Can't Get Enough (17 page)

My arms lost their strength. I dropped Nesta's hips to the bed and our hot pussies tore apart, making a wet kissing sound. Falling in beside her, I spread my legs. My cunt felt so fat I couldn't close them without sending aftershocks through my whole body.

Nesta was panting wildly when I found her hand with mine. For a long time, we didn't say a word. We had way too much to talk about—a whole rule book to reevaluate. Hard to know where to start.

“I didn't take my shower,” Nesta said, after a while.

“Yeah.” I slid my arm under her shoulder and rolled in to sniff her neck. The whole room smelled like pussy, but I could still distinguish the one that wasn't ours. “You want to shower now?”

Nesta hesitated before saying, “Maybe in the morning. I'm too tired to stand.”

We pulled up the covers and buried ourselves underneath. Change was coming, but the conversation could wait. We could sleep together in the scent of that nameless femme who'd taken Nesta up against a window, for all the world to see.

SPINNING

Kyoko Church

D
on't move.”

I don't. I try not to breathe. I hold stock-still. I worry that even my beating heart threatens him.

We lie there, a frozen tableau, like two people bracing for bad news, instead of like lovers.

I will it not to happen, not again.

“God, no, I'm sorry,” Brian blurts out as he begins to thrust frantically.

Afterward I say all the things I'm supposed to say. All the platitudes. I don't know why I bother. He's not listening.

What I really want is to hold him. To continue touching. To kiss. Maybe even…to do something else? Satisfaction can be had through other means, after all. But he is closed up tight, like a clamshell. And right now, I'm staring at the white plain of his back.

The next day is when it all begins with WM.

I swear I wasn't looking for it. Not exactly. It starts innocently enough. I just sort of bump into him, you know how that can happen, and things just go from there. It's the old story. He's been in my life a long time, probably fifteen years. I just never looked at him that way before. When it starts becoming something more than it has been, when it progresses to something physical I am surprised. Tentative. What will people think? We don't belong together. Well, not this way. It's so wrong. But as these things go, that is part of what makes it so right.

Maybe if things weren't the way they are with Brian it wouldn't have started. Maybe. But I feel such longing. Like a wilting flower desperate for water. Like bread going stale. So I do, I let myself. I let myself be with him. From the first touch, oh god, he feels so good. The thing is he starts off so slow. Gentle movements. Slow rocking. Lazy circles. He builds me up, over and over. Yes, he stops and starts, like with Brian. But all with intention. He takes me with such mastery. There is never any hesitation. He has a plan. From the beginning he knows how he will play me. He goes through each cycle of stoking my desire and he never wavers.

I can't believe how long he goes on. After all his gentle moves at the beginning at last he really gets going. He's rough with me. God, how I've wanted it rough! How I've wanted to be slowly stoked and toyed with and then taken hard! So hard. He shakes me to my core. “Oh my god, I'm coming!” I cry out in delirious bliss. I am, good god, I am. Not a whispering, simpering little come, trying to hold back, to bite my tongue, to still my quivering insides. No. This is a shrieking, gushing, pulsing avalanche of an orgasm. I can barely hold on to him he's bucking so hard and so am I and I love it, all of it.

And still he doesn't stop! No, he slows down momentarily but then appears to switch gears and gets going again. “Oh, you're amazing,” I cry, as a second orgasm is wrenched from my body.

I've read trashy romance novels where the heroine comes so many times she loses count. I hate trashy romance novels. I hate those silly heroines, ever beautiful yet feisty and plucky. I hate the stupid muscled Fabios on the covers, hate their long hair and hard pecs. But mostly I hate the writers for being so cavalier with their orgasms. Who has so many orgasms they lose count? I'd never heard anything so ridiculous! Repeated, countless orgasms only existed in the pages of those preposterous books. For me. Until WM.

I might reread some of those novels. Maybe they're not so bad.

Because I really do lose count. Five? Seven? All I know is I have never reached heights of ecstasy like this. I barely know what to do with myself. I can only hold on for dear life and pray that I will always, always have him to turn to.

“I've got a surprise for you.”

A surprise? I don't want a surprise from Brian, considering the “surprise” I could reveal to him.

“Oh?” I say.

“You've seemed a little distant recently. A little…preoccupied.”

I flush furiously thinking maybe he's seen something, sensed what's going on. But no, he continues, seemingly without pretense.

“Look, hon,” he says, grabbing my wrists and pulling me to him. “I know things can be…a bit lacking at times. And that maybe I'm not”—he looks momentarily stricken and my heart
suddenly goes out to him—“not the best provider.” A strange way to put it, I think. “I want you to know, I can give you more. I can be the man you need me to be.”

Guilt rises and swells and pushes tears to brim in my eyes. Oh, how could I have turned to WM? How humiliating. For him. For me. “It's okay, baby. It's okay.” I put my arms around him, kiss him. He is the man I love, after all. For all his…short-comings. As it were. I love him.

I press my body to his, embrace him expectantly. But he only gives me a little smile and a quick peck on the cheek.

“You'll see after tomorrow. I can't wait to give you your surprise.”

