fix a stuck zipper on his slacks. Michael’s right hand appeared on my thigh, just resting on the hem of my short denim skirt. The heat of his palm damn near scalded me. I held my breath, ready to halt the progress of those fingers if they threatened to go exploring. After revealing my innermost secrets to Michael, I still wanted to take things at a snail’s pace, even though it was dizzyingly arousing to even just be near him. Michael had seemed to be completely understanding about my preferences. This was the test though. With all this stimulation surrounding us, would he maintain control? Would I? The fingertips slid on top of the denim, caressing my leg above the barrier, and I exhaled softly. It was one hurdle. It was possible I was being paranoid, but I didn’t believe that for a second. “I’m willing to wait as long as you need, Anne. You tell me what you want, and I’ll do whatever that is. I just know that after these few months that we’ve been seeing each other, I’ve come to realize I want to be with you all the time.” My eyelids had fluttered closed and, the movie soundtrack had vanished; all that existed was that husky voice teasing my ear. His breath was warm on my skin, and when his mouth moved so that his lips brushed my cheek, my fingernails sank into the chair’s armrests. I turned my head and nuzzled his nose with my own. Holding my lips a breath away from his, I murmured, “Oh, Michael.” 28
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Then he kissed me. Properly. And the entire universe evaporated. Casanova, Don Juan and Johnny Depp had nothing on this guy. His lips were firm yet gentle, and he pressed dozens of kisses against my mouth as though he would be content to forever do just that. Overwhelmed with sensuous pleasure, I decided to put the man out of his misery, and I parted my lips. With a sigh, he deepened the kiss, his tongue gently yet insistently requesting entrance. Stroking the tip with that of my own, I felt him shudder and instantly understood the depth of his need. He spent the remainder of the film making love to my mouth. His hands never strayed, which was a bit of a relief—even though deep down I half wished they would—and he went no further. But his lips devoured mine, and the slight stubble on his jaw left my mouth pink and sensitive for a full day afterward. For long hours after he kissed me good-night at my front door, I lay awake, wondering if he would show other parts of my body the same level of devotion he’d shown my mouth…
The computer’s screen saver clicked on, startling me out of my reverie, and I glanced up to watch the hypnotic colors and circles swirl around the screen, too frustrated to let the soothing motions calm me. “That has nothing to do with Leslie though,” I murmured aloud. Michael’s and my relationship had progressed fairly steadily after that point, and he was true to his word—I set the pace and took control of every step until we finally made love. The release that gave me was cathartic. Allowing myself to get close to him emotionally soothed many of my fears and healed me quite a bit. But not completely. No, not even close. There was more to be done. But what was I going to do? How was I going to do it? And most importantly, could I even do anything without completely falling apart at the seams? I waited for an answer. Nothing. No divine intervention, no lightning bolts of understanding. No clanging gongs. 29
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No, no gongs, but… Bells. Startled, I jerked back into an upright position, my heart thundering. And then bit back a choking gasp of laughter when I realized it was my cell phone ringing deep inside my purse. Scrambling through the mess, I finally located the device and answered the call. “Hello?” “Anne?” The voice on the other end was instantly recognizable. The breath left my lungs in a sudden whoosh, leaving me like a fish caught on dry land. Mind scrambling for the suddenly missing English language, I did the only thing I could think of at the time— stall. “Uh, yes. This is she. Who’s calling, please?” “It’s Leslie. Leslie MacPherson. You interviewed me about a week ago for your master’s thesis?” I closed my eyes, the fingertips of the hand holding the phone beginning to tingle. Simply the sound of Leslie’s voice managed to ramp up that underlying awareness in my veins to deafening proportions. Apparently my silence had lingered for too long, the sound of concern beginning to stain her words. “Anne? Are you there?” I swallowed. Hard. Forcing nonexistent saliva down my parched throat. I glanced at my empty water bottle sitting next to the computer monitor and silently prayed for liquid relief. Or courage, whichever was more appropriate. “Yes, Leslie. I’m here. Sorry,” I cringed as the lie passed through my lips, “my cell has poor reception in the grad lab. What can I do for you?” There was the barest hint of hesitation on the other end. Despite what I’d told Leslie, my cell phone’s reception was so crystal-clear I could hear the click of her lighter and her sharp intake of breath as she lit a cigarette.
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“I happened to see the sheet of paper you left with me the other day—you know, the one with your name and contact information on it—and I realized that we’d never completed my interview. At least, I believe we weren’t done. It is your thesis, after all.” Leslie’s voice softened, and there was a note of something in it that I couldn’t identify. “Uh, right. You were still supposed to give me some information.” I closed my eyes. “I…forgot about that, actually. I’m sorry.” There was more hesitation on the other end. “I’d still like to help you out, Anne. You owe it to yourself to get as much documentation as you can—to make your thesis as comprehensive as possible.” Leslie grew quiet, and I froze, torn between wanting to see her again so badly that my body ached and wanting to get as far away from this woman as I possibly could. Forget about who she was and what she offered. Forget about the ideas she was putting in my head. If I could just have closure for this relationship, my life could go back to normal. And it was beginning to appear that the only way to do that would be to see her again. But I still wasn’t ready to make a commitment. “Yes. My research can use as much support as I can get. Unfortunately, I don’t have a whole lot of time free—” “What about this evening?” Leslie interrupted me. “I won’t keep you long, I promise. I just think that the sooner we do this, the better.” I took a deep breath. It looked as if the decision was already made. We agreed on a time, and I ended the call, Leslie’s words still echoing in my head. The sooner we do this, the better.
My sentiments exactly.
***** Tossing my phone back into my bag, I noticed my hands were shaking. My mouth, so arid mere seconds ago, was now awash in saliva. Adrenaline pumping through my veins, I marveled at how the mere idea of going back to Leslie’s house made me feel like 31
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a jackrabbit on speed. My traitorous brain was speculating on multiple scenarios, and I tried to ignore it and them. Ha. Fat chance. It would be easier to ignore the emperor flaunting his new clothes down Main Street. What if she tries to kiss you again? What if you let her? Stop it! No, seriously. She’s going to do it. Or she’s going to try, and then it’s up to you to decide if you’re going to let her do it or not.
The knot of trepidation and excitement that had moved into my stomach a week ago and claimed tenancy tightened. The image of Leslie leaning in to touch her lips to mine flashed before my eyes, a wave of heat flooded my pussy and I knew I had to distract myself with something. Anything. Before I self-combusted. Or worse. Grabbing my cassette recorder, I popped another tape in and pressed the play button. I could take notes, at least. “Could I have your name and age, please?” “Jay. I’m twenty-one.” “Thank you, Jay. I’d like you to begin by telling me about your first sexual experience.” “Look. The first time I had sex sucked. I mean, I’d barely got my cock in and lost it. It was pure crap. I’d rather talk about the best sex I’ve ever had.” I could hear my own hesitation on the recording, and suddenly I remembered exactly what this interview was about. But I couldn’t get my hands to move, to shut off the recorder. “Well, this study is about first sexual experiences…” Jay interrupted me. “It’s close enough, Anne. This was the second time I ever had sex. After the first time, I did a lot of thinking about it, and I wanted the next time to be like fireworks or something just as good.”
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“Okay then. Tell me about your second time. Who was it with?” I could hear the smugness in Jay’s voice, and I remember sitting in the living room of his shared apartment, listening to him, knowing exactly what he was going to say. “Two girls. A blonde named Stef and a brunette named Cindy. They were my partners for a project for English class in senior year. We needed to do work after school hours, so I suggested going back to my parents’ house. My folks were on vacation, so I had the whole place to myself. “When we got there, they wanted to see my room. They said we could work there. At least we’d be comfortable. I wasn’t stupid. I had heard the rumors about Stef and Cindy around school.” “What rumors?” I had asked. “That they were both good for a lay. Each on their own or even together. And there were a lot of stories floating around about how the two of them would get down and dirty with each other.” “So what happened in your bedroom?” “We were all sitting on my bed, pretending to actually read the stupid book for the project, y’know? And next thing, the two of them started giggling. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, and then they started asking questions about who I’d dated from school and who I’d fucked. “I changed the topic, ’cause there was no freakin’ way I’d talk about only having banged one girl. I started asking them about who they’d fucked, and they kept giggling. Then Stef started saying she was too hot and took off her sweatshirt. She was only wearing a white lace bra, and man, she had the nicest tits I’d ever seen. And next thing I knew, Cindy was kissing Stef, tongue and everything, and I had the biggest hard-on ever.” “What happened next, Jay?”
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“Well, I damn near shot my load when Cindy put her mouth on Stef’s tits. She was sucking on them, through the bra, and man—I almost couldn’t believe what was going on in my bedroom.” “What did you do?” “I didn’t do anything right then. I was just frozen, watching them go at each other. At this point, Stef’s bra was off, and Cindy was unbuttoning her shirt.” I gulped, swallowing a sudden mouthful of moisture. I closed my eyes again, listening to Jay’s detailed account. “And I still couldn’t believe that these chicks were getting naked. Stef was now sucking on Cindy’s tits, and they were both moaning and groaning and really getting off on each other. I was squirming a little, sitting up near the headboard, and I had to unzip my jeans, my dick was so hard. I tried to do it quietly ’cause I didn’t want them to stop what they were doing, but I guess they heard me anyway. Both of them turned to look at me, and then Stef said, ‘Wanna fuck us, Jay?’” In a daze I realized I’d slouched back in the desk chair, one hand snaking its way between my thighs. I was wearing my typical grad-student gear—yoga pants—and when my fingers stroked the cotton material covering my crotch, I discovered I was so wet the moisture had seeped through both my panties and slacks. Putting just a touch of pressure on that tingling pulse point sent a shock of pleasure jolting through me. Jay kept chattering on in the background, and I brought my fingers to the waistband of my pants. “Stef was licking Cindy’s pussy, and Cindy was thrashing around on the bed, whimpering.” Suddenly it wasn’t Stef licking Cindy—it was me licking Leslie. My hands found the lacy edge of my panties. “And Stef had her fingers pumping in and out of Cindy.”
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I whimpered faintly myself, as my middle finger found my clit. Shocked, I realized just how hot my flesh was, radiating a liquid fire that damn well wasn’t going to be extinguished by anything so ordinary as water. “And Cindy had one hand wrapped around my cock, giving me this incredible hand job.” Slipping a finger between the folds of skin, I stroked myself, slowly at first, matching the pace of Jay’s words. “For a while the two of them forgot all about me, just going at it with each other. The best part was when both of them were totally naked, doing sixty-nine. I was jerking off, watching them, coming all over the bed, hearing them scream as they made each other come.” I liked the sixty-nine position. I loved being on top of Michael, having his cock deep in my throat and his tongue thrusting in and out of me, but now all I could picture was being on top of Leslie. Having her mouth between my legs and exploring her with my tongue. My finger movements had evolved from a slow stroke to frantic rubbing. Listening to Jay’s description of his partners’ orgasms brought me to the brink. The familiar pressure starting low in my belly, I pressed harder. Reaching the precipice, I slowed, and with final excruciatingly slow strokes, shuddered with explosive release. Reaching up, I clicked off the recorder and slouched back into the desk chair, feeling like a bowl of cooked noodles. Closing my eyes, I exhaled slowly and stretched my arms over my head. “Now, I like you all stretched out like that.” My eyes flew open and I discovered Michael standing in the doorway. “How long have you been there?” I asked, feeling my cheeks begin to burn. Just what had he seen? Not that it mattered, because it was only Michael, after all, but I’d still be mortified if he’d caught me masturbating in the grad office. Normally I was such a nonexhibitionist.
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Michael chuckled, moving into the room, closing the door behind him. He toted a paper sack from our favorite deli, and I caught the faintest hint of smoked chicken and sharp cheddar. “I just opened the door to see you sprawling in your chair.” His eyebrows arched upward. “Why? Did I miss something? Your cheeks are pink.” I smiled sheepishly. “Well, I was listening to my research cassettes. Some of the stories are kind of raunchy, and…” Michael dropped the food on the desk and pulled a chair over to sit across from me. “Let me guess. You were getting pretty horny listening, were you?” “I guess so,” I mumbled, turning my attention to the suddenly fascinating paper bag. “Thank you for bringing lunch—I was getting hungry.” He laughed, a rich, deep sound that I always loved—with the exception of today. “Oh my God, Anne. You weren’t masturbating in here, were you?” I hesitated a split second too long, and I knew it. So did he. “Uh—” “You were! You dirty little girl, you. And in a public place too. That’s a new one for you, babe.” I finally met his gaze and laughed. “You got me. I know. I don’t know what got into me. It’s just the story I was listening to made me so horny, and, well, nobody else is around right now… I just couldn’t help myself.” I was deliberately glossing over Leslie, and the thought made a knot tighten in my chest. We didn’t lie to each other, and well, while this wasn’t a lie in the true sense, it was definitely a lie of omission. I tamped the feeling down. I’d tell him later. Maybe. Michael leaned back in his chair, his sandwich forgotten on the desktop in front of him. He eyed me speculatively, one hand rubbing his lightly stubbled chin. “I like that, Anne. That was gutsy and unexpected. You never fail to surprise me, and that makes me love you even more.” He ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of anxiety but
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then flashed his trademark slow, sexy grin. “Hell, the thought of it’s even making me horny.” Even as I was thinking about how incorrigible I was, I arched an eyebrow and smirked mischievously at him. “Oh? How horny?” Michael’s eyes narrowed, and I knew the wheels were turning in his head. A pulse beat visibly on the side of his neck, and I ached to kiss that spot. His voice dropped. “So horny that if it weren’t for being here on campus, in a place where we could be interrupted at any moment, I’d push you back over that desk and fuck you right now.” My stomach did a slow roll of delight at his words. I rose and walked over to the office door and flipped the lock with my thumb. Returning to where Michael sat, I met his surprised gaze. Putting my hands on the arms of his chair and leaning down over him, I let my lips hover a breath away from his and whispered, “Right now I don’t care that we’re on campus. Do you?” Michael’s breath hitched as he labored for air. He whispered back, “Actually, no, I don’t either.”
