Twisted (2 page)

my mouth. he jerks at the contact. The alcohol must have numbed

my gag reflex, because I’m able to take him all the way down my

throat.

And I do.

Four, five, six times. Then I bring my eyes to his. During a

blow job? Guys love eye contact. Don‘t ask me why—I have no

idea.

“You like it when I suck your cock, Drew?”

he likes dirty talk too. Actually, there’s not much Drew
doesn’t
like.

his eyes roll back. “Fuck, yes.”

I go back to work, letting my tongue get into the action.

his voice is breathy, panting. “God, baby—you give the best

head. You could teach a frigging class.”

ha—that’s funny! Dick Lick 101.

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After almost two years together, I’m an expert at reading Drew’s

body language. So when his hips start to lift and his hands clench in the air, I know he’s close. his appreciative grunts and groans

almost make me abandon my plan.

But I don’t.

At the last second, just before he comes, I pull away. And sit

up. Drew’s eyes are squeezed shut, waiting for the explosion that’s not coming.

he opens his eyes and they’re bewildered.

I smile, feeling empowered.

And naughty.

I yawn dramatically. “You know, that wine really took a lot out

of me. I’m kind of tired.”

“Wh . . . what?” he pants.

“I think I need a breather. You don’t mind, do you?”

Drew growls, “Kate . . .”

I swing my leg over him, sliding his massively impressive hard-

on between my legs. Sitting on it, but not letting it slip inside.

“I’m kind of thirsty too. I’m going to get a glass of water. You

want some?”

“This isn’t fucking funny, Kate.”

Oooh, he’s mad.

Scary.

I slide my finger down the middle of his chest. “Who’s laugh-

ing?”

he pulls at the cuffs—harder this time. When the locks hold, I

giggle. Who knew poking a lion with a stick could be so much fun?

“Relax, Drew. Stay put like a good boy and I’ll come back . . .”

I shrug. “Eventually.”

I kiss his nose quickly, hop off the bed, and scurry from the

room as he calls my name.

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7

Don’t look at me like that; I’m just teasing him a little. You

know he deserves it. No harm in that, right?

I skip down the hall to the kitchen, proud of myself. When I step

onto the cold tile floor, goose bumps rise up my legs and down my

arms. I really am thirsty, so I get a glass from the cabinet and fill it with cold water.

Standing at the sink I take a nice long gulp, closing my eyes as

the cool liquid soothes my dry throat. A drop trails down my chin, over my collarbone, and down my breast.

Without warning, a hard chest presses up against my back,

shocking me. I squeak and the glass drops and shatters in the sink.

I don’t know how he got free, but the handcuffs are dangling

from his wrists. Rough hands pull me back, trapping me.

I shiver as seductive warm breath scrapes my ear.

“That wasn’t nice, Kate. I can be not nice too.”

his voice is low—not angry, but firm. It’s incredibly arousing.

One hand grips my hair at the nape and pulls, making me

arch my back and press my pelvis against the rim of the sink. he

jerks my head to the side, and then he’s kissing me—plunging his

tongue into my mouth as I race to keep up.

The kiss is possessive.

Dominating.

A moment later he pushes easily inside me and starts a pound-

ing rhythm, his lower abdomen slapping against my ass with each

push.

It’s exhilarating.

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I hear myself moan. The counter bites into my stomach, but I

don’t care. All I can feel is Drew.

Controlling me. Driving me. Owning me.

his free hand grips mine and brings it around front to my clit.

Pressing my fingers down, compelling me to pleasure myself.

Guys have a thing for masturbation. I’ve come to realize it’s a

huge turn on—like throwing a match into a barrel of gasoline.

he releases my hand, but my fingers continue to move like

he wants them to. Like I’m a puppet on a string, and Drew is the

master puppeteer. And then he leans back, taking the heat of his

chest away.

The pace of his thrusting slows. And I feel his hand slide down

my spine. Between us.

To my ass.

his hand kneads and rubs, then his fingers glide around the

mounds of flesh. Back and forth over the hypersensitive hole

between them.

And I tense up.

This is new territory for us. Well—for me. I have no doubt that

Drew has, at one time or another, been inside every available orifice of the female form.

But for me it’s unknown. And a little nerve-racking.

his fingers make several harmless passes until I relax. Until the

tension drains from my shoulders, and I’m once again distracted by the intense pleasure the rhythm of his hips invokes.

And then he slides one finger inside.

There’s no pain. No discomfort. Double penetration is a lot

like skydiving. To truly appreciate it, you have to experience it.

Words don’t really do it justice.

But I’ll try: delicious.

In a forbidden, naughty kind of way.

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9

Slowly Drew moves his finger in and out, catching up with the

pace of his cock.

And I’m moaning, low and deep and uninhibited. My own

fingers rub faster—harder—in front. Then I gasp as he stretches

me wider, making room for the second finger he just slipped in.

his movements are unhurried. Torturous and teasing.

And I want to open my mouth and beg for more.

More friction, more heat.

Faster. More.
Please
.

Drew compels me forward gently. Bending me over, so my

hair brushes the bottom of the sink. And then he’s gone—out of

my body.

And I ache with the loss of it.

Until I feel the head of his cock, wet with my fluids, stroking

back and forth over the opening his fingers just occupied.

“Drew . . .”

It’s a keening moan, half pleasure, half pain.

All pleading.