After Brian has that talk with me I promise myself I'm going to quit this thing with WM. Just pretend it never happened. But now that I know what he can do, it's hard to control myself. Whenever I glance his way it's all I can do to stop from jumping him. I think Brian has to have noticed. The sidelong glances. The impassioned stares. Sometimes I feel bad for carrying on this way, right under his nose. But Brian would never suspect it. Not of us.

My pulse racing, my pussy throbbing, I wait till Brian leaves for work and then I go to WM. I have to. I am driven by an aching need that leaves me clenching and wet.

The words are always mine. He's the strong, silent type. But who needs words with his stamina? He can last an hour, sometimes longer, depending. Sometimes I want gentle. Delicate. He lets me dictate. I know how to push his buttons. He lets me tell him what I need. And then he delivers. He can always deliver.

I mount him. I'm on top, as usual. That's the way it works with us, but I don't mind. It's our thing. “Easy, baby, easy,” I murmur as he pulses and thrusts between my legs. “Oh god,
you're always so hard,” I sigh.

After he's flung me around and my body is elastic with sated bliss, I go and collapse onto the bed, a worn-out smile on my face. Sleep envelops me. I don't even wake up when Brian brings the deliverymen in the house.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” Brian says, a huge smile stretched across his face. “Have a good nap?”

“Very good,” I blink back at him. “Wow, I was right out of it. When did you get home?”

“A while ago,” he replies. “Your surprise has arrived.”

“Oh?” I yawn, stretch.

“Come here and see it,” he says, pulling my hand.

It takes me a second to realize what room he's pulling me into. When I see where we're headed my heart starts beating in my throat, a panic rises in my belly. He opens the door.

Horror.

A brand-new washing machine.

Brian beams at me. “I've seen how you've been staring at that old, beat-up one. I know, it was all off balance and shook all over the place. It was obvious what you thought of it. I could see you wished we could get a new one.”

My mouth is dry. My stomach has bottomed out. I can't talk. All I can do is stare and stare at sleek white lines and shiny chrome.

“I got a raise, babe. No more making do for my girl. Only the very best. This baby is top of the line. Solid as a rock. I got the quietest, most stable machine on the market. You can hear a kitten purr over this thing. You could set your finest china on its lid during the height of the spin cycle and not worry a second.”

He elbows me. “Ha, couldn't say that about the old clunker, could ya? So whaddaya think?”

I continue to stare in stunned silence.

“Aw, you're speechless. That's okay, babe. Hey, why don't we head upstairs? You know,” he winks at me. “To celebrate. Although,” he adds, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, “I have to warn you, I've been thinking about celebrating all afternoon.” He blushes. “It might be quick.”

SWEET REVENGE

Anika Ray

B
uster's new girl's name was Janine. I found out about it because I called his office at the wrong time and got a message meant for someone else. Once I knew, it was so obvious that I wondered why I'd never seen it. I went in to fire her myself—if he didn't have the balls—and tell him we were done.

When I got there, I learned he'd taken her out to lunch. I sat at his desk, brooding on fire and brimstone. To think I'd once had dreams about doing filthy things on this desk. To think I'd told him that, and that my insides had quivered when he'd laughed! To think Janine—whoever she was—had gotten that fantasy meant for me.

I'd called him up beforehand, told him that the girl had to go or things would get ugly. At first he'd tried to give me attitude, but then like a punctured tire his voice went from angry to whining. I'd never seen him as less of a man. I said, go ahead and break it to her gently, asshole. I'm going to break you, nothing gentle about
that
.

I waited at his desk for him to return. Straighten things out.
I'd keep the apartment, of course. He could hole up with the hobos and the smack addicts, for all I gave a damn. I finally understood how Rhett Butler could have been such a fucker as far as Scarlett was concerned. Love had nothing to do with it.

I jumped at sound of the intercom.

“Yes,” I said, voice like a snake going through the forest on its belly. Voice like a “Do Not Disturb” sign.

“There's a young man here interested in the now-open position,” said Sally, all Midwestern sass. Now there's one he for sure hadn't fucked.

“Yeah?”

Probably some snot-nosed bastard. I wanted to eat this kid for breakfast, and I hadn't even met him yet.

“Should I send him in?”

I thought I'd give him the Eye of Death until he felt the Apocalypse coming. A good few minutes of the glare, and he'd run like the building was on fire. Then I'd feel better. I said, “It ain't my office.”

Sally got a good down-home laugh out of that “ain't.” She thought I was losing it. Well, what did she know? She'd never had it to lose.

A moment later the door to my chamber opened, and through the proverbial puff of smoke I saw the sweetest revenge I'd ever laid eyes on walk straight into my clutches.

I uncrossed my angry legs. I glared at the kid. Little asshole. He looked so surprised his big blue eyes bled sad eye juice all over the place.

“I think this is for the paralegal position,” he said, as if his thoughts made a rat's ass hair of difference.

“Well, the boss is out right now,” I said. Probably sticking it to Janine one last time, parting being such sweet sorrow and all that.

“Oh. Well, that's quite all right. I'm prepared to wait.”

It wasn't until the leaf of paper cut through the haze that I saw what it was. He was handing me his resume. I looked at it, caught the “skills” section. Kid must have had every skill but people skills.

I said, “Sit down,” and bit into the words like they were caramels. Like they were arteries.

“Thank you,” he said, and then in a voice like a newborn lamb, “I'm glad to be able to interview with you.”