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Chapter Four By seven o’clock that evening, it had started to rain. Just a light drizzle, but the corresponding drop in temperature had produced a thick quilt of fog that was making driving treacherous. I felt the car slow, and Michael hunched over the wheel, peering intently ahead. A spark of irrational anger flared in me. I was already late, and Michael was making me even later. The moment the thought appeared, however, it vanished just as quickly. It wasn’t Michael’s fault we were late, and he was only trying to keep us safe. I chided myself for acting like an idiot. I was wound tight as a watchspring again—and I likened the feeling to going on a first date. Even though it wasn’t the first time I was meeting Leslie, and it definitely wasn’t a date. It wasn’t. “What time do you want me to come and get you?” Michael asked, not taking his gaze from the road. I made a noncommittal noise. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I have no idea how long this will take. I can always take the bus home so you don’t have to wait for me.” Michael shook his head. “Not if it gets too late. I’d much rather come and get you than have you take the night run.” He pulled to a stop at a red light. “I’m just going to the sports complex anyway. I want to get in a workout tonight. Tony said he was going there for eight and that he’d be my spotter if I wanted.” Despite the knot of tension in my stomach, I grinned at him. “So you don’t count our nooner as a suitable substitute for today’s workout?” Michael turned to meet my gaze and smirked mischievously back at me. “In case the pleasure knocked the memory from your head, it only lasted ten minutes, remember? We didn’t really have time for anything more than a quickie. And regardless of how energetic it may have been, it certainly doesn’t count as a substitute.” He raised his hand and stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Don’t get me 38
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wrong, baby, it was amazing, but it couldn’t be classified as anything remotely marathon.” I chuckled. “You were really working up a sweat, you know. I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the fitness benefits of today’s rendezvous.” I turned my head to nibble at his fingertips. “Maybe this will even make up for me not going to the gym. I can see it now—a whole new marketing scheme for health clubs everywhere.” Michael laughed. “Sure. Move over, Richard Simmons—the next big thing is to screw your way skinny.” Succumbing to the giggles, I exhaled softly. The lightened mood had noticeably relaxed me, and I felt calmer and more in control. I could do this. I was going to just go into Leslie’s home, interview her and leave. It was the best thing to do, period. I wasn’t ready to go ahead with this sexual experiment, as much as I’d obsessed over it. The amazing sex with Michael at lunch had reminded me that a male lover was definitely what I wanted. I didn’t need anything else. My life was fine just the way it was, thank you very much. Then why did you wear your push-up bra tonight? The damn voice inside my head
insisted, why the perfume? You even shaved your legs again, even though you just did it two days ago. Stop it! I growled silently, it’s all for Michael. Oh sure, the voice replied suspiciously, that’s why you did all this after lunch. After you’d already had sex with Michael…
I reached over and snapped on the radio with much more vigor than was entirely necessary, finding a touch of solace in the hard-edged Nickelback tune currently playing. I caught Michael glancing at me, an eyebrow raised. After a long moment, he motioned out the window. “This is Chestnut. Do I turn east or west?” As I realized our location, the knot in my stomach returned, full force. “Left. East. That way,” I pointed. “It’s the fourth driveway on the left.” 39
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Michael expertly maneuvered the car into place and shifted into park. He peered through the windshield at the townhouse. “Wow. Nice place. What does she do?” “I don’t know,” I responded lamely. “We didn’t talk about that kind of stuff.” He glanced my way again, one eyebrow raised. “Straight to the kinky bits, huh?” I rolled my eyes and exhaled forcefully, too easily feigning irritation. “Yes, Michael. Straight to the dirt. Cocks and pussies. Not even exchanging hellos.” Michael snorted. “Fine, smart-ass. Go do your thing. If you’re still talking after nine, call me and I’ll come get you.” He leaned in to kiss me, and I met him halfway. I nibbled his bottom lip but hesitated for a moment and took the opportunity to kiss him thoroughly. He really was one hell of a kisser, a fact that I sometimes took for granted. Like now. With a deep breath, Michael broke the kiss. “Jesus, Anne, you keep going like that, and I’ll turn this car around and take you home.” He grinned. “Or…” he paused, “I could come up with you to meet this mystery woman.” He glanced up to nod toward the townhouse, and his expression became serious. Following his gaze, I spotted Leslie in the window, watching us. Seconds ticked by. “Is that her?” All flippancy had vanished from Michael’s voice. “Yes, that’s Leslie,” I replied carefully. Instantly I knew I had to distract him in any way I could. I didn’t understand why he was looking so intently at her, but I had to make him stop. Climbing on to my knees on the passenger seat, I took hold of his chin in one hand and none too gently grabbed his crotch with the other. Focusing all my frustration and anxiety, I kissed him. Roughly. My teeth bumped into his, scraping against his lips, and he growled. Through his jeans, his cock hardened, and I manhandled him, digging my nails into the fabric. He let go of the steering wheel and groped at a breast with one hand, the other forcefully rubbing the fabric between my legs. For a split second, I wanted to climb on top of Michael and fuck him in full view of Leslie. What would she think of that? 40
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Breaking the kiss, Michael muttered, “Maybe I should come up with you. What do you think?” He looked at me, his breath coming in labored gasps, his face flushed. I could tell by his expression that he was only partly joking. My initial reply caught in my throat. I suddenly knew that I didn’t want Michael to come anywhere near Leslie. She was mine. Jesus. Where the hell did that thought come from? I knew I’d hesitated too long by Michael’s changing expression. His face had gone from hungry to amused to concerned. “Anne? What’s going on? You still worried about this woman kissing you? I thought you weren’t interested in experimenting with her. That’s what you said earlier.” I swallowed around the enormous lump lodged in my throat. “No. I’m not interested.” Liar.
Forcing my mouth into some semblance of a smile, I attempted to lighten the tone. “Seriously. I’ve just got to talk to her for a little longer, and I’ll be home before you know it.” Michael’s face relaxed into an easy grin. “Okay. And then maybe we can pick up where we’re leaving off now…” I leaned over and gave him one last smack on the lips, one last stroke along his fly. Opening the door, I glanced back at him with what I hoped was a flippant-looking expression. “If you behave yourself, maybe…” I slammed the Honda’s door on Michael’s husky laughter and watched him put the car in reverse and back out onto the street. With a short beep of the horn, he was gone. Taking a deep breath, I shoved my icy fingers into my coat pockets and turned to look at the home behind me. The curtain in the window hung closed again. My stomach flip-flopped and I could feel my nipples tingling. Goose bumps were forming on my
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arms, and I was struck with the enormity of what I was doing. For a split second, I wanted to turn and run. Climb on a bus and just disappear. Get away from Michael and Leslie and this damn thesis project. Take the chickenshit way out. Instead I pulled a package of mints out of my pocket and popped one into my mouth. “Showtime,” I whispered to myself and climbed the concrete steps. Leslie answered the door almost immediately after I rang the bell, which was no surprise. “Anne! You made it!,” she said with a sparkling smile as she swung the heavy wooden door wide and gestured me in. “You didn’t have trouble getting here, did you?” I could feel my smile shaking a little, so I turned my head to hide it, focusing my attention on putting my satchel down. If Leslie wasn’t going to say anything about Michael and our obvious display, then neither was I. “No,” I said, too breathlessly for my own liking, “no trouble. I’m sorry I’m late though. The fog made driving a little nerve-racking.” Leslie made dismissive noises as she reached for my sleeve. “No problem. I’m just glad you’re finally here. Let me take your coat.” I handed her the garment and took a moment to gaze at her. Leslie was wearing a slinky black long-sleeved top that hugged her curves and exposed a good deal of her cleavage, and a pair of slim-fitting, faded low-rise jeans. Her silken hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail tonight and large silver hoops dangled from her earlobes. As she disappeared around the corner to the coat rack, I glanced at myself in the narrow, silver-edged entryway mirror. I’d spent more time than was likely warranted picking out my clothing for the evening, and I was more than a little embarrassed that it took me forever to get dressed. I was wearing my own favorite pair of black low-rise jeans and a stretchy burgundy top that was shot through with silver threads, which meant it sparkled whenever I moved. I wasn’t showing as much cleavage as Leslie, but I 42
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had put my most prized push-up bra on, which definitely made me look more endowed than I really was. I fussed quickly with my hair; I’d left my curls loose tonight and had spent extra time with a number of styling products to keep them from frizzing. It was definitely worth the effort, I thought, satisfied. And then a random thought struck me. Michael hadn’t even noticed. At least, even if he had, he hadn’t said a word. I felt suddenly deflated. A quiet chuckle brought me back to the softly lit hallway. Leslie stood watching me, a mischievous grin on her lips. I lowered my hands from my hair and attempted a grin of my own. “Busted, huh?” Leslie laughed. “Oh please. You look like you belong on a runway.” She turned to walk down the hallway. “Are you and your guy going out clubbing later or something?” “No,” I said, grabbing my satchel and following her. “Michael’s gone to the gym to work out, and we’re just going to spend the evening at home.” “Pity,” Leslie said, glancing back at me. “You look like you’re ready to go dancing. When’s the last time you went to a club, Anne?” Following her into the living room, I snorted ungracefully. “I couldn’t tell you. The last couple years of school have been horrendous. I spend every free moment in the grad lab.” Leslie seated herself on the same couch as before. I told myself I was sitting on the other side of the room to present a more professional image, not because the thought of sitting next to Leslie again made my legs shake. “What a shame. You know the saying, All work and no play…” Busying myself with my interview paraphernalia, I laughed a little humorlessly. “Well, if being dull equals a summa cum laude distinction, I’ll take it.”
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Leslie opened her mouth to reply, and her telephone rang. Rising smoothly, she excused herself and left the room. I took a calming breath and finally had the presence of mind to glance around the room. My pulse jumped into my throat as I noted the lit pillar candles gracing tabletops and windowsills. The stereo was on, Michael Bublé crooning seductively in the background, and an opened bottle of red wine sat discreetly on a side table, accompanied by two glasses. Shit. She was expecting somebody. And that same somebody was now on the phone, talking to her. A pang of disappointment darted through me, and frustrated, I brushed it away. What, did I think she was going to make a pass at me again? I didn’t even want that, did I? How idiotic could I be? Obviously Leslie had moved on from whatever it was that happened before. So I should too. Work, Anne. It’s all just work. Forcing myself to relax back in my seat, I bolstered myself with businesslike thoughts. “I hope I’m not interrupting something,” I said, as Leslie returned. “Not at all. My friend Derek was supposed to be here in an hour—” I interrupted her. “And he’s on his way now? I’m so sorry for being late and taking away from our interview time—” Leslie raised a hand to stop me. Babbling, as usual. “Anne, it’s okay. He cancelled on me earlier today. He was just calling to let me know that he’s feeling better and that he and some others will be at that new club downtown, Spike, later tonight, if I wanted to join them.” She paused, gazing at me thoughtfully, her eyes glowing with emerald heat. “I don’t think I will.” I couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t acknowledge the implicit promise that I seemed to see in her face. Instead I grabbed the cassette recorder from the trunk’s surface and fumbled with a fresh tape. Fucking fingers wouldn’t work no matter what I tried. And the longer Leslie remained silent, the worse my anxiety got.
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When the CD player clicked softly at the end of the song, the realization struck me, sending a flush of heat from my head to my toes. If Leslie knew that Derek had cancelled on her already earlier today, then the candles, the music, the— “Would you like a glass of wine, Anne? You look like you could use one.” I nodded, forcing the words out of my mouth. “Yes, that would be nice, thanks.” Leslie neatly filled both goblets then turned to hand one to me. The way she held the glass, it was nearly impossible for me to take it from her without our fingers touching. Taking what I hoped was a discreet breath, I reached for the drink. For a long moment, there was nothing. No sound, no air, no light. Just the electric tingle of skin touching skin. The hair on the back of my neck started to rise and that same current slid down through my body and into my pussy. Panic filled the back of my throat, and at that moment I was terrified. There was no way that I could be here alone with this woman. If her mere touch set me to climbing the walls, there was no limit to what further contact might do. Painfully, slowly, I raised my eyes to meet hers, not knowing what she might see reflected in mine. It would be a miracle if I could mask the lust even a little. Because it was there. Undeniably. As though it were a flood held back by a paper-thin gate. One that was full, saturated, straining for release. She let go of the glass. Another CD clicked into play mode, this one earthy, dark, full of rhythms that matched my pulse. The current, while not broken, dimmed to manageable levels and, unable to stop myself, I took a deep, audible breath, resurfacing once again. As before, Leslie seated herself across from me. Reclining slightly into the plush seat, she raised one leg slowly, so slowly, lifting it over the other. Helpless, unable to look away, I watched. Leslie was so sinuous, so lithe, so serpentine. Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly. The unbidden thought leaped to the
forefront. The atmosphere of the townhouse had changed dramatically since my last visit, and with a desperate, grasping thought I realized that I had to bring business back to the table, or this would be the end of me. 45
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Fortified by that one tiny lifeline, I averted my gaze and took a healthy gulp of wine, followed by another, and then a third. The warmth spread by the alcohol buoyed me, and I reached down to click the machine’s Record button. “Why don’t you tell me about the first time you were penetrated, Leslie?” AllBusiness Anne—that was me. And dammit, I was going to do this, even if my voice was doing its best impersonation of a phone-sex operator. Even if it physically hurt to force my brain back to thoughts of school. I caught the flicker of amusement mixed with the barest hint of frustration, or perhaps annoyance, that crossed Leslie’s face. Taking a delicate sip of her wine, she pursed her lips slightly. I knew then, with absolute certainty, that while she might not push the issue that hung tangibly between us right now, it was by no means entirely dismissed. The knowledge that she wouldn’t jump on me from across the room strengthened me, the empty goblet in my hand making me bolder. “All right,” she said softly, all trace of any mild annoyance gone from both her expression and her voice, “the man story. Unfortunately, it’s not as nice as the one about Christine, but you want to know about it, and you should know about it. “It wasn’t long after that night with Christine that I was involved sexually with a man.” Leslie took a long sip of wine—it looked as though it were for fortification. “The man was Christine’s boyfriend, Rick.” My heart thumped briefly, and suddenly, inexplicably, I knew that this story was dangerous. Painful. That it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I sent up a brief prayer that my instincts were incorrect this time—that it wasn’t anything like what I was anticipating.
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Chapter Five In the few weeks after that first memorable night, Christine and Leslie had made love a few more times and even experimented with vibrators and toys. Every time was incredible, and Leslie found herself quickly and easily turned-on every time she spoke to Christine. It was shortly after that that Rick came back to town. He’d been away at college, but he came back to visit. Leslie wasn’t worried, at least not much, about the man’s presence. Christine had said that the relationship was very open and that she’d described to him what had transpired. She said Rick was okay with it all. One night Leslie was at Christine’s apartment, having a few beers, when Rick showed up. Leslie’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. Tall, muscular, broad-shouldered, with shaggy dark hair and a day’s growth of sexy stubble, he was by far one of the hottest men she’d ever seen, and she couldn’t stop staring at him. He’d barely said hello in a deep, rough-and-tumble voice, before his cell phone rang, and he stepped out onto the balcony to take the call, shutting the door behind him. Christine leaned in closer. “Isn’t he the sexiest thing ever?” she asked, her tone conspiratorial. “Definitely,” Leslie replied with a small cough. “I don’t mean to sound weird, Chris, because he’s your guy and all, but damn he’s hot. You really lucked out.” Christine grinned. “I know. And you know what?” she whispered. “He thinks you’re sexy too.” Butterflies took up residence in Leslie’s stomach. “He does?” she asked with disbelief. “How do you know that?”
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“You’d better believe it, baby.” Christine laughed. “I sent him a couple of pictures of us a while back—the ones taken after the game against Westminster.” The balcony door opened, and Rick reentered the room. He stopped, staring at the two women seated together on the couch. “Well, now,” he drawled, a slow grin curving his lips, “look at the pair of pretty ladies sitting there. I’d like to have a nice set of bookends like you two.” Christine put her arm around Leslie and smiled at him. “If we’re bookends, you need to be in the middle, baby.” Rick didn’t hesitate. He came closer and both women moved apart to make room on the seat. He put an arm around both pairs of shoulders and turned his head to drop kisses on both foreheads. Leslie shivered slightly, goose bumps forming on her arms. The atmosphere in the room had intensified a hundredfold. The possibility for something dirty was definitely on the horizon. Rick’s fingers stroked bare forearms. The weather was steamy, and Christine and Leslie were both wearing tank tops. Rick fingered the delicate straps, gently tugging on the fabric. Heat pooled low in Leslie’s belly. She turned her head, trying to meet Christine’s gaze but couldn’t make eye contact. She thought back, trying to remember what they’d talked about regarding this sort of scenario and concluded that nothing had really been discussed. She’s not stopping him. The thought echoed through Leslie’s head, and a trickle of
dampness moistened her panties. Slightly distracted by Rick’s touch, she assessed her feelings, wondering if she was supposed to feel bad or guilty about what was happening. But I don’t.
