The Sun and the Moon (Giving You ... #1) (21 page)

"Amelia," warned Marie.

Stopping for a second, I looked over at her, smiled my "who me?" smile, and downed the shot, reaching for the lime.  The tequila actually didn't taste all that bad—I'm not much of a shot drinker—and the alcohol warmed me up immediately. I looked over at Man-Bun, who still looked like he was trying to not have an erection. Marie grinned and clapped her hands. My crazy, crazy best friend.

"Now it's your turn, Jeremy," she said to Man-Bun, and held out her neck. He licked her neck, once. Then salted it, once. Then licked it again, once. Then did the shot and sucked the lime.

Bor-ring.

I didn't think Marie was going to ask him out again.

"Now it's your turn, big guy," she said to Ryan.

I expelled the air I was holding in my lungs.

Ryan, being Ryan, Mr. Pleasure, took his time with each movement. He completely ignored Marie and Man-Bun, looked me in the eyes, and winked. Then he reached over, slowly, languidly, and took his index finger and used it to peel my shirt down my shoulder. He smiled, again, and slowly bent towards me, licking my shoulder.  He licked it like it was his job to lick my shoulder.

I might have let out a not so soft groan.

Reaching for the salt shaker, Ryan held it aloft over my shoulder, and then, with a flick, let some salt fall on me. Then he reached in for the kill, basically taking me on the bench next to him.

I could hear Marie breathe out, "Oh," pause, "my God."

With a final suck, Ryan pulled back, downed the shot quickly, and sucked on the lime. Then he sat back in the booth.

We all looked at each other.

"I think I need a cold shower," said Man-Bun.

Several drinks later, I stumbled to the bathroom at the back of the bar, way too drunk for a Tuesday night.  My designated driver, Ryan, had switched to water, thank goodness.

Once I came out of the bathroom, the room seemed to tilt. I righted myself, and started to head back to our booth, when I was stopped by a blonde woman.  Botox, tight clothes, the whole Barbie vibe.

"Are you with Ryan Fielding?"

I looked at her blankly, too drunk to properly respond.

"You should be careful. He'll try and do anything to get you into bed, and then he'll leave you. Just be careful."

Some of the alcohol wore off quickly. "Who are you, some bitch he scorned? Get a clue. He just wasn't into you. There's no need to take it out on someone else. I don't need your fucking warning." Her mouth dropped open and she went to speak, but I continued, drunkenly holding up my index finger, "Not another word."

And then I tottered down the hall to my sexy Sun God and crazy best friend, who were waiting to go home.

Giving

SO HAVE YOU GIVEN
him a blow job?

Marie! No.

Why not? It's rule number what? Aren't you breaking them all these days?

Rule 4. And no, I'm not. I have standards.

You are so weird.

Am not.

Are too.

Are we six years old?

Fuck no. We're talking about blow jobs on your surfer hottie.

O
r, we're talking about NOT doing blow jobs on my surfer hottie.

Have you ever done one? Ever?

Amelia?

Hel-lo?

No.

Then, girl, I love you, but what do you know?

At this point, I have no idea.

Look, do whatever you want. But he'll thank you for it. You may surprise yourself and get something out of it too.

Don't you think it is, I don't know, demeaning? Being on your knees? Sucking some guy's Iditarod?

Fuck, you're messed up. No. Not with the right guy. It's a gift for him and for you. Find out what it means to really turn someone else on.

And not sure an Alaskan husky race reference is appropriate in this circumstance. Can't you just say "rod"?

[Muttering] I'll think about it.

Are you agreeing to think about giving poor, suffering, surfer hottie Ryan a blow job? Or thinking about properly referring to a guy's junk through socially-established euphemisms?

Both.

Hmm. A gift for Ryan.

Friday evening, I opened the door of my little home to let Ryan in after a long week of work. Before I could help myself, I tackled him. Mouth on his. Tongue in his mouth. Hands in his hair. Body pressed up to him.

He tackled me back, hands on my ass, leaning down and kissing me like we hadn't seen each other in a week.

Well, we hadn't. Or at least not since Tuesday.

I broke apart and he growled, low in his throat, and I grabbed his hand and pulled him into my hallway. He followed me down the hallway toward my bedroom. I didn't touch him, didn't look at him.  Instead I just pulled my shirt off over my head. I could tell by the soft "swoosh" noise that he had followed suit. Then my pants were off and, again, I could tell, so were his. We left a trail of clothes in the hallway, leading up to the bedroom. Talk about zero to undressed in ten seconds. I still was wearing my underwear, and he was in his boxers, but I knew that wouldn't last long.

Looking back and leaning up to kiss him, I saw his erect cock tenting his boxers, and it was just the sexiest thing.

I kissed him lightly, and then exhaled, "Hi."

"Hi," he exhaled back, letting his finger trail down my nose and bop it on the end.

"Let me do something," I suggested, and pressed him into the bed.

I had thought long and hard about this.

Ha, hard. No pun intended.

Focus, Amelia.

But one of the things on my list was no oral sex. On me or on him.

Ryan had shattered the "on me" part of my Rule a while ago. And he may, or may not have continued to shatter it on a regular basis, whenever we were together.  But thinking about it, on him, I finally realized that giving a guy a blow job meant more than what I had thought—at least to me.  As I've said, I had thought that it was one, gross, and two, subjugating myself to a guy.   Since being with him, however, I'd had a change in heart and learned a few things. If any guy deserved me going down on him, it was the Sun God. I'm no drunken whore in a club, blowing some guy for drugs. I adore the guy.  But I wanted to try this my way. And I really wanted to see if I could make him crazy, in a good way.