“Say yes, Kate. Fucking Christ . . . please say yes.”

his voice is raspy. Raw.

With need.

For me.

And suddenly I feel powerful.

Strange, considering our current position, but still—I’m the

one in control. he may as well be begging at my feet.

Waiting and hoping for my command.

I don’t think. I don’t weigh the options or contemplate the

consequences. I only feel, submerged in rapturous sensation.

I let go.

And I trust.

“Yes . . .”

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Ever so slowly, Drew presses forward into me. There’s a

moment of pain—a stretching burn—and I inhale sharply. he

pauses. Until I release my breath. Then, gently, he continues

forward, until his most intimate flesh is fully ensconced in my

own. Then he stays completely still. Letting my body adjust to

the intrusion.

I feel his hand slide across my hip and down my thigh, coming

around to my front. his hand goes under mine, his fingers rubbing

in a circular motion. In that sensuous, magnificent way, before dipping inside me. Over and over and over again.

I always thought of anal sex as the ultimate show of domina-

tion, forceful, maybe humiliating.

But this doesn’t feel that way.

It’s primal . . . unexplored . . . but beautiful too. Sacred.

Like I’ve just given him my virginity. And in a way, I guess I

have.

I move first, pushing back against him.

Giving Drew permission—wanting to know, to experience

these new sensations. Needing to cross the finish line. With

him.

It’s more than erotic. Beyond intimate.

Drew’s lips press against the skin on my back. Kissing and

cursing and whispering my name. And then he’s the one moving.

Taking back control. Gliding in and out—tender but steady.

It’s divine.

My hand clasps over his at my clit. My legs tremble and I know

I’m getting close.
So close.
Like climbing a mountain and realizing the peak is just mere steps away.

Our breaths come in deep open-mouth pants with each drive

of Drew’s hips.

“Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . .”

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11

Men’s orgasms are ninety percent physical. It’s easy for them

to get off, regardless of where their thoughts are. Women have it

harder. Our orgasms usually hinge on our mental state. Which

means if you guys want to get us there? We can’t be thinking about that load of laundry in the next room, or the pile of papers waiting on our desks.

Which explains why it’s not Drew’s hand, or dick, that does

me in.

It’s his voice.

With his forehead against my shoulder blade, he chants, “Oh

God, oh God, oh God . . .”

It’s so unlike him.

he sounds open. Exposed.

Vulnerable.

This infuriating man, who always wants to be in charge, calling

the shots. Who doesn’t make a move without examining it from

every angle, turning it around in his amazing mind—the pros, the

perks, the ramifications.

he’s falling apart behind me.

And as he whispers a litany of profanities and prayers—I fall

over the edge.

Into ecstasy.

My head snaps back and my eyes close. And stars burst behind

my eyelids as I tense and scream, and wave after dizzying wave of

pleasure wracks my body.

Drew’s movements become uneven and jerky, more forceful

and uncontrolled.

And a moment later he pulls my hips back against him,

holding me there, as one long, last guttural moan spills from

his lips.

Afterward, we catch our breaths. Still connected and quaking

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with aftershocks. his hands smooth up my arms as he slips out of

me.

he turns me around to face him. his hands caress my cheeks,

and then he’s kissing me.

And it’s so sweet. Kind and loving. Such a stark contrast to our

desperate movements moments before.

I don’t know why, but my eyes fill with tears.

Instantly, Drew’s gaze turns worried. “Are you okay? Did I . . .

did I hurt you?”

I smile through the tears, because they’re happy ones. Because

in some weird, unexplainable way, I’ve never felt closer to him than I do right now.

“No. I’m wonderful. Feel free to be not nice to me anytime.”

Then he smiles too. Relieved and satisfied.

“Noted.”

Drew picks me up and carries me to the shower. We stand

under the warm spray and wash each other worshipfully. Then

Drew wraps us in thick, heated towels and bears me to bed.

he pulls the blanket up over both of us and holds me tight

against him.

And it makes me feel precious.

He
makes me feel that way. Always.

Cherished.

Adored.

Was I sore the next day? A little. But it wasn’t so bad.

Too much information?

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13

Sorry. Just trying to be helpful.

In any case, the aches and pains of the following morning were

more than worth it, as far as I was concerned.

But what’s the point of all this, you ask? Why am I sharing it

with you?

Because good sex? Really, really good sex?

Doesn’t need alcohol. And it’s not about compatibility, or prac-

tice, or even being in love.

It’s about trust.

Letting your guard down. Putting yourself in another person’s

hands and letting him lead you to places you’ve never been before.

And I trusted Drew. With my mind, my heart, my body. I

trusted Drew with everything.

At least I did then.

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In high school, biology was my favorite subject. What fasci-

nated me most were species that transform into a whole new

being. Like pollywogs. Or butterflies. They start out as one thing, but end up something else entirely.

Unrecognizable.

Everyone always looks at butterflies and thinks, “how lovely.”

But no one ever thinks about what they had to go through to

become what they are. When the caterpillar builds its cocoon,

it doesn’t know what’s happening. It doesn’t understand that it’s

changing.

It thinks it’s dying. That its world is ending.

The metamorphosis is painful. Terrifying and unknown. It’s

only afterward that the caterpillar realizes it was all worth it.

Because now it gets to fly.

And that’s what I feel like right now. I’m more than I was

before. Stronger.

Did you think I was tough before?

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Fooled you. Some of it was just bravado. A façade.