At that moment, Rick turned to look at her, his face intense.
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“I’d really like to kiss you, sweet thing,” he murmured, and then leaned in. The combination of his stubble, the hard feel of his mouth and lips, and the strong scent of him was shockingly different. It was such a change from kissing Christine. A hand appeared on her breast, fondling and grasping, while the other hand still stroked her shoulder. Rick tweaked her nipple, and she whimpered. He groaned in response. “Oh yeah. You like that, don’tcha, baby?” he asked. “Mm-hmm,” she moaned, unable to help herself. Leslie’s pussy was on fire, and she squirmed in her seat, wanting so badly to try him out, see what he was like. But reality reared its ugly head for a moment. Rick was Christine’s. How would she react to her taking further steps with him? Rick’s hand slid under her tank top at that moment, removing all other thought from her mind. His touch on her bare skin was absolutely wild. He pushed the fabric up so that her breasts were bare and then leaned down to lick them and suck on her nipples. Leslie opened her eyes at that point to see Christine kneeling in front of him, unzipping his shorts. She watched as her friend pulled his hard cock out, watched as she stroked him, watched as she took him in her mouth and began giving him a blowjob. Rick groaned and bucked his hips, sliding a hand under the elastic of Leslie’s shorts. His fingers stroked her panties and he growled something about how she was already so wet. It didn’t take long before all three of them were naked. Leslie was still sitting on the couch. Christine still knelt on the floor, but her head now lay between Leslie’s legs, her tongue deep in Leslie’s pussy. Rick knelt behind her, thrusting his cock in and out of her. His eyes were locked on Leslie though. Finally he withdrew from Christine. “Switch spots,” he growled, gesturing to both women. 49
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Christine glanced at Rick and rose, shooting him an angry look. Leslie rose as well, not knowing exactly what that glance meant, but certain it was a warning to Rick. A warning he appeared to ignore. With Christine settled on the couch, Leslie knelt before her and started licking her pussy. She could taste the combination of Rick and Christine together, and it made Leslie feel incredibly wicked. Suddenly hands rubbed her bottom, stroking her. Long fingers dipped down toward her pussy, rubbing against her, spreading her juices all over. Soon, a finger was thrusting in and out of Leslie, followed by a second and a third. Rick was a little bit rough, but she was so turned-on that she really liked it. Then the firm flesh of his cock rubbed all over her ass, sliding between her cheeks. Leslie wiggled her bottom, giving him the invitation, and Rick let out a hiss of pleasure. There was a second of emptiness, of withdrawal, and confusion flickered over her until Leslie heard the sound of tearing plastic. “Rick…” Christine said, her tone rife with warning. Leslie turned her attention back to Christine, licking her pussy faster. With a flash of guilt she realized she was trying to distract Christine from what was happening with Rick. Christine whimpered, and the muscles in her legs tightened, signaling to Leslie that she was getting close to coming. The tip of Rick’s cock pressed against Leslie’s pussy, and he teased her for a moment with it—very shallow, slow thrusts—giving her the barest of tastes. He reached a hand between her legs to play with her clit between thrusts, and she could feel the first stirrings of orgasm. Leslie groaned, shifting her hips backward, trying to take him deeper. God, he was quite big, and she was so tight. The pressure of him inside was exquisite. Leslie’s senses buzzed, overstimulated. The combination of finger-fucking Christine and tonguing her clit while being fucked and fingered herself was mind-blowing. It seemed nothing would ever feel quite as spectacular ever again.
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I coughed slightly on my wine, my throat feeling constricted. Leslie’s story was definitely heading in the direction I’d anticipated, and I didn’t like the feeling in my gut. “What happened next?” I asked, my voice rough. Leslie didn’t answer but crossed and uncrossed her legs again, squirming just the slightest bit on the couch. She took another mouthful of wine and looked at me, her cheeks flushed. Her nipples were hard, pressing prominently, alluringly, against her clothing. Would she like it if I sucked on them through her shirt? The thought made a gasp escape my lips, and Leslie’s gaze locked on to mine. She set her glass down carefully on the coffee table. Slowly she rose from her seat and sat next to me. “I can show you.” My thong was soaked, my skin tingling. I could feel my own rock-hard nipples pressing against the lace of my bra and the thin fabric of my shirt. Butterflies flitted about my stomach. I was torn, desperately wanting to hear more of the story and wanting to touch and taste and discover for myself—to hell with the story. The only thing I knew for certain was things just weren’t going to end well. They just couldn’t. Leslie took my wineglass from me and placed it on the table. Then her hand appeared on my thigh. My breath hitched in my throat. The hand moved, sliding upward. She reached my waist and continued on, slowing under my breast. The heat of her skin radiated through the thin material. Her thumb brushed the underside of my breast, and I bit my bottom lip to keep from crying out. Leslie leaned in, kissing my cheek, my jaw, my neck. Her hand slid upward to cup my breast, and her touch on my ultrasensitive nipple sent a jolt of pleasure through my body. Her thumb drew circles, her nail scraping gently over the firmness. My legs shook with the pleasure of it.
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Her lips moved toward my mouth and, unable to stop myself, I turned my head. She kissed me again, her mouth firm and unyielding, and I groaned. Her musky perfume was heady and dizzying, and I lost myself at that moment. The barriers that had once been erected crumbled, the mortar that had sealed them turning to dust. I parted my lips and touched my tongue to hers, her mouth tasting like the rich red wine we’d both drunk. I put a shaking hand on her thigh and slid it upward to the juncture of her thighs, and pressed my fingers gently on the fabric covering her pussy. Leslie sighed with pleasure and I instantly felt superhuman. I shifted slightly on the couch, turning so I could put my other hand on her torso as well. Her body was firm and warm, and I slid my hand up to her breast. She was quite small, the pert globe fitting nicely in my hand, the firm nipple protruding into my palm. Leslie squirmed, and I played with that hardness, toying with it with the tips of my fingers, enjoying her reaction. Leslie’s hand slid down my tummy again, to the hem of my shirt, and she tugged it upward, uncovering my breasts. She used her fingertips to draw circles on the exposed skin, moving to the lace of my bra. Gently she pulled the cup down off my breast, and I nearly jerked upright when she plucked at the bare nipple. The sensation of skin on skin was nearly unbearable, and I wondered how it could compare to her sucking on that nub. I groaned with anticipation as Leslie’s mouth broke away from mine and she licked her way down my neck. It looked as though I’d get my wish, and my pussy quivered in response. She licked the top of my breast and then blew on it, the air a chilling contrast to her warm tongue. Then without preamble, her mouth latched on to my tit and I let out a small shriek. “Oh yes,” Leslie murmured softly between licks. “You like that, don’t you, Anne?” I couldn’t stop myself. My hand had moved to the back of her head, my fingers tangling in the silken wheat of her hair. 52
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Speech was impossible. Nouns and verbs no longer existed. What emitted from my throat was more a combination of moans and squeaks. Leslie took my nipple in her mouth and sucked on it, hard. My back arched away from the sofa, the pleasure so painfully luscious. Leslie’s hand had slid back down toward my jeans, and desire caused me to splay my legs a little wider. She rubbed my pussy through the denim, pressing hard along the seam that ran down between my legs. The pressure was damn good, and I squirmed beneath her. I found I wanted to hear more about her threesome. No, that wasn’t entirely right. I wanted to hear her story, but I also just wanted to hear Leslie talk dirty—to use coarse, foul language. I wanted to hear her say words like fuck and pussy and clit in that soft, eloquent voice of hers. I groaned as Leslie nibbled lightly on my nipple and had to force the words out. “What happened with Rick, Leslie? Did he keep on fucking you?” Leslie’s tongue froze in mid-ablution. She did not immediately answer. “He did,” she said quietly, licking the flesh of my breast, her fingers unceasing in their stroking. “It didn’t take long for the three of us to come hard. I made Christine cry out, and simply hearing her come, combined with the feel of the huge cock in me and Rick’s fingers flicking at my clit, made the earth flip over for me. Once I stopped shaking, Rick grabbed my hips really hard and let out a grunt as he, too, came.” There was silence. Leslie’s fingers moved to the button of my jeans, and the quiet was broken by the rasp of my zipper opening. Her fingers sought the lace of my thong, and she stroked the small patch of hair I had there. I didn’t care any more. About anything. My brain had reverted to mere sensory images. The words lick, fuck, come, tit, pussy kept echoing through my head like a perverted soundtrack, blocking out any other normal, rational thought. Leslie exhaled softly, the breath hot on my skin. “I told you that this didn’t end well, Anne. After those euphoric few moments, Christine’s eyes snapped open, the look on her face morphing into an angry mask. I 53
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shifted my hips as Rick withdrew, retreating away from that look of fury, that red mottling on her cheeks. She sat upright on the sofa, looking incredulously at Rick, and said, ‘What the hell did you just do?’ “Rick had a bit of a temper, because he immediately flared back, ‘What do you think I did? I fucked your hot little friend here.’ “‘That wasn’t part of the deal, you asshole!’ Christine screamed back at him.” Leslie’s face was pained. “Things degenerated from there. A massive blowout ensued, and before long I slipped my clothes on and snuck out the door. I was horrified and more than a little afraid and felt both terribly guilty and extremely turned-on at the same time.” That sounded frighteningly familiar. The wine churned slightly in my stomach. “I know exactly what you mean,” I said softly. Leslie leaned in again to lick the curve of my breast, her fingers returning to the stroking rhythm atop my panties. “I know you’ve been hurt before too, Anne,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry about that. But it doesn’t have to rule your life. You can overcome it. I did. It took some time and some effort, but eventually I was able to trust people again and seek out the pleasure I knew I wanted.” She paused for a moment. “You know I can help you if you want. You simply have to say the word.” My trepidation was fading again, evaporating under her touch, and even though a part of me deep within still felt frozen with fear, I couldn’t help but arch my back and wordlessly offer her my tits. I couldn’t clearly expound on it, but somehow Leslie made me feel safe. That thought alone gave me courage. She would fuck me all I wanted, as many times as I wanted, and in as many ways. All I had to do was ask. I opened my mouth to speak. “Leslie?”
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The male voice made us both start. I glanced over to the doorway, where a young blond man stood, his eyes like saucers and a knowing, dirty smirk on his face. “Well, well, well,” he said, his gaze appreciative, “this looks like a lot of fun.” Caught. Again.
Bile rose in my throat. I pushed away from Leslie, fumbling awkwardly with my clothing, pulling and shoving pieces back into place. My fingers were rubbery, unable to function properly, and my eyes burned with the sting of tears. In my periphery I saw Leslie rise smoothly, adjust her own clothing, and approach the visitor, ushering him back out of the room. “Derek—I wasn’t expecting you here. I thought we were going to meet downtown.” Leslie’s voice was calm and controlled. I hated that. I was falling to pieces and couldn’t do a damn thing about it, and she was acting as though we were on a walk in the goddamn park. I haphazardly shoved my paraphernalia into my bag, feeling my cheeks burn. Only one thought remained at the forefront of my brain— run. Get out now. Leslie and Derek were in the kitchen, their voices low, unintelligible. Relieved I could avoid her, I retrieved my jacket and opened the door toward escape. “Wait…Anne?” Damn. I couldn’t turn to look at her. “What is it, Leslie?” “Don’t go, please. Stay a while longer.” The weight of her hand appeared on my shoulder, causing a knot to form in my stomach. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” But dammit, I want to.
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Shrugging out from under her touch, I stepped into the pouring rain. I felt her gaze on me as I descended the steps, crossed the driveway and turned onto the sidewalk. It wasn’t until I’d rounded the corner and was safely hidden from view that I allowed the sobs to escape, embraced by sympathetic groans of thunder rolling through the pitchblack sky.
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Chapter Six “Ms. Williams?” I blinked in confusion then focused on the long table in front of me where five people were seated. Frank Dells, a sociology professor and friend I had asked to be on my thesis defense committee, peered at me over the rims of his half-moon reading glasses. I gave him a friendly smile to hide my distractedness. “I’m sorry, Professor Dells. Go ahead?” A muffled cough echoed through the small auditorium, but I didn’t search out its source. Someone sitting in the darkened upper balcony, I supposed. I wondered briefly if it was Michael, who’d said he would come to watch. I was certain the entire committee was now eyeing me with suspicion. And the few in the peanut gallery probably thought I was off my rocker too. “I have a question, Ms. Williams, about the conclusion you’ve drawn in the third paragraph on page seventeen,” he said, flipping through his copy of my papers. “Certainly, sir.” Professor Dells continued to speak, and even while half my brain focused intently on what the man was saying, the other half drifted aimlessly, lost in la-la land. The last few weeks of preparing for my thesis defense had been the same. Sheer hell, enveloped in a grayish miasma that weirdly softened the pain. I’d drifted from place to place, simply going through the motions, not engaging with the world around me in any shape or form. I avoided everyone I knew, with the exception of Michael— and even our relationship had become one of coexistence more than anything else. I didn’t answer my cell phone a single time, resorting to checking voice mail messages after people had called. Leslie had. Once. Her message said nothing other than asking me to call her. 57
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I didn’t. She hadn’t called again, even though every time my cell rang, I nursed a vain hope it was her. My world had turned into a never-ending cycle of home to grad lab and back again, but after a few days I found I could no longer work in the lab without being reminded of that afternoon where I’d taken Leslie’s phone call and then Michael and I had made love. I had moved to the university library instead, to the private study carousels up on the seventh floor. My surroundings were different enough that I could focus passably on my work. Equipped with headphones, I could listen to interview cassettes and make my notes in privacy. With one exception. I did not listen to Leslie’s final cassette. The one I had made the last time I was at her home. The one that recorded us beginning our mutual seduction. But dammit, I ached to listen. I wanted to hear her come on to me again, hear her telling me her dirty story. Hear my reactions. Imagine what would have happened next. Even though I still felt a twinge of guilt mixed with nausea when I thought of what had happened that night, my traitorous brain played the what-if game with me in every free moment, and dampness would moisten my panties. What if Derek hadn’t interrupted us? What if we’d ended up naked on her couch together, just as she and Christine had been? What if we’d fucked each other? Perspiration would always appear on my forehead, the surrounding temperature always seeming as though it had risen by twenty degrees, and I would hold the cassette 58
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tape in my hands until its surface became damp from my sweaty fingers. And then I would hide it again at the bottom of my bag. Finally I’d convinced myself that I was better off this way. I didn’t need any more information from her. I was fine with the way things were. I blamed my moodiness and preoccupation and sleepless nights on the completion of my thesis and the preparation of my defense presentation. I fooled everyone with that, I think. Except for Michael. I would catch him watching me, his eyes thoughtful, but he never said a word. That made me both anxious and relieved, even though I knew the relief would be short-lived. There would be a blow-up in some form. I just didn’t know how or when or where. “Everything will be fine once I’m done with this damn thesis,” I lied repeatedly to myself. We could get on with life, focus on other things. Aim for some semblance of normal—whatever that was. Enough was enough. “Well said, Ms. Williams. I tend to agree with Professor Dells on that issue. However, I do believe our time is now up and so on behalf of all of us, we thank you.” I blinked again, feeling like an idiot for having zoned out yet once more during my thesis defense, no less. Jesus. I was glad at least that whatever I’d said seemed to satisfy the committee members. “Thank you, Professor Whittaker,” I said with a nod to the portly gentleman seated at the end of the table, “and thank you all. I look forward to hearing from you.” The committee members began gathering their sheaves of paper, and more rustling noises from above caught my attention. I glanced up in to the balcony seating area and gave a brief nod to the couple of classmates seated there who waved at me and gave me the thumbs-up sign. A glint of light on blonde hair snagged my attention, and I squinted slightly into the dimness, my breath catching in my throat.