I would admit that I was really nervous because I had never done it before—and the nerves were from wanting to make it good for him. I wanted, simply, to give him pleasure.

I looked at him on the bed, looking up at me with undisguised carnal intent. It was a good look on him. Almost as good as wet.  I walked to the side of the bed and grabbed some pillows and put them under his head.

"Get comfy," I ordered.

"Okay," he breathed out.

Wearing just my panties and bra, I straddled him and kissed him, again, this time slowly and sweetly. He reached for me and I said, "Nuh-uh-uh. My turn."

He grinned and raised an eyebrow.

"I know you're all in-charge, competitive, surfer guy, but let me do something on your mellow, surfer guy side, okay. For you? For me?"

"Sure thing."

I kissed my way down from his lips to his jaw, and then to his earlobe, sucking on it gently. I could feel his cock twitch between my legs, against my panties, the muscles responsive. I sucked on his neck a little bit harder, kissed my way to his collarbone, then looked up into his eyes. His gorgeous green eyes were watching me, totally turned on, intense, and a little amused.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, teasing.

"A little of this and that," I said coyly, against his skin, making my way down his glorious muscular torso, holding onto his narrow hips. I licked each of his nipples and ran my tongue down the middle of his washboard abs to his belly button.

That was where the happy trail began.  Right under the waistband of his black boxers.  I stuck my nose in his navel, raised up from where I was straddling him, and yanked his boxers down, freeing his cock, which was right below me.

I paused for a moment.

"You know I've never done this before."

I looked up at him and he looked very serious. "Yeah," he said in a throaty voice, "but I think you'll do fine."

I moved so that I could pull his boxers all the way off, and then started up his body, letting my fingers walk up his thighs. I stared, fascinated at his curly, but manscaped, pubic hair, and his impressive cock. He smelled like he had just taken a shower, all clean and Ryan-y. I ran my fingers through his hair and gently let the tips of my fingers pass over his balls. His cock twitched again, big time.

Heh heh, yeah, it was big.

Focus.

I lowered myself down so that his cock was between my breasts, and looked up at him.

"Christ," he croaked out.

I smiled and looked down, opened my mouth, and took his cock in, once, all the way down, as far as I could go, and then back out with a pop.  The skin on his cock felt so soft and so satiny smooth on my lips and my tongue, even though underneath he was so hard. The tip of his cock was pointed. I decided to try swirling my tongue around it, and he groaned an "Uhmmmmmmmmm."  He liked that.

I read in a magazine that guys like the part just under the head stimulated. So I used my tongue and teased it, flicking it, looking up at him, my eyes locked on his as he rested on my pillows.  Next I ran my tongue around the tip some more and then decided to take him again, all the way down, into my mouth. I had to look down to do this, so I tore my gaze from his and went down with my mouth, taking as much as I could. Then I pulled my lips together, sucked, and went off the top with a pop. Then I took him again. And again.  Sucking slowly, I used my hand to help. And then I looked up into his eyes again.

I realized, as I looked at him and listened to the noises that he was making, that I loved this. I loved turning him on.
It was massively turning me on to make him feel good.
And it was turning me on to give him something. Thinking this was demeaning or not feminist? I was so off-base.  It had nothing to do with either of those two things.

I focused my attention on him, trying to think of ways that he would feel good. Sucking, licking, stroking, lavishing attention on him, lost in the moment, caressing him gently, teasing, giving pleasure.

And I realized, in the middle of this, that I was not just breaking a Rule. I was, yet again, opening up and he was opening up to me. In this position he was totally vulnerable. I could hurt him in this position, not the least by biting.

Of course I never would. But it was powerful to think that I could caress him and give him affection, and that this was paradoxically freeing me.

I had thought that it would be demeaning.

I was so wrong. This was the essence of love, distilled into an act: devoting yourself to another person's care.  I wanted to take care of him. Poor motherless boy. Sexy, lovely man.  I wanted to make him feel good.  Feel amazing.  Feel loved.

As I continued, I could tell that something changed. His cock swelled even bigger. I could feel a vein start to throb. I thought that he was getting close.

"Stop now, if you don't want me to come in your mouth," he panted.

I looked up at him, and smiled around his cock. I’d decided before I’d even started, that I was staying with him the whole way through, and I was swallowing. I sucked harder, moved my hand faster, and gave him all of the attention I could.

I could feel his cum building up before it was released with a shudder, a pumping. Warm, sweet, but slightly bitter liquid, in my mouth. It tasted like sex, and I swallowed it down.  It was no big deal to swallow.

But it was a huge deal to give him head.  I felt quite accomplished and proud of myself.

He hauled me up him by my armpits and buried himself in my neck, me on top, him, breathing hard still, on the bottom.

"You're a liar."

I looked at him, confused.

"That was not your first time."

"Yeah, it was."

"It was the best I ever had.”

I smiled. "I'm an overachiever," I said saucily. And then I muttered the truth: "Maybe that was because I really wanted to do it."

He shook his head, not believing me. Then he grabbed me, rolled me over on to my back, and said, "Now it's my turn."

And he proceeded to rock my world.

Rule #4 was broken, people.