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What the hell?
Leslie. And Michael. Seated together and deep in what seemed to be a most serious conversation. A flush of heat covered me from head to toe, causing my hands to tremble and sparking a tingle between my legs. What was she doing here? And just why were they together up there? A presence at my elbow forced me to tear my gaze away from the tableau up above and abandon the whirlwind of questions suddenly fluttering in my brain. Professor Whittaker spoke to me, his voice distorted by my heartbeat clanging like a bass drum in my ears. I mumbled something in reply and shook the man’s proffered hand. When I was finally able to look back up, only shadows remained. They were both gone.
***** The hallway outside the auditorium was chaotic with noise and full of rowdy college students. Testosterone and perfume flavored the air as mating dances took place all around me, some subtly and some not nearly so. There were masses of blonde hair on tall, lithe bodies everywhere I looked, which made it near impossible to tell if Leslie remained in the crowd. I cursed softly. It had taken me a few minutes to gather my materials and bid farewell to the other committee members before I was able to leave the meeting, and it looked as though I was too late. She was likely long gone. Gritting my teeth with disappointment, I stood on tiptoe, squinting down the length of the hallway. Nothing. And no Michael either, I realized belatedly. Where had he disappeared to? Frowning, I slung my satchel over my shoulder and made my way toward the exit at the end of the corridor. Something was very odd about the situation, and I couldn’t
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put my finger on it. It didn’t seem realistic, but I was getting the feeling that something was going on behind the scenes. Something I wasn’t privy to. Something…clandestine. The thought made me hesitate for a moment as I swung the heavy glass door open. I wasn’t doing anything illicit. Color rose in my face again. Okay, I hadn’t done
anything illicit recently. Unless one counted the personal dirty movie playing in my head during nearly every waking moment. That probably did count. A lot. I exhaled forcefully, exiting the building in to a cool but clear and sunny afternoon. Was I guilty? Sins of omission were still sins, after all. And there was the fact I had kissed Leslie and she had touched me. More than once. Butterflies flitted in my belly again at the thought of Leslie’s touch and the implied promise of more, the promise of divine pleasure that she could give. The butterflies knotted, however, when I thought of Michael and the fact I hadn’t told him anything about what had been happening. But then I was also confused that Michael had something to do with this tangled web. Sitting with Leslie couldn’t have been chance, could it? Their conversation had appeared too intimate, too familiar. Suddenly the sting of tears threatened, and I quickened my step along the asphalt walkway toward the student parking lot. All these thoughts were overwhelming, and a definite feeling of wrongness settled into the pit of my stomach. I needed to get away. Needed an escape. Maybe get rip-roaring drunk. Or—the thought forced a short, slightly hysterical giggle from me—maybe even get stoned. God, I hadn’t done that in forever. I gave a wry snort. It’d been so long that I wouldn’t know where to go to find drugs, even if I really did want them. No. The answer came to me of its own volition. Sex. That was what I needed.
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I wanted the kind of release that ripped my soul from my body and laid it bare on the ground, raw and pink with all its scars. The kind of sex that burned away the past, that cleansed, that healed. I rolled my eyes. Hello, drama queen. What I was going to get was nothing more than a greasy drive-thru hamburger meal followed by a chocolate-bar chaser. And the resulting burning would be indigestion and an upset stomach, nothing more. Tonight I would talk to Michael and find out what was going on. Confess my sins, however large or small. It would be all right. We’d celebrate the end of the damn thesis and get firmly back on our path toward the future and continue on as though nothing untoward happened. Maybe we could have the kind of sex I craved, especially considering I couldn’t remember the last time we’d made love. No problem. Everything would be okay. Instead of comforting me, the thought made me cold. Fumbling in my pocket for the car keys, I headed to where the Honda was parked, feeling numb and somehow even worse. In a sea of glass and multihued steel, Leslie’s lean torso and golden hair stood out as a beacon. My breath caught in my throat as I approached her. Her beauty seemed to glow so brightly that I actually found it painful to look at her. Instead of the inverse, the sun worshiped her , kissing her skin and tresses, gilding her into the kind of mythological fantasy that geeky high-school boys and even their teachers masturbated over. The faint wisp of smoke from her cigarette danced around her head briefly before eloping with the breeze. Her eyes were friendly, her face open. No discernible hint of insincerity to be seen. A small smile curved her pink-tinted lips as she flicked away the remainder of the cigarette. She opened her mouth to speak, but I interrupted her, frustration warring painfully with lust. “What in hell are you doing here?” My voice shook only slightly. I tried to keep anger out of it but wasn’t entirely successful. Worse, I didn’t know why I should feel so 62
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resentful. I had wanted to see her so badly, and now that I had that opportunity it felt like the last thing in the world I should want. She wasn’t surprised by my reaction, but her smile slipped away regardless, her face becoming serious. “I wanted to see you.” She didn’t seem to take my harshness personally. I was irrationally relieved. “Why?” “Because I was worried.” “About what?” I gripped the keys so hard the metal bit into my palm. “About you, Anne. About how things ended.” As hard as I tried, I couldn’t meet her gaze. “Things ended just fine. I got what I needed, and my work is finished.” “Yes, I saw your presentation. I thought you did an excellent job. But that’s not the point.” I frowned and looked at her. “There is no other point, Leslie. None at all. With possibly the small exception of you telling me what you were doing talking to Michael during the meeting.” Something slight and inexplicable flickered over Leslie’s features but was gone in a split second. “I met him up there, yes. He introduced himself and we spoke about you for a moment. He was very proud of how your defense went.” “That’s not what it looked like to me.” “What did it look like to you, then?” I hesitated, not knowing how to answer her question. Not willing to speculate because to voice my fears might breathe life into them. “I…I don’t know, exactly.” The words spilled out in a rush. “Something… not right.”
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Leslie glanced away from me, the shadow of something crossing her face. My stomach rolled over with anxiety. “That’s not something you have to worry about,” she replied softly. I bit my lower lip. So there was something going on, no matter how seemingly insignificant. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words froze in my throat. No, I didn’t want to talk about this now. I couldn’t. Leslie was silent for a moment longer then turned to face me again with a nod. “I understand how you’re feeling. To tell you the truth, I’ve been feeling the same way lately.” She shifted from foot to foot, discomfort evident in her body language. I couldn’t figure out why she should be so disconcerted. I was the one waging an internal war over this woman. “The point I meant, though, was that you left so abruptly that night. It really bothered me how things ended. I couldn’t leave them like that,” she said softly. “I’ve thought about you so often in the last few weeks.” I couldn’t speak. None of the phrases fluttering about in my head seemed appropriate. Or even sane. The word plot kept jumping to the forefront of my thoughts and I frantically pushed it away. No no no no. The silence was broken by a group of boisterous students who approached the parking lot. Leslie glanced at them. “Let’s go somewhere and talk, okay? Just talk. That’s all.” “Talk about what? I don’t think there’s anything left for me to say.” Leslie studied me, her gaze knowing. “I disagree. I think there’s a lot we both have to say.” I thought about it. Going anywhere with her really wasn’t the best idea. Revealing my innermost secrets to her was beginning to seem inevitable, no matter how hard I fought. My logical brain knew that. Yet unable to stop myself, all I could do was
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helplessly nod and unlock the Honda, even as wetness dampened my panties and anticipation tightened my nipples at the thought of laying myself bare before her.
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Chapter Seven The downtown café Leslie directed me to was dark and intimate and mostly deserted. The air was flavored with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg and the delicious spicy tang of dark-roast coffee. Slow, mellow blues music played over the sound system. Several curved, high-backed booths lined the walls, ensuring privacy for the café’s patrons. Leslie led me to one such booth and we sat. A heavily pierced and goateed server approached, and though I didn’t really want one, I ordered a coffee. Leslie did the same. We waited for our beverages in a silence that made me more and more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by. Leslie seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I was at a loss. In fact, I couldn’t even look directly at her. Instead I studied the art on the walls, the worn and scratched surface of the table, the industrial glass sugar dispenser. The coffees arrived and gratefully, I latched on to my mug. Adding cream and sugar gave me something to do, a way to stall further. Because that was what this was—stalling. Leslie knew it and I knew it. Finally, the silence became painful to endure. I felt as if I had my back against the wall and there was no way out of this situation. I took a deep breath and a sip of coffee for fortification. “It was in my senior year. I had just turned eighteen.” My throat tightened slightly and I had to cough. “I was still awkward and ungainly, like any number of other teenagers, not having settled comfortably into my own skin yet, and searching desperately for any kind of approval. From anywhere.
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“There was a group of popular girls in my high school. You know the ones—giggly, with long hair and tight jeans, always surrounded by the wannabes.” The initials “R.K.” were scratched roughly into the laminate surface of the table. I stared at those marks so intently my head was beginning to throb. But I couldn’t look anywhere else. “And of course, with those girls were the popular boys. The golden ones. Football and rugby players, tall, broad-shouldered, sexy. “There was one in particular, Danny McKenzie, the football team’s quarterback. He was constantly on my mind. I fantasized about him day and night. In reality, I could barely speak if he was even in the same room as me. “The turning point came when I was tutoring one of the clique-y girls, Suzie, in calculus. We were in study hall and Danny came in to talk to Suzie. He essentially ignored me, but I think my reaction was pretty obvious, because a week later, Suzie invited me over to her house for her tutoring session. We were in her rec room, and she was primping with her hair while I went over her last assignment results.” I swallowed forcefully as the memories flooded into my head…
“You like Danny McKenzie, don’t you, Anne?” Suzie asked me without preamble. I was surprised but tried to be cool. I glanced up from our calculus textbook to look at her. “He’s all right.” I shrugged. “Oh but he likes you, you know,” Suzie whispered conspiratorially, bouncing onto the sofa next to me, her brown curls dancing in agreement. The rational part of my brain refused to believe this sort of bullshit. She was conning me, for whatever reason, and I didn’t like it. But the traitorous, fantasy-filled part of my brain clung to this shred of hope, this ray of sunshine, no matter how improbable it might be.
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“I don’t think that’s anywhere near the truth,” I said, trying to be realistic. “He told me so himself.” She giggled. “He wanted me to find out if you liked him.” I shook my head and turned my attention back to the equations on the paper, mumbling something incoherent. “Oh c’mon,” Suzie badgered, grabbing my arm. “Everybody knows, Anne. People can tell. And he talks about you all the time too.” Gritting my teeth, I realized she wasn’t going to let this go until I said something. “Yeah, okay, he’s kinda cute. Sure.” As though I’d told her she’d won the lottery, Suzie clapped her hands and actually let out a squeal. “Oh that’s so great!” she cried, squirming closer to me on the couch. “Now because you’re my friend, I’m going to let you in on a few little secrets. I happen to know what sorts of things Danny likes.” “What do you mean, the sorts of things he likes?” I asked, half intrigued, half wary. Suzie smirked, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “He loves French kissing with lots of tongue. You know how to do that, don’t you?” Any words I might have said caught in my throat, and my heart started to thump pretty loudly. “Well, yeah. Of course,” I said with a cough, still trying to play it cool. I knew how to do it in theory, but in practice was a different story altogether. “Show me.” Suzie smirked again, something underhanded on her face. “What? What do you mean, ‘show me’?” My palms had suddenly gone clammy. “How am I supposed to do that?” Suzie shifted closer to me on the couch, licking her lips. “Kiss me.” At first I thought she couldn’t be serious, but she kept moving closer to me. I shifted backward, bumping into the sofa’s armrest. I was effectively trapped. “Kiss you? What?” I hated that the words came out too breathy. I knew it made me sound interested. And in all honesty, I actually was. My fingers gripped the nubby tweed fabric covering the sofa, the tiny bumps rough against my hands. 68
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“Danny absolutely loves watching two girls make out. It’s almost his most favorite thing.” Suzie leaned forward, her mouth now inches from mine. I could smell the cherry scent of her lip gloss. And then she kissed me. It was soft and gentle and delicate. I had no idea how to react, but my body dictated what was going on. My breasts ached, and I felt wet down between my legs. She flicked her tongue at my lips and I opened my mouth. The touch of her tongue on mine was electrifying, and suddenly I wanted to keep kissing her, over and over. After a moment she stopped, though, with a little giggle. “Wow, Anne. You’re good at that. Danny will definitely like it. I like it too.” With that, she took my hand and placed it on one of her breasts. She was tiny and firm and her nipples were hard. She moaned and kissed me again, pressing my hand harder into her chest. She directed my thumb over her nipple, showed me how to rub it through her clothing, and she let out a groan. At that moment it occurred to me that all those rumors about Suzie that circulated around school were, in fact, quite possibly all true. I goggled at that thought for a brief moment. Suddenly she let go of my hand and hers landed on one of my breasts. I know I let out a whimper of surprise and pleasure. She rubbed at my rock-hard nipple, flicking at it with her thumb, and I imitated her with my own hand on her breast. Suzie broke away from me, straightening. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing ragged. Reaching for the hem of her t-shirt, she yanked it over her head, revealing a tiny scrap of lace for a bra. With a quick flick of the closure, the undergarment disappeared as well. I stared at her pert little breasts, wondering just how this surreal experience was happening to me and just what the hell I was doing. Sliding her hands up her flat belly to her breasts, Suzie began playing with her nipples. “Danny just loves to see girls doing everything, Anne. He would do anything for you after watching you fuck another pair of titties.” She squirmed slightly, obviously feeling 69
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very turned-on, and raised her arms, arching her back, offering her pert little peaks to me. My heart was now pounding deafeningly in my ears. I realized I wanted so badly to taste her that at that point I honestly didn’t even really care about Danny McKenzie. So I moved closer to her and kissed her breasts. She grabbed the back of my head, pulling me tight against her. “Oh yeah. Lick my nipples. Suck on them.” Suzie was groaning with excitement and I answered her request. Her nipples were hard and smooth, and I rolled my tongue around them, sucking gently and then hard. Her skin was a little bit salty and smelled like vanilla. She tasted so good. I could have continued doing that all evening. I actually felt more turned-on listening to her vocalize her pleasure. After a few moments of that, Suzie disentangled herself from me and reached down to pull my t-shirt off. I was embarrassed because my bra was plain white cotton, but she looked at me admiringly anyway. “Oh you’ve got great little titties,” she said, stroking me on top of the fabric. “I know he’d like them too.” Reaching around, she unhooked the bra and gently pulled the straps off my shoulders, letting the cups fall. As a reflex I automatically crossed my arms over my chest, but she pulled them away. “No, no. Don’t cover yourself up. You look great,” she said, her bare fingers now caressing my skin. She flicked her fingers over my already hard nipples and I gasped. The sensation was painfully exquisite and I absolutely adored it. With a look of wicked mischief on her face, Suzie bent in toward me and licked the curve of one breast. Her breath was hot and moist and I stiffened. Reaching out to her, I found her breasts again and played with them while she licked me. I fondled and squeezed and flicked, reveling in her sighs. Then she zeroed in on my nipple, taking it in her mouth and sucking. I nearly jumped from the sofa. The action sent a firecracker of incandescent heat to my pussy and I squealed. 70
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She giggled and continued to suckle while playing with the other nipple with her fingers. I didn’t want her to stop. I wanted to come so badly that everything else was forgotten. Suddenly Suzie jumped up, her hands going to the snap of her denim shorts. She wiggled her hips as she unzipped them, grinning wickedly at me. “Oh, honey, now we’re gonna have some fun,” she singsonged as she pushed her shorts and lace panties down her legs. I couldn’t help but stare at the tiny little shorn patch of hair between her legs, and I trembled slightly. She stood there for a long moment, posing for me, then slid her hand down, her fingers dipping between her legs. “Let me show you what will make Danny cream his jeans over you, Anne,” she said smoothly, bending down to take my hand and pulling me to my feet. She opened the button on my shorts and unzipped them as well. Unable to resist, I put my hands on her breasts again, cupping them, playing with them. Suzie hooked her thumbs into the waistbands of both my shorts and panties and then stopped. “Touch my pussy. You know you want to.” For a moment I felt terrified. What was I doing? But then the need to discover what it was like was overwhelming. I slid one hand down her flat stomach and brushed my fingertips over the thatch of hair. Moving farther down I touched her folds, experimentally dipping my finger between them. I found the tiny nub of her clit and Suzie stiffened. “Oh yeah. Rub me,” she groaned. I began making small circles and she simply stood there, eyes closed, her breathing rapid and shallow. After a moment she stopped me with one of her hands, then finally pushed my bottoms off, kneeling as she did so, ending up with her face next to my pussy. “Mmm,” she said, and she leaned in to take a lick. I was paralyzed with shock. I’d never done this with anyone, let alone another girl, and the idea of it made more wetness dampen my thighs. The feel of her tongue on me 71
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was one of the most exquisite things I’d ever felt. Suzie licked repeatedly, flicking her tongue over and over my clit. It didn’t take long before I felt the orgasm start, and when I started to gasp and shudder, she inserted a finger and thrust in and out in rhythm with her tongue. I cried out as I came, and my knees buckled. Suzie released me as I sat back on the sofa, panting for breath. “Oh God,” I said, “that was fantastic.” Suzie rose and sat on the couch next to me, licking her lips. “Thanks. You taste yummy.” She spread her knees slightly and gave me a direct look. I got the message, and I slowly moved to kneel between her legs. As I moved in, I could smell the earthy, musky scent of her and it made me dizzy. Slowly, carefully, I bent down and nuzzled her hair with my nose. She squirmed on the couch, her hands appearing on my head. I took a deep breath, moved down, and gave her a short lick. It was amazing. I found her clit and tongued it, listening to her moan above me. I lapped harder at her and her fingers tangled in my hair as she pushed my face more firmly into her pussy. Her breath came faster, and I had the feeling she was getting close to coming, so I took a finger and slowly slid it inside her. I could feel her muscles clenching and so I thrust the same way she did, licking all the while, and in a moment she stiffened and gave a shriek before collapsing again. I stayed where I was, reveling in the scent and feel of her. I felt powerful and in control, and I was ready to have another round. At that moment, though, I heard the squeak of louvered doors sliding open, and I glanced over to my right. A half-dozen of the popular kids—Danny included—spilled out of the storage closet, pointing and laughing. A couple of cameras clicked and whirred. They began to cheer and clap. I scrambled backward in horror and disbelief. I located my clothing and yanked my outfit back on, my fingers fumbling with closures. Camera flashes made my eyes burn, 72
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and they stung with tears that I refused to let fall. I wasn’t going to cry in front of them. No way in hell. The whole time they all laughed hysterically, hooting and hollering and catcalling. Above the noise of the whole group, Suzie and Danny laughed the loudest of all. At that point, I fled. I feigned sickness, not returning to school for three days. Finally my mother forced me to go. That first day back was possibly the worst day of my life. People hissed things like “Hey, lezbo!” and “It’s Anne the slut!” as I passed them in the halls. My locker was covered with the words “lezzie” and “cunt” and “slut” scratched into the paint. Suzie’s popularity shot even higher, which made me feel ill every time anything related to her came to my attention. Probably the worst part was the dirty requests I got. Suddenly I was a whore who spread her legs for everyone and I got asked for blowjobs and worse everywhere I went. It got to a point where I had to switch schools. The rumors followed, but I kept completely to myself and constructed a shell that nothing could penetrate. The few whispers and taunts at the new school stopped when someone else’s scandal occurred, and after that I was essentially ignored. The remainder of my senior year was a huge black hole. I spent all my time working and studying, so I ended up at the top of the honor roll, but it was a small comfort because I was so alone…
“The hardest part, though,” I said, hesitating, unwilling to utter the words and unable to look Leslie in the eye, “was no longer fantasizing over boys, but finding myself thinking dirty thoughts about some of the girls I knew. Including Suzie, sometimes. And even as I did, the laughter and merciless teasing would echo in my head. So while I felt both aroused and horny, I also felt sick to my stomach.” Even now, my body felt disjointed, separate from the rest of me. I’d thought I could distance myself from that time, that place, but the tingle on my skin and the wetness in my panties signaled the truth. A distorted sort of pleasure mixed with the shame. It was amazing what power the memories still had, even though it had been so many years ago.
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I glanced again at Leslie. Her posture hadn’t changed, yet she seemed different somehow. Understanding was written across her features, and even more sympathy. I marveled briefly at how difficult it was to say all this to her. It was harder than it had been to tell Michael the story. “Unbelievable.” Leslie shook her head. “The cruelty of people shocks me sometimes.” She reached across the table and took my hand. Her fingers were cold. “I am so very, very sorry you had to go through all of that. I can certainly understand how that experience would have far-reaching effects, even to today.” She fell silent for a moment, a slight frown on her face. “The worst part is you were forced to suffer for something that by all rights could simply have been fun and pleasurable for all involved. In no way, shape or form is that right.” She was silent again for a long moment. “I think you know by now that there’s something about you that’s drawing me to you,” she said softly. My breath caught in my throat at her words. “You’ve become a part of my world and a new inhabitant in my mind. I think about you constantly and see you struggle. I want to try to help you.” The question I had been dying to ask tumbled over my lips unbidden. “But why, Leslie? Why are you doing this? Why the hell would you offer what you’re offering?” “Why? Because I see so much of myself in you. I know how I felt back then, and I know the process I had to go through to get past those memories and get back to unapologetically being me again. I want to help you to do the same. I’ve told you everything I can. I can’t make you trust me, but I hope that my actions are reassuring.” She paused for several heartbeats. “I want us to make love. As wickedly or sweetly as you want. As many times as you want. I want to show you how it can really be, how beautiful, how freeing.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “I want to make you come, Anne. Hear you cry out. Feel you. Taste you. Love you.” Silence fell. The café was uncomfortably quiet as even the music had stopped. Then there was a click, and a new song began to play. After a moment I recognized the blues
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tune that was playing on Leslie’s stereo that same night. Suddenly the room was too close, too hot, the air too stifling. I was having trouble breathing and my skin tingled from head to foot. The permanent arousal I’d been suffering from for weeks and weeks was at its peak. If I didn’t have sex with this woman now, I would combust and there would be nothing left of me but smoldering ash. The hip young waiter would have to sweep me out into the street with the rest of the trash. I looked at Leslie. She seemed composed, but minute cues gave away her own anxiety. Her lips were parted, the faintest dewiness on her skin. She fidgeted with her pack of smokes, turning the carton over and over with her fingertips. She wants to help you! the voice in my head cried. She’s not here to be cruel and vindictive. She’s a grown woman who is laying it out on the line for you. Take what she’s offering and just fucking do it, for crissakes!
Heart thumping painfully in my chest, I stood. “Let me take you home.” Leslie’s eyes glowed with arousal, her chest rising and falling rapidly with her breath. “I’d like that.”
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Chapter Eight I watched the taillights of Leslie’s BMW disappear in the distance. We’d returned to the school parking lot in order to get her car, and she’d begun to drive away but I didn’t follow. Instead I sat with the engine idling and turned the heater up. My fingers were cold, and nothing I was doing could warm them. When her car had vanished entirely from view, I glanced at the cell phone in my lap. I had a call to make, but I was frozen, unable to move. Forcing my hands to pick up the device, I flipped the phone open and stared at the glowing, brightly colored viewscreen. An image of Michael and I taken on a trip to San Francisco last year stared back at me. The coffee I’d just drunk roiled in my stomach. Go on and just call him, the inner voice urged. You need to let him know what’s going on.
I trembled slightly. What in hell was I so scared of? This was our deal. I had to call him to let him know what I was about to do. Resolutely, I dialed his cell and held my breath. “Hi, you’ve reached Michael’s cell phone…”
Voice mail. Relief sent a swell of heat through my limbs. I knew I was being a giant chicken, but I was thoroughly comforted that I wouldn’t have to talk to him in person. The requisite beep echoed tinnily in my ear. “Uh, hi, Michael. It’s me.” Fear clenched my jaw shut. Say something! The voice screamed at me. Talk to him! “Um…I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be later coming home today. I, uh, have to…” My voice trailed away. This was the crux of it all. The moment of truth. I tried to muster some saliva to swallow. The seconds ticked away, echoing loudly in my brain.
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“Uh, I have some things to do. Dean’s office and all that.” The words flew out of me in an unstoppable rush, the skirted truth slippery and snakelike. “See you at home,” I finished lamely before hanging up. I looked at the digital photograph again. The faces there no longer looked happy and carefree, but instead seemed tainted, a hint of misery overlying those features. I blinked, angrily telling myself that I was just imagining things, and stabbed forcefully at the power button, shutting the phone off completely. What was done was done. I felt physically sick and deep down I knew just how wrong I was. But I didn’t turn the phone back on to call Michael again. The display remained black, cold, unresponsive. Now I was cut off from the world and completely unreachable until I decided to join the land of the living once more. No one could find me unless I wanted to be found, and right now I wanted to hide. And the place to do that was only a few minutes away. Tossing the now lifeless phone carelessly on the passenger’s seat, I put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot, the sting of tears once again burning my eyes. I recklessly gunned the engine in an attempt to bury the echo of self-vilification in my head. It didn’t work very well. Yet I drove on.
***** Leslie was waiting for me in the foyer of her home. She’d been watching for me, because the door opened before I’d even rung the bell. “Come on in,” she said softly. I entered, dropping my bag on the floor and removing my coat. As before, Leslie took it, disappearing around the corner to hang it up. When she returned, she looked at me with an expression of concern. “Are you okay?” I hesitated and nodded, not willing to trust my voice. 77
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Leslie reached out and took my hand, leading me again to her living room. The curtains were drawn, and a small table lamp burned in the corner. She’d brought out another bottle of red wine and placed it with a pair of glasses on the steamer trunk. She poured us each a glass and handed one to me. She held hers out. “To redemption, freedom and healing,” she murmured. I clinked my glass with hers, the soft ting of crystal echoing quietly in the room, and we both drank. I took a couple of healthy mouthfuls and noticed Leslie doing the same. She gestured to the sofa where we sat together before. “Let’s sit.” I was cautious and hesitant. This was real, this was happening. And now that I was in this environment, I was no longer entirely sure that it was where I wanted to be. I seated myself at the opposite end to where Leslie sat. I didn’t know what to say. I felt as though all the words inside of me had already been spilled out, and there were no more to be found. Instead I studied my wineglass and the ruby liquid within. It sparkled gemlike in the dim light. I hoped answers would suddenly appear, bubbling to the surface like those crazy Magic 8 Ball toys that people used to jokingly predict the future. No wisdom appeared in the wineglass. I took another large mouthful. Perhaps enlightenment enlightenment lay at the bottom. There was only one way to find out. “Anne,” Leslie said quietly, “I know you’re nervous and probably more than a little bit uncomfortable right now. That’s completely understandable. So I want you to remember that you are completely in control, and you can set the pace of anything that might happen here. Okay?” I nodded, my nose in my glass. The warmth of the wine was spreading through my limbs. With the thesis defense today along with everything else, I hadn’t eaten a whole lot and the alcohol was going to my head pretty quickly. I decided that being stumbling
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drunk in this situation probably wasn’t the best plan of action either, so with a touch of regret I put the nearly empty goblet back down on the coffee table. “I just want to reassure you. You’re the only one here, no one is hiding anywhere. If it truly concerns you, you’re welcome to take a look around if you like.” I shook my head. “No, that’s not necessary. I trust you.” Somehow peeking into her closets seemed like an extreme, paranoid measure. I was better than that. Leslie slid closer to me on the sofa, resting her arm along the backrest. “You know, I was telling the truth when I said I thought your thesis presentation went really well.” She was changing the topic. I knew exactly what she was trying to do, and I was actually grateful. “Thank you,” I said, my voice sounding rusty and unused. “To tell the truth, I was so distracted up there that I’m surprised I even said any of the right things.” Leslie took a sip of her wine. “No, no. You sounded perfectly calm and in control, and like you knew exactly what you were talking about.” A hint of her perfume reached me, the scent warm and sexy and enticing. I suddenly wanted the last mouthful of my wine, even though the very tip of my nose was numb from what I’d already imbibed. I reached for the goblet, drained it and put it back where it had sat. “We’ll just have to see what the committee says now.” I turned to look at her, suddenly tired of small talk. Her cheeks were pink, flushed with the alcohol, and her eyes soft. Her mouth was slightly open, and the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. I reached up to touch her hair, that silken wheat, and reveled in that softness and smoothness. smoothness. Hand shaking slightly, I touched her cheek, caressing her delicate skin, and watched as her eyelids fluttered shut. Ever so slowly she turned her head and placed a kiss in the center of my palm. The touch of her lips made me shudder, the contact between us completing that electrical current.
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With my other hand, I gently took the wineglass out of her grasp and placed it next to mine on the table. Then I put that hand on her knee. I could feel the warmth of her body through the fabric of her slacks. One of her hands came up to my face, also cupping my cheek, and I couldn’t help but also close my eyes. Her touch was so gentle, so careful, I felt almost cherished. Her palm also slid over my lips and I imitated her kiss. Feeling bold, I added a twist and parted my lips, flicking the tip of my tongue against her hand. I heard a short gasp escape her. The earlier fires that had burned between us in this room roared once again into life, embers that had slowly simmered, liquefied, thick and raw, igniting again with a powerful whoosh. Once again, a vortex of white-hot heat pulled me in, spinning me dizzily around. Heat suffused my limbs as though my veins were molten, igneous. The ice that had clutched me in its rigid grasp not an hour before evaporated instantaneously and I felt languid, nearly boneless. I leaned in toward her and kissed her, sliding my hand around to the back of her head. Leslie’s soft, warm lips caressed mine as they touched, again and again, as light as butterfly wings. Her breath was spicy with the wine, and I drunkenly breathed in the scent. Opening my mouth, I deepened the kiss, flicking my tongue against her lips. She parted her own, her tongue darting out to meet mine. A wave of arousal rolled in my belly and I plunged my tongue into her mouth. Leslie’s groan in response fanned the flames and I thrust in and out, rubbing against her teeth, stroking her tongue with mine. Baser instinct took hold of me, buoyed by alcohol and need. I moved my hand down her neck, brushing my fingertips over the bare skin revealed by her shirt. I was again amazed at how smooth and soft her skin was. Moving farther southward, I traced the curve of her breast, traveling in ever tighter circles toward her nipple. Leslie let out a gasp when I found her firmly puckered tip, evident through the thin fabric. I played with that nub, plucking it, tweaking it, feeling Leslie shudder beneath me.
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Her hands found my breasts and she cupped them both. Impossibly, my nipples hardened even more and tingled beneath my clothing. She grasped both globes, caressing them, gently squeezing and rubbing both nipples with her thumbs. A shock of pleasure bolted though my pussy at her touch and I groaned. I needed her skin, needed her bare and open to me. Breaking off the kiss, I rose, rocking tipsily, grasping her arms for balance. “Stand up,” I said breathlessly. The room tilted very slightly as Leslie rose to stand in front of me. Her eyes glowed in the dim light, a faint sheen of perspiration on her forehead. I fumbled for the hem of her shirt and grasped it, pulling it gently upward and over her head. She raised her arms to help. I tossed the garment onto the floor, unable to look away from her breasts. She wore the sheerest, sexiest black bra I’d ever seen. Her nipples were hard little pebbles, poking against the material. I brought my hands up to cup her, feeling the warmth and weight of her against my palms. I mimicked what she’d done earlier and flicked my thumbs over the turgid points. A sharp shudder ran through her body and her breath quickened. Leaning in, I kissed the valley between her breasts, grazing the skin with the tip of my tongue. She was both salty and sweet, and absolutely delectable. I turned my head to nuzzle first one, then the other breast, my fingers still plucking at her flesh. I dropped kisses atop the fabric, moving closer to her nipple and finally taking it into my mouth. Leslie let out a squeak, her head falling back, her hands finding the back of my head to hold me in place. I laved her nub with my tongue, suckling on it, nibbling gently. Releasing her other breast, I reached behind to her bra’s closure and popped it open. The cups covering her immediately softened, the fabric bunching slightly. Straightening, I slipped my fingertips under the straps, slowly pulling them down her arms.
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Leslie’s chest rapidly rose and fell, the sharp intake and exhalation of breath indicating her arousal. Within moments, the cups had fallen away and her undergarment joined the other clothing on the floor. She had absolutely amazing tits. Admiringly, I ran my hands over the newly bared flesh, the nipples pressing into my palms. I wanted to taste her again, now with no barrier at all between us. I leaned in again, grasping both breasts and gently squeezing them together. Turning my head back and forth, I flicked my tongue over both nipples, licking. Her skin was rock-hard and puckered, and I explored each tiny protuberance slowly, learning it all by touch. Leslie’s gasps for air held a faint keening, and suddenly she pushed me away. “I don’t want you to stop,” she said, her words airy and faint, “but I want a turn. You’re driving me crazy, Anne.” With that, she found the hem of my shirt and quickly yanked it over my head. My bra wasn’t as sheer or sexy as hers, but it was black and it was lacy, and Leslie seemed to like it. She cupped my breasts again too, fondling and stroking for a moment, before she reached behind me to open the closure. Pulling the garment down, she sighed appreciatively, stroking my breasts with something akin to reverence. I trembled at her touch, each caress sending a wave of heat through my limbs and a trickle of wetness from my pussy. I wanted to touch her more, so I reached for her. We stood there, hands on each other’s breasts, mutually fondling and stroking. The sensation was absolutely exquisite. Looking into her eyes, I could see the fog of arousal on Leslie’s face. Her color was heightened, her breath coming in quick gasps. I wanted to kiss her again, wanted to taste that pale pink mouth, so sweet and delicate. Releasing her breasts, I slid my arms around her instead, pulling her to me as she did the same. Our breasts, damp with perspiration and saliva, rubbed against each other, nipple to nipple. The stroke of flesh against flesh was both so sexy and so maddening. 82
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I claimed her mouth again with my own, and we stood there in her living room, bodies swaying slightly as our flesh caressed, the hard points pressing into each other, the slick friction so incredibly heavenly. Hedonism enveloped me. It was all about bare skin and sweat and tongues and an insane desire to simply devour and be devoured. Breaking the kiss with a gasp, I knelt before Leslie, my hands going to the waistband of her slacks. I quickly popped the button and pulled down the zipper, Leslie’s hands appearing atop my head, her fingers gently stroking my hair. The gaping fabric revealed a hint of black lace, and I leaned in to kiss the skin just above it. I caught the barest hint of Leslie’s scent and my heart pounded mercilessly in my ears. Grasping the waist of her slacks, I slid them down over her hips, slowly, revealing more of her flesh and the tiny scrap of fabric that was her panties. Gravity finally took over, her slacks tumbling into a puddle on the floor, and Leslie took a small step backward to free her feet, kicking the garment away. My hands on her hips, I leaned forward, nuzzling her panties with the tip of my nose. I could feel my legs trembling, and I pressed my nose gently into her pussy, tilting my head to place a kiss on top of the fabric. Leslie let out the barest whimper, a sound of rapidly vanishing control, and I reveled in the sensation of power that flooded my body. I was making this woman moan. I could make her come, make her scream, maybe even make her beg if I wanted to. The sensations were incredibly familiar, yet at the same time, they weren’t. It was the same thrilling feeling as with Suzie way back when, yet now it felt better. I felt more confident. More in control. More aware. Stronger. Damn, it felt good. I hooked my fingers under the waistband of her panties and painfully slowly inched them down her hips and onto her thighs. I lifted my head slightly, following the path of the undergarment with my mouth, kissing each inch of newly bared flesh. 83
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There was a tiny patch of hair just above her pussy and I rubbed my lips against it for a moment before moving farther south. Her skin was pink and delicate, the tiny folds of flesh damp with arousal. Abandoning her panties halfway down, I reached behind to grab her firm bottom. Experimentally, I gave her pussy a short lick, flicking my tongue without a specific target. Above me Leslie gave a squeak, and beneath my hands her entire body trembled. Her fingers tightened in my curls as I leaned in again, this time with a more intentioned goal in mind. Darting my tongue into her folds, I found the firm nub of her clit and gently pressed it. A loud gasp from Leslie echoed through the room, and I flicked my tongue again. “Oh, Anne!” Leslie said breathlessly. “Yes, oh yes. Do that again, baby!” Heat and adrenaline suffused my limbs and I felt invincible. The power Leslie was giving me was unbelievable. I licked her again, this time teasing her body with long, slow strokes of my tongue. Everything was so wet, so slippery. It was incredibly arousing. Shifting her feet, Leslie widened her stance, opening herself up a little farther, yet hindered by the panties still tangled around her ankles. Releasing one cheek, I slid my hand around to the front, slipping it between her legs. Moving upward, I pressed a finger lengthwise along the seam of her body and rubbed it back and forth. My tongue continued to play with her clit, flicking it and swirling around it. Gently exploring, I found her damp opening with my fingertip and slowly slid my finger inside. Leslie’s endearments immediately evolved into wordless groans and unintelligible exhortations, her entire body beginning to shake once more. I deliberately thrust my finger deep into her slippery channel, pulling it back out and pushing it back in. Slowly at first then increasingly faster. Leslie gripped my head, pushing my face more firmly into her pussy. I sucked on her clit and added a second finger inside her. 84
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Then a third. Leslie shrieked as I finger-fucked her, my mouth suctioned to her clit, my tongue lashing her flesh with repeated strokes. “Unh…uh…oh fuck, yeah…oh, baby, Anne, you’re so good, so good…” Leslie’s leg muscles tightened under my touch, her bottom clenching, and I knew she was going to come. I continued to push my fingers in and out of her, faster and faster, but I lifted my face just enough to look up at her. Her eyes were screwed shut, her face glowing with a golden sheen of perspiration, and she sucked her bottom lip repeatedly in and out of her mouth. “Oh yeah, Leslie…that feels good, doesn’t it? I’m gonna make you come, and I want you to scream for me.” The words tumbled out of me, harsh and low, unstoppable. “Come hard, Leslie…come so hard you think you’re gonna die. Come all over me.” I wanted her to lose control, lose herself, surrender to me. The feeling gave me a brief shock. I wanted to dominate her, show her that I could do this. That I was strong enough. That I was good enough. The realization nearly made me freeze in my tracks. Slightly sobered, I returned to my ministrations. I laved her clit with my tongue, matching the rhythm of my thrusting fingers. Probing gently, I found her G-spot and pressed. The scent and sight and sound of her combusting around me made me lightheaded. She wanted me to do this to her. She was hot and wet and moaning for me. I was fucking her and it was the most unbelievable feeling I’d ever experienced. With a sharp intake of breath and a long, low keening sound, Leslie stilled in her movements as though frozen in time. I gave her one last lick and one last thrust, and she exploded above me with a sharp cry. Her legs shook and she bent over me, the release draining her of all strength and cognition. I stopped my ministrations and guided her down beside me with my hands, helping her to collapse onto her bottom on the thick area rug.
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Breathing heavily, I looked at her. Her eyes were closed and a look of beatific satisfaction had settled on her face. Her hair was slightly disheveled and her skin was splotched light pink. With the tiniest of movements, she kicked the scrap of fabric off her ankles, freeing herself. As I studied her, she opened her eyes and looked at me. “Wow,” she said, her voice nothing but breath, “that was completely indescribable. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything that intense ever before.” She leaned forward to kiss me, gentle and sweet. I felt as though I could move mountains. Leslie’s mouth on mine was electric again. My breasts tingled, and I was reminded that while she might have gotten to come, I hadn’t. Yet. And I was as turned-on as a power supply. My stomach jumped with anticipation, and I realized that any hesitation I might have felt earlier had now vanished. Breath disappeared from my lungs and the moment took on a strangely surreal quality. Leslie reached around me for her wineglass and took a large sip before replacing the goblet on the table. I watched her movements, graceful and natural, and admired her body. She was perfection personified, and it was impossible to look away. Especially now, with the aura of satisfaction surrounding her, and the glow that radiated off her. Brushing her hair back over her shoulders, Leslie turned and focused on me. Her lips curved into a mischievous grin, and her eyes fairly sparkled. “Now,” she said, shifting on to her hands and knees and leaning toward me, “I think it’s somebody else’s turn for a little bit of fun.” I shivered with anticipation. “I’m ready for whatever you want to do.” She looked at me for a moment, her eyes suddenly thoughtful, and then the sparkle returned. She kissed me gently then moved her lips away from mine, trailing tiny kisses along my cheek, my jaw, my chin and down my neck. “Oh,” she said softly, “I think a little bit of tit for tat is in order, don’t you?”
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I tilted my head back, offering my throat to her, and she licked my skin, sucking gently, stopping at the hollow. The thought of Leslie’s mouth all over my body sent shivers from my scalp to the soles of my feet. Oh yeah, bring it on, I thought. I shifted to prop myself up on my arms, tilting my
chest upward. Leslie took the invitation and slowly moved farther south, nuzzling the curves of my breasts, flicking her tongue over my skin, pausing now and then to suck gently. She made her way slowly to one nipple, latching suddenly on to the nub in a way that sent a jolt of pure pleasure shooting through my body. I let out a loud groan. She continued to suckle at one breast and brought a hand up to the other one, where she proceeded to pluck and tweak at the hard nipple. My arms shook from the strain of propping myself up in this slightly awkward manner but more from the absolute decadence of her touch. I squirmed, rubbing my legs together, feeling my panties becoming more and more soaked as every minute passed, the tingle in my clit growing to nearly full-body proportions. Leslie let out a soft, dirty laugh. “You like that, don’t you?” She whispered between sucks, her breath hot on my breast. “Well, let’s see what else you like…” Her hand left my breast and landed on my stocking-covered calf. I could feel the heat of her palm as she slid her hand upward to my knee, delving underneath the hem of my skirt. I gave myself a congratulatory silent pat on my own back for deciding to wear thigh-high stockings today, rather than traditional pantyhose. I shivered as Leslie’s fingers found the lace-trimmed tops midthigh, and her fingertips gently brushed the bare skin there. “Ooh, very nice, Anne,” she said softly, “I like making discoveries like this.” She gently stroked the flesh of my inner thigh, causing my legs to tremble. Her teasing was driving me wild. I spread my legs as wide as I could, wordlessly urging her on. She brushed her fingers over the lace of my panties, just the lightest of caresses, and I gasped. I shifted my hips, trying to tilt them upward, hoping she would just keep touching me over and over, and for a while, she did. 87
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Each slow, rhythmic stroke was as steady as a heartbeat, and each press of her fingers against my clit completed an electrical circuit. Coupled with the lavish attention her mouth was giving my nipples, my already overheated body was coming dangerously close to combusting. Suddenly she stopped her ministrations and shifted backward. She patted the leather sofa next to us. “Up here, if you would,” she said, her face flushed and eyes slightly unfocused. Forcing my rubbery limbs to move, I hoisted myself up onto the cool black surface, the material shocking against my skin for the merest of moments. Leslie moved to kneel between my legs, sliding both hands up the length of my thighs, underneath my skirt, to my panties. She hooked a finger under the elastic over both hips and gently tugged. Attempting to be helpful, I raised my hips slightly, allowing her to pull the scrap of fabric down my legs. Once it was removed, she tossed the garment negligently over with the other tumbled clothes on the floor. “Now,” she said softly, sliding her hands slowly back up my thighs, “I want to lick you and suck on you and make you come.” I nodded, not trusting my voice to function properly. Anticipation was making me nervous and excited all at the same time. Pushing my skirt up toward my hips, baring my naked pussy to the room, Leslie leaned in and dropped kisses on my thighs. First on top of the silky stockings, where the warmth of her lips heated my skin, and then on the lace edging, and then finally on the bare skin above. She licked my inner thigh and I sucked in a breath. She was getting so close I could hardly stand it. I put my hands on her head, gently stroking her hair, and her tongue traveled farther north. When her nose brushed up against my thatch of hair my eyelids fluttered shut. I wanted to immerse myself in the sensations she was giving me, surround myself with her pleasure, give myself to her entirely.
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“Mmm, so nice,” Leslie murmured, her tongue flicking over the crease of the hip, just barely avoiding my pussy, “now let’s see how yummy you taste.” With that, her tongue darted over my folds, mimicking what I’d done earlier, a long slow lick over my entire pussy. The sensation was electric and my back arched slightly off the sofa. I gasped loudly, tightening my fingers in her hair. “Oh yes, do that again!” I groaned. “What, you mean,” she licked me again, harder this time “like that?” I moaned again, the hot, wet slickness of her tongue so incredibly glorious. “Yes, yes, yes,” I mumbled breathlessly. “It’s my pleasure,” she whispered before leaning back in again. Her tongue began a leisurely exploration of my pussy, dipping into the folds, darting into my slippery channel before returning to the hard nub of my clit. I squirmed more as she proceeded to lick and suck, nibbling lightly and laving the bump with her tongue, my flesh becoming so wet and slick that every movement was nearly frictionless. Frissons of pleasure spiraled through my limbs, brilliant white flashes of color coming in waves against my eyelids. When a finger appeared, exploring, I whimpered. Slowly, Leslie thrust the digit into me, in an easy, gentle rhythm, spreading my juices over my flesh. I cried out, the sensations exquisite, the pull and thrust against my tortured skin so mind-blowing. She added two more digits and thrust more rapidly, her finger-fucking matching the tempo of her tongue creating an all-out assault on my body. In that moment the tenor of the room changed. A new flavor to the air. Something was different. I could sense it in my periphery, but I refused to acknowledge it. At this particular moment, I didn’t really care what it was, and besides, I was too busy coming anyway. I wasn’t going to be distracted.
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Leslie sought out my G-spot the same way I had done with her, and the added pressure made me clench my muscles. Damn, it was so unbelievably good. I tightened my fingers in her hair, pressing her face firmly into my pussy. She continued to lap and thrust, the combined rhythm sending spots of neon color to explode behind my eyelids. The familiar tingle began, low in my belly, that heralded the start of an orgasm, and my thighs clenched of their own accord. “Oh yes, Leslie…yes, don’t stop…that’s so damn good…” The words escaped me on large gasps of air, and I writhed beneath her touch, my head whiplashing back and forth against the smooth leather. The wave of pleasure grew within me, mountainous, volcanic, lifting me higher and higher, vaulting me into the stratosphere so that the air grew thin and the light behind my eyes grew pale. My blood ran hot within my veins, and I was certain that if I opened my eyes and looked closely, I’d see steam rising from my skin. With my pulse pounding deafeningly in my ears, the orgasm approached, every nerve, every cell within me freezing into place for one heart-stopping, breath-stealing moment. I shrieked, the sound echoing through the room as I tumbled over the edge, my entire body racked with shudders. Release flowed from my center through every limb and I slowly descended back to earth, spinning and arcing like a feather in the breeze. I exhaled loudly. That had been one of the most spectacular orgasms I’d ever had. My legs felt like gelatin, like the bones in them had melted into nothing but primordial goo. It was such a spectacular sensation. I kept my eyes closed and simply floated along in the nothingness, the heat of Leslie’s body still pressed against the skin of my thighs. I took another deep breath, the change in the air coming back to me in a heartbeat, returning like a wave of the ocean. I knew, and I felt strangely calm, which surprised me. “Michael,” I said quietly, “what are you doing here?”
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“Hello, Anne,” he replied, his voice, tight with emotion, coming from the opposite side of the room. “I was about to ask you the same thing, but then the answer to that is pretty obvious.” I cracked open my eyelids and stared at his tall frame propped in the doorway. His jaw was clenched, a nervous tic in his cheek. His eyes were dark, shadowed. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “I think we need to talk.”
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Chapter Nine Post-orgasm euphoria left me strangely calm, despite the fact Leslie and I were both mostly naked and that my boyfriend was standing in the doorway, seeing it all. With vaguely amused detachment, I realized I was supposed to be upset about this interruption, about him being here, about being caught again, but I couldn’t find it within myself to be so. Leslie had silently risen, moved away from me and left the room. She returned, having slipped into a pink terrycloth robe. She handed me a pale blue one. I sat up on the couch and straightened my skirt in a somewhat pointless gesture, and put the proffered robe on. “Dean Schechtman’s office called,” Michael said softly. “They were confused when I mentioned that you said you would stop by, but they hadn’t seen you.” A slight flush made my cheeks burn. “I…yes, I know.” He shifted his stance, crossing his arms over his chest. Everything about him was all sharp angles, radiating hardness, tightly bottled emotion. The high color in his cheeks and the bulge in the front of his jeans indicated that arousal was mixed in there as well. “I’m sorry. I know I should have told you what was going on. I…I just wasn’t ready to say anything yet.” Michael exhaled forcefully, but I knew by the softening of his features that he wasn’t angry. At least, not as much as he could have been. “How did you know I was here?” I asked when the painful silence of the room lengthened. There was a moment before Michael answered. “Leslie told me you would be,” he replied, his gaze flicking quickly to the other woman and then back to me.
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What? This bit of news gave me a small shock. A small clicking sound echoed in my
head as a puzzle piece fell into place. “So you were purposely talking together in the balcony earlier today,” I said, heat rising into my cheeks. “What’s going on here?” I watched as Michael and Leslie looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between them before Leslie looked at me. “Michael needed to join us, Anne,” Leslie said softly. “It was the only way to get you all the way through the painful block of your past.” Something was definitely not right here. The calm of earlier evaporated, and I gripped the lapels of the robe, pulling them closer around my neck. “What do you mean, ‘getting through the painful block of the past’?” I asked, apprehension raising the volume and tone of my voice. “What the hell is going on here? You sound like a doctor or something.” Leslie shook her head. “No, not a doctor.” She glanced at Michael again then back at me. “Anne, I’m a private intimacy coach.” Leslie’s words echoed loudly in my ears, and I knew the color had vanished from my face by the tingling in my cheeks. A sick feeling formed in my stomach. “I need to know everything. Right now,” I said, forcing the words out of a desertdry throat. Leslie came and sat beside me on the sofa. I shuffled to the other end of the seat, suddenly not wanting to be anywhere near her. “In the beginning Michael contacted me,” Leslie said softly. “He explained to me about your situation and about how you seemed to be suffering more and more in recent months. He relayed a shorter version of the story about you in high school to me and about how the event seemed to have caused significant issues with your sexuality.” I shot a glance at Michael, still standing in the doorway, an expression of extreme discomfort on his face.
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“You went behind my back to tell all of this to a stranger?” My voice shook with anger and shock. Hesitantly, he nodded. “I was getting so worried about you, Anne. The nightmares were making you crazy and I knew that we were getting to the point where we needed some outside help.” I looked back at Leslie. “So it was all a sham right from the beginning, was it? Was anything you told me even true? Or were there no such people as Rick and Christine?” The nausea roiled more violently in my stomach. Lies and more lies. Leslie shook her head. “No, Anne, every single thing I’ve ever told you was true. Everything about Christine and Rick really happened. My own course of therapy led me down the path to the career I have now. I wanted to help people who had similar sorts of problems like I did.” You were set up! my brain shrieked at me. You trusted these people…
More clicks echoed as puzzle pieces snapped into place, faster and faster, becoming a veritable drumming in my ears. One more thing occurred to me, and I stared at her, wide-eyed. “You—you just had sex with me! Was it because it’s your job? Do you fuck all of your clients? I thought
therapists weren’t allowed to have sex with clients!” My hands shook. Even before I had finished speaking, Leslie was shaking her head. “No. No, Anne. Listen to me. First of all, I am not a therapist. Part of sex coaching occasionally involves acting as a surrogate in certain situations.” She paused for a moment. “I had sex with you because I wanted to. It’s true that you needed a positive experience to wipe the previous one from your psyche, but I could have simply guided you to a point where you could feel comfortable finding a suitable partner for yourself.” She reached out and took my hand in both of hers, her fingers warm against the iciness of mine. “You and I made love partly because I thought it would be most beneficial if I took the step with you myself, but more importantly because I care for you a great deal. And because what I said earlier was true—you have been in the forefront of my thoughts a great deal since 94
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we met.” Her lips flickered in the tiniest hint of a wry smile. “I guess you could say I’ve had a bit of a crush on you.” Unbidden—and right now, unwanted—a flush of warmth eddied through my limbs at her words, and I filed her comments away to address later. Now wasn’t the time for that. “But…” I began, trying to focus on the situation at hand. “I know,” Leslie continued, “I didn’t answer your final question. The truth is, what I do is quite different from traditional therapy. I generally use various techniques to help clients, and once in a while I sometimes do have intimate moments with them. It all depends on the situation and what the individual needs help with. But I will tell you this—it is rare. Ninety-eight percent of the time, there’s no physical contact needed at all. And I do not go out of my way to solicit it. So no, I don’t sleep with all of my clients. Just a very, very particular few. I’m strictly an independent coach, not connected with any clinics or other practitioners, and the process of treatment in each situation is completely dependent on the client.” I sat silently for a moment, absorbing her words. Somehow they didn’t make me feel much better. I glanced over at Michael again. “But then why are you here now too?” I asked him. “Leslie called me after you’d told her the story at the café. She thought that this was a major step forward for you and that it was time to come clean about the situation.” I shook my head. “I still can’t believe you hired someone for this. You paid money. You kept me in the dark about it all.” Anger flared again, white-hot. Leslie leaned in closer to me, her expression intense. “I truly am sorry about the deception, Anne. But listen to me again. If you’d known what I was doing, would you have opened up the way you did? Would you have honestly let me know what was going on? By doing it this way, you were honest with yourself and honest with me.” I frowned. “That doesn’t make it right,” I muttered. Leslie exhaled softly. “No, you’re right.” She paused for a moment. “I’d like to address something else that I’m not sure you noticed. You remember what happened 95
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the first time you came here? And then the night when my friend Derek interrupted us?” I nodded. I remembered, all right. “You panicked. Dramatically. It was in your movements, your words, your facial expressions. You were still a prisoner of past events and they were holding you captive. Now,” she continued, “in comparison, what happened to you today, when you realized that Michael was in the room?” I stared at her, silent. She was right. Desperately I searched my brain, looking for any hint of terror that had perhaps gone unnoticed. Nothing. Other than feeling angry about the situation as a whole, the familiar horror was noticeably absent. “I didn’t panic,” I said softly. “It actually didn’t bother me at all that he suddenly appeared.” The admission caused a strange flutter in my chest. Suddenly I needed some space, some privacy. “Excuse me for a moment.” I rose on unsteady legs and wobbled across the room and into the hallway, not sparing a glance for either Michael or Leslie. I found the small main-floor powder room and locked the door behind me. A silveredged mirror hung over the pedestal sink and I stared at myself in it. A pale, anxious face looked back at me, nearly unrecognizable. My hair was in disarray from all the thrashing about on the sofa, and my eyes were darker and wider than I’d ever seen them. I turned on the faucet and quickly splashed cold water on my face and stared at myself again. Water dripped from my nose and chin, and I scooped a handful more from the tap to swallow. My stomach rolled again, less violently this time, and I slowly closed the tap and reached for a pink hand towel hanging nearby. Blotting my chin and cheeks, I forced myself to stare into the mirror once more. “They lied to you. Both of them,” I whispered to my looking-glass self. Her expression remained pained, wounded. “It was a secret plot, no matter what their intentions.” A soblike sigh escaped me. Was I somehow destined to relive this high
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school nightmare over and over for the rest of my life? This just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t…possible. Was it? Would nothing ever change? Wearily I rubbed my cheek with my hand. The faint scent of Leslie and our lovemaking reached my nose and a flicker of something that could only be arousal shimmered briefly through me. The thought brought me up short. Despite everything that had just happened in the last few minutes—was it only minutes? It felt more like days—I was still turned-on. I felt…different. This wasn’t the same as before. After the last time, I despised my body. I wouldn’t look at myself, wouldn’t touch myself. And there’s no way I felt arousal in any way, shape or form. But now…I did. “That’s it,” I said firmly to the mirror. “The nightmare is over. Times have changed. I am older and wiser. That experience shaped who I am, but it doesn’t control me. Not anymore.” The roiling in my stomach stopped. “No,” I said, even more loudly, “no one is condemning me here. No one will use who I am against me. It’s my body to do with as I please, and I will do what I want.” A cracking sound echoed eerily in my head as the mortar in the wall I’d built around myself began to crumble. I gasped, and the feeling of being lighter than air, of being flooded with oxygen, came over me. The light in the powder room seemed brighter, more vivid, and I blinked rapidly against it. Dropping the towel, I gripped the edge of the sink with both hands, anchoring myself to the earth as though at this moment I truly could float away. I watched a flush spread over my cheeks, color returning to my face the way a flame licks at a piece of newspaper. Releasing the porcelain, I straightened, looking at the trembling in my hands, and realized that it was adrenaline, not fear, that made my fingers shake.
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Lifting my gaze back to the mirror, I noticed the robe I was wearing had parted slightly, and I reached up to pull the edges back, baring my breasts. In awe, I stared at the pink peaks, my nipples hard, the skin still retaining the barest glimmer of perspiration. Inspired, I reached for the button closure on my skirt and opened it, quickly yanking down the zipper. I let the garment drop to my feet and made quick work of my stockings as well, kicking the pile of fabric away. I stared at my body in the mirror with new eyes. My skin was dewy pink, and I ran my hands over my breasts in wonderment. I’d never looked at myself this way, not with this kind of acceptance and appreciation. My breath quickened as I reached my nipples and I marveled at the feelings sweeping through me. I slid a hand down over the soft curve of my belly and dipped my fingers between my legs. I was wet. And it didn’t seem to be remnants of our lovemaking. This was new. Overcome, I froze in place, staring at myself again in the mirror. Who was I? Where had this woman come from? Freedom, a small voice whispered in my head. You’ve been freed. Love your body and let others love it.
A tear rolled from each eye, surprising me as I hadn’t felt them welling, but the drops were solitary ones. There was no further urge to weep. “So what now?” I whispered. Change the past, the voice replied. Change the way the story ended.
My breath caught in my throat as the realization struck. Who was in the living room at this very moment? Leslie—by all accounts a modern-day Suzie. Popular and beautiful. Very, very willing and uninhibited. And legitimately interested in having sex with me. Not only that, my very own popular golden-boy athlete too. Michael—an infinitely superior version of Danny. One who really did want to have sex with me—and who I definitely wanted to have sex with again too.
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A bubble of semi-hysterical laughter rose in my throat. Fate, it seemed, was on my side this time around. Taking one last look in the mirror, I let the robe drop to the floor and unlocked the bathroom door. It was time to rewrite history.
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Chapter Ten When I reached the living room doorway, Michael and Leslie were seated together on the sofa, conversing in hushed tones. Michael must have sensed my presence, because he glanced up in my direction and stopped speaking midsentence. Leslie’s attention followed. “Anne—” Michael began, rising to his feet, faint splotches of red painting his cheeks. I held up my hand to stop him. “No, Michael. It’s my turn to talk.” I sauntered into the room, sensing both pairs of eyes traveling over my naked body. The air felt cool on my overheated skin, and I could feel my nipples pucker and harden further. Giddiness threatened to wash over me. Amazing. I had gone from feeling powerless to powerful in the span of heartbeats. I stood there a moment longer, basking in their undivided attention. “I’ve thought about what you’ve both told me,” I began. “And now that I’ve had a few moments to let it all percolate and sink in, the impetus behind it all makes sense to me. And truthfully, while I still believe that the method used here was wrong, the motivation behind it is understandable. “There is a part of me that is still a little bit angry with both of you—” Michael interrupted. “Don’t forget that you lied too, Anne—” I gave him a look. “Yes, I know, Michael. I was just about to get to that. I apologize for my part in this. I should have been upfront with you all along, just as you should have been upfront with me. But that’s fodder for discussion at a later time. At this moment,” I ran my hands up the sides of my torso to my breasts and cupped them, playing with my nipples, “I want to talk about the here and now.”
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Michael swallowed audibly, his gaze on my breasts, and sat heavily back on the sofa, as though his legs were no longer able to support him. Leslie spoke, her voice soft, yet firm. “What do you mean?” I turned my attention to her. “You said specifically that everything that has transpired here was for a reason. To overcome the trauma of the past. To get through my mental blocks. And I understand that now. But there’s one more thing that I think needs to be done.” I slid both hands back down my belly, fingertips brushing the thatch of hair above my pussy. A trickle of moisture dampened my inner thigh. Sweet God, I was so horny now I didn’t know if I could last much longer. A faint glow appeared in Leslie’s eyes. “I think I understand what you mean, Anne. But why don’t you tell us, just so I can be sure you’re aware of what you’re proposing.” “I think,” I said, dipping one finger down into the wet folds of skin, “that I need both of you to fuck me.” My voice had become breathy with arousal, with the implication of what I was suggesting. “You’re a modern-day Suzie and Danny for me right now. I think if we do this, the door can finally be closed for good.” Leslie nodded. “My next suggestion for your healing process would have been for you to take this step with some people you felt comfortable with. And just so you know, I would not have suggested the three of us together. I would have left the selection of your partners strictly up to you.” Michael glanced quickly between the two of us. He began to speak, his voice breaking. “Are you—” he cleared his throat, “saying what I think you’re saying? Anne, are you sure about this?” The fingers of his right hand clutched at the sofa’s armrest so tightly his knuckles were turning white. “Yes, Michael,” I said, bringing my hands back up to my breasts, “that’s exactly what I’m saying. I need this. Now.” Instantly Michael rose, shedding his jacket. The fly of his jeans bulged enormously outward. Obviously he was ready and willing. But was Leslie?
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Leslie rose at the same moment as Michael, a hand outstretched in caution. “Anne…if you are certain about this, establish any ground rules you have right now, before things get going.” Her words brought me back down to Earth for a split second and my hands froze mid-tweak. Was there anything I didn’t want to happen? Michael.
I thought back to Leslie’s story about what happened with Christine and Rick. I wasn’t sure if I could handle seeing Michael’s cock thrusting in and out of Leslie. Anything else…maybe. But that cock was mine. “You’re right, Leslie. Thank you.” I glanced at Michael, anxiously frozen in place, the hem of his t-shirt gripped in his hands. “Your cock doesn’t go in her pussy. Anything else, I’m okay with it. But I do reserve the right to stop something if it starts to bother me.” Michael’s gaze flickered to Leslie and then back to me. “No problem, babe. Whatever you want.” Much to my amazement, a grin crept over my face and heat cascaded through my limbs. I gave my nipples another flick with thumbs and forefingers. “Oh this is what I want,” I began, “but right now I’m just not even sure where to start.” A giddy giggle escaped me. Leslie’s robe dropped to the floor with a whisper and she took a step toward me. “We’re here to do whatever you want. Anything you want. All you have to do is say the word.” Michael’s t-shirt flew over his head, landing with other items of earlier discarded clothing. He reached for his belt, and I was suddenly inspired. “Wait, babe.” I moved forward and knelt before him. I made quick work of his belt, the button on his jeans and the zipper, tugging the latter over his swollen bulge with some difficulty. I glanced at Leslie and she joined me on the floor, understanding my intentions. The two of us tugged at Michael’s pants and boxers, shoving them down 102
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around his ankles, where he quickly lifted each foot, helping us remove all of his clothing. Freed, his cock rose enormously outward, more engorged than I had ever seen it. I reached out to stroke him and watched as his eyelids fluttered closed. “Jesus, Michael,” I said, running my hand up and down his length, “I’ve never seen you this hard before.” Michael laughed harshly. “I know this makes me sound like a pig, but it’s from thinking about the two of you here, together. Wondering just what you were doing. I’ve been hard as a rock for days on end.” “Very impressive,” Leslie added softly, reaching out to stroke him with a fingertip. Then, by unspoken agreement, we both leaned in closer, giving his cock a long lick with our tongues. Michael let out a sharp hiss of breath. “Holy God,” he growled, “you have no idea how good that feels, ladies.” One of his hands appeared on the back of my head. I assumed the other was on Leslie’s. I took another long lick of Michael, marveling again at the delectable musky scent of him, of the saltiness of his cock. Leslie had tasted fantastic, but truly, it was nothing compared to the taste of pure man. By unspoken agreement, Leslie and I reached a common rhythm, licking both sides of his shaft in unison, her cheek bumping gently against mine. At the base of one stroke, her tongue flicked out farther and brushed against my own. A shiver thrilled me and I grinned at her. She winked back at me. Breaking our pattern, Leslie crouched lower, giving Michael’s balls a lick. Rising, I took the tip of him into my mouth and sucked gently. He let out another anguished groan. I pulled him in deeper, farther than I had ever taken him before, into the back of my throat. I watched as Leslie laved his balls with her tongue, sucking on them. My pussy was on fire, burning with arousal. I reached down, giving myself a stroke, coating my 103
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folds with my juices. I rubbed my clit, my flesh slick, and moaned around Michael’s cock. Leslie removed her mouth from Michael’s balls, replacing it with one of her hands that continued to squeeze and stroke, and leaned in closer to me to take one of my nipples into her mouth. A spike of pleasure exploded into my pussy and I whimpered with the sensation. Leslie’s mouth was so hot, her tongue flicking over my tight skin, I thought I would dissolve into a puddle of fiery liquid right there. Abruptly, Leslie moved away, crawling behind me. Gently she nudged my legs apart with her hands, and then she was lying on her back on the floor, shuffling until her head appeared between my knees. She looked up at me, her eyes mischievous, and I gasped as I felt the first flick of her tongue against my pussy. Dizzy with the exquisite sensations, I closed my eyes, willing myself not to hyperventilate. The last thing I wanted to do was pass out. I grabbed Michael’s ass with both my hands, pulling him closer to me, sucking harder on his salty cock, and I lowered my hips slightly, gently pressing my pussy against Leslie’s tongue. The room echoed with the sounds of groans and heavy breathing. Michael’s hands were tangled in my hair, and I could feel Leslie’s long, delicate fingers grasping my ass, squeezing and stroking as her tongue flickered faster over me. This is it, the voice in my head said with a breathless sigh. This is what it was supposed to feel like.
All sense of time and space vanished from my consciousness. The only thing I could feel was the sensations of pleasure, as though my body had become one giant nerve ending. The sound of gasping breaths filled the air, punctuated by frequent sighs and groans. Beneath me, Leslie squirmed again, abandoning my ass and sliding her hands up the sides of my torso to my breasts. Just barely able to reach them, she flicked at my nipples with her fingertips and I gave a tiny shriek of ecstasy. I leaned forward just
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slightly, giving her better access, and she proceeded to stroke and tweak at my swollen tits. Michael groaned under my nearly frictionless ministrations, his cock wet with saliva and pre-come, and I could feel his body tightening with the tension of an approaching orgasm. “Oh Jesus, God, Anne, I’m gonna come…” Michael rasped, his voice dry and hoarse with the strain of keeping himself together. “Watching her lick you like that is so fucking hot, you have no idea.” I whimpered in response. Leslie groaned, alternating between darting her tongue deep into my pussy and sucking on my clit. The sounds of explosive breathing in the room became louder, and the mere thought of orgasm made the sensation rampage forward. Suddenly I hesitated in my movements. Impending orgasm was making me dizzy, but the thought of all three of us coming together in one giant explosion made my heart thump in my chest and a tremor ripple through my clit. “Wait, wait,” I said, releasing Michael’s cock with a slurp. “I know nobody wants to, but stop for just a minute.” Michael growled in mock-frustration. “Christ, Anne, I was just about to come…” He ran a hand agitatedly through his hair and collapsed back onto the couch, his cock pulsing of its own accord against his belly. He reached a hand for it and stroked himself. “Hang on, Michael,” I said, gently disentangling myself from Leslie, who lay sprawled, unmoving, on the rug. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, her chest rapidly rising and falling with exertion. She, too, slipped a hand down between her legs, giving her pussy a rub, but I reached out and stilled her movements with a touch of my fingers. “And you too. Just give me a sec, okay?” Michael froze in midstroke, not releasing his cock, and Leslie nodded slowly. My own body nearly shimmered with pent-up tension, and I wanted nothing more than to 105
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continue where we’d left off. But I wanted something else—I wanted all of us to come together, and that meant a small change in position. I glanced quickly around the room. I was pleased to see there was plenty of space on the rug, if we all moved over just slightly. “Okay. Here’s the deal.” I pointed to a section of carpet only a foot or two away. “Leslie, stay on your back, but scoot over that way a bit, please.” “Okay,” she said, her voice a mere whisper. She shuffled over to the spot I’d indicated. I glanced back at Michael. “Now I’m going to move into position, and you’ll see what I want you to do once I’m in place.” I gave him a sly grin. “Just wait and see.” His answering grin matched mine. “Oh I’m sure I have a pretty good idea.” “I’m sure you do.” Turning my attention back to Leslie, who lay with her body pointing away from me, I crawled over to her, her head upside-down beneath mine. “You’re so incredibly hot,” I whispered to her, dropping a kiss on her mouth. “So are you,” she whispered back, slipping her tongue between my lips. I groaned, tasting my scent on her skin, and rubbed my tongue against hers for a moment. Breaking the kiss, I began a leisurely slide down her body, starting at her neck, sampling each section of skin my mouth discovered. Her tongue tasted me at the same time, a trail of steamy dampness that meandered down my neck in the same way. Reaching her breasts, I suckled each nipple for a long moment, biting gently, laving each peak with my tongue. Her buds hardened further under my touch and I teased her a little more roughly, letting out a gasp when her mouth latched on to one of my breasts. A strangled moan emanated from behind me, and the slap of flesh against flesh echoed in the room as Michael jerked off, watching the show in front of him. “Don’t come yet, Michael,” I said between licks. “Give me some control, baby.”
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“I’m trying,” he said with a groan, “but you two are just so goddamn incredible.” I laughed softly, feeling heady again with the rush of power his words gave me. Deciding it was time to continue on, I slid farther down Leslie’s body, kissing the slight curve of her belly, her hip. Nuzzling the tiny patch of hair between her legs with my nose. Leslie’s thighs fell apart as my head moved between them, and I spread mine slightly, putting a thigh beside each shoulder. By unspoken instruction, our tongues simultaneously slid over each other’s pussies. I let out a groan at the sinfully mind-blowing sensation and so did she. Dipping my tongue between her folds, I found her clit and rubbed against the firm nub. Leslie’s movements matched mine, and I shuddered. I wrapped my arms around her legs, grasping her inner thigh with one hand and sliding the fingers of the other hand down over her pussy. I dipped a finger deep into her, marveling at her slippery wetness. She was obviously just as turned-on as Michael and I were. I slid more fingers into her, and Leslie squirmed slightly beneath me. I groaned. Warmth suddenly appeared against the backs of my thighs and I knew Michael had joined in, kneeling behind me. The firm tip of his cock rubbed up and down along my slit, and I wondered if Leslie had a chance to rub her tongue over him a little bit on the downstroke. Then he nudged the head of his cock into my pussy and I no longer cared about anything else. Inch by agonizing inch Michael slowly thrust into me, all while Leslie’s tongue continued to work over my clit. The exquisite dual sensation was one I could barely stand and I felt lightheaded and short of breath. I gasped, wanting to weep with the pleasure of it all. Buried to the hilt within me, Michael froze there and I reveled in the sensation of being stretched and filled.
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Then he slowly pistoned in and out, and the friction of him inside of me combined with the friction of Leslie against my clit made me shriek in ecstasy, the sound reverberating around the living room. My obvious pleasure seemed to spur the others on, as Michael thrust faster, and Leslie’s tongue fairly vibrated over my ultrasensitive flesh. I realized I had paused in my own ministrations and turned my tongue back to Leslie, my fingers resuming their own pumping motion. The air in the room heated, filled with perspiration and physical effort and sheer lust. Nothing mattered any longer but satiation. Skin melded with skin, slick and juicy with liquid more potent than any alcohol. With each thrust, lick and sucking motion, I felt myself propelled farther and farther away from the past, the painful images and horrifying sensations fading away like a sunburn, the sting lessening more as each second passed. Michael mumbled wordless endearments to both of us, punctuated with the barely audible sound of our names. “Touch him, Leslie,” I mumbled, my lips buried in her mound, “play with his balls. He likes that.” An answering groan told me she’d followed my instructions. Michael’s thrusts increased in speed, his cock slamming deep into me. “Oh yeah, fuck her, Michael,” Leslie’s own ragged instructions carried to my ears. “Fuck her hard. Make her come.” The fire within me exploded into an inferno. Waves of molten heat pooled in my center. I focused on the volcano, willing it to devour me, burn me, sear away my wounded flesh. “Yeah,” I said with a cry, the vowels drawn out, “I’m coming, oh God, I’m coming, come with me, both of you…” I lapped at Leslie, wildly finger-fucking her, drinking her deep, feeling the muscles in her thighs tighten, and at the same time, feeling the dig of Michael’s fingertips into 108
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my hip bones as he gripped me there, the ramrod-stiff thrust of his enormous cock shattering me from the inside. Leslie’s tongue fairly vibrated against my clit, one of her hands grasping at my tits again, pulling on my nipples. Again, time froze as the volcano built higher, liquid sex rising, filling each cell, surrounding all three of us. The undercurrent pulled and we went with it, succumbing to the pounding tide that racked each body. Leslie screamed and shuddered beneath me, her pussy convulsing with this second orgasm of the afternoon, her toes curling into the area rug as she rode the wave of gratification. As she trembled beneath me, Michael gave one last gigantic thrust and howled his pleasure to the room, his fingers digging into my skin. The tremors of flesh that surrounded me at that moment sent me, too, over the edge. The orgasm crackled through me like a blast of electricity and every nerve ending sizzled. I ground my pussy against Leslie’s mouth and clenched around Michael’s cock, willing the bliss to continue on and on, even as I cried out my satisfaction, finally collapsing heavily atop Leslie. For the next many heartbeats, the only sound in the room was the ticking of Leslie’s wall clock. Michael had disengaged himself and lay beside us on the rug, the picture of complete exhaustion. Willing my jellied limbs to move, I slid off Leslie to squeeze beside Michael, whose arm slipped around my waist with the ease of familiarity. Slowly Leslie turned on the floor until her head was next to mine and I was sandwiched between the two of them. Heat radiated off their bodies, keeping me warm, as we lay there listening to each other’s breaths. I reached gently for her and pulled her even closer to us, draping my arm around her. Turning onto her side, she slipped an arm around me, sliding her hand delicately between Michael and me. After a while, Leslie’s voice came to my ear, soft and gentle. 109
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“How do you feel?” I closed my eyes, pondering her words for an extended moment. My head felt clear, as though a film had been peeled away, making everything I saw and felt crisper, cleaner. My body even felt new, almost as if it were not my own. Every inch of my skin stung, just the tiniest bit, as though the liquid fire of our collective orgasm really had singed me. I felt raw but calm and aware. Composed. Peaceful. “Whole. Alive. I feel…reborn.” I opened my eyes again to look at Leslie. A serene smile played about her lips and her eyes shimmered with what I thought was affection. She leaned in and kissed me sweetly and gently. “I’m so glad to hear that, Anne.” Leaning toward her, I kissed her back, a spark of something flashing low in my belly, like a match striking tinder. Michael’s lips found my shoulder, his breath warm on my neck. “I’m glad to hear it too, sweetheart.” The spark flared into a pinpoint of flame, small but steady. I wiggled my hips against Michael’s pelvis and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and the twitch of his cock against my ass. Sliding my hand up Leslie’s torso, I cupped her breast, feeling her nipple harden in my palm. I glanced at her with hesitation, hoping to convey the same sort of invitation. “I hope neither of you minds if I’m not quite ready to leave here yet,” I said softly, hopefully. The continued innocent touch of skin against skin was starting to become maddening, and I realized I had a craving for just a touch more of this feast of flesh. After all, I had all those years without these pleasures to make up for.
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I squirmed between the two bodies, turning to lie on my back. Nearly in unison, both Michael and Leslie leaned in to kiss my breasts, each taking a nipple to savor. A dart of lust flew to my pussy, and involuntarily my back arched off the floor. “I’ll take that as a no,” I said breathlessly, reaching out to stroke whichever body parts I could find.
***** That night as I lay nestled with Michael under our heavy duvet, my body contentedly sore and weary, I slept more soundly and peacefully than I had in recent memory. I didn’t know if we would ever see Leslie again, but her telephone number remains programmed into my cell phone. Just in case.
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About the Author Kris is a single mom living in the wilds of northern Canada. She spends her time doing various forms of freelance writing and editing, and chasing after a rambunctious toddler daughter. Kris has been writing since she was approximately ten years old, her first major project being a Nancy Drew-style mystery featuring herself and two of her friends. Her future leanings became clear, however, when she began penning naughty stories for high school friends—usually featuring Scott Baio, Rick Springfield or a member of Duran Duran.
Kris welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Kris Starr Ellora’s Cavemen: Dreams of the Oasis IV anthology Seeing is Believing Sweet Tart
