59
Present Day
Two more rounds later, we stepped tipsily out of the Forum. Shanna immediately began scanning for taxis. One came down the street and she hailed it.
“You comin’ with me?” she asked.
“No, I’m going to take the subway back.”
“I can give you a ride – ”
“Naah, it’s just a couple blocks that way.”
The taxi drove up to the curb in front of her.
“So, are you going to go do it?” Shanna called out as she opened the rear door.
“…yeah,” I said grudgingly.
She threw her arms up in the air in a giant ‘V’.
“YES! Shanna Williams for the win!” she yelled to all of New York City, then turned back to me. “Let me know how it goes!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grinned, and started off down the street.
She started to get in, then stopped and hollered, “Hey – wait – I know you didn’t sleep with him, but you never told me what happened after I left that day!”
I turned around and yelled, “Read the f*ckin’ article!”
“You bitch!” she laughed, then got in the taxi and sped away.
60
I called Rolling Stone the next morning. The switchboard patched me through to Glen’s office, and a secretary asked who I was. I told her and waited while I got put on hold.
He answered only a few seconds later. He sounded wary, but hopeful. “Kaitlyn?”
“Hi. Is the offer still good?”
Hope blew past wariness into full-on excitement. “Yes – absolutely – yes!”
“Then I’m in,” I said, a lot less enthusiastic than Glen. “What do I do?”
“You’ll need to come by the office so we can set you up… and then we’ll put you on the next plane to LA.”
61
Four Years Ago
Derek walked me back to my room. Neither of us said much on the way up the stairs. I was seriously nervous; he was Mr. Calm, Cool, and Unruffled.
“You need help packing?” he asked.
“Um… I guess…”
I unlocked the door and we stepped inside. Shanna’s half of the room was stripped bare – metal-frame bed, old mattress, empty wooden desk. I felt lonelier just looking at it.
“Can I ask you a favor?” Derek asked.
“Um… depends on what the favor is…”
“Can you not leave today, and just stay one more night?” he asked, staring into my eyes.
“I… I told my parents I’d be back today…”
“I’m probably never going to see you again once you leave. Could you please, please just stick around one more night and give me some more time with you?”
One more night.
The phrase made me weak in the knees.
Maybe from how many times I’d heard it in love songs.
“…please,” he whispered.
All the little voices in my head were screaming, No! Don’t! Bad idea!
But the feelings in my body were saying something else entirely.
“…okay.”
He grinned, one of the happiest smiles I’d ever seen him wear. “Good. Thanks.”
I nodded and just stood there looking at him.
“Don’t you need to call them?” he asked, concerned.
“…who?”
“Your parents.”
“Oh – oh yeah…”
Damn it was so easy to get lost in his eyes…
I got my phone out of my purse and started to dial –
“Could you, uh, talk to them out in the hall?” he asked.
I frowned. “What? Why?”
“I have a surprise for you.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“You’ll see.”
“You need me to be out of the room while you set it up?”
“Yeah. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a surprise,” he said in a smart-aleck voice.
I looked at him apprehensively. “…okay…”
“Thanks,” he grinned.
Then he pushed me out the door and closed and locked it behind me.
62
The phone call didn’t take long. If I’d talked to my dad, I would have gotten a thousand questions about why I was changing my plans, and a hurt tone of voice about not coming home to see the family tonight.
Luckily I got my mom, who’s a lot more relaxed about these sorts of things.
“Some people on the hall are having an after-finals party, and I’d really like to stick around for it,” I said as I paced nervously down the hall, away from my room. “I didn’t find out about it until this afternoon, which is why – ”
“That’s fine, honey. Have fun – just be careful, okay?”
“Okay, Mom.”
“Don’t drink anything unless it’s out of a bottle or a can, or you see where it comes from. I don’t want anyone roofie-ing you.”
“Nobody’s going to roofie me, Mom.”
“And don’t give your drink to anybody when you go to the bathroom. Just take it with you.”
“I’m not even going to be drinking, Mom! Not alcohol, anyway – ”
“Then why are you even going to the party?”
My mom is pretty open-minded, to say the least.
Maybe too open-minded, seeing as what happened seven years ago.
“I don’t know, because it’s fun, maybe?!”
“Just be careful and don’t drink too much.”
“I told you, I’m not going to drink – ”
“And don’t drink and drive.”
“I’m in the dorm, Mom! I’m not driving anywhere!”
“And use a condom.”
“I’m with Kevin, Mom!” I hissed, and glanced down the hall at my room.
The door was still shut.
Why did I do that?
There was no reason to do that…
“Okay, no judgment – just be safe.”
“Goodbye, Mom!”
And then I hung up in exasperation.
Looking back, I know she was just looking out for me. And she actually gave me great advice.
But having your mom tell you if you cheat on your boyfriend, to use a condom?
Jesus.
Considering what she had done when I was twelve, the advice was excruciating to hear.
What was even more excruciating was my fear that ‘like mother, like daughter’ wasn’t just a saying.
63
I walked over to my dorm room and tried the knob. Still locked.
“Hold on,” Derek said from inside.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting the surprise ready.”
“What kind of surprise takes five minutes?”
“You’ll find out.”
“You better not be getting naked in there.”
“Do you want me to get naked?” he asked, laughing.
I pictured him naked on the other side of the door, his muscles rippling under his olive skin, and what he would look like below his waist –
“NO,” I said vehemently.
“Okay, then, I need to put my pants back on, hold on a sec,” he joked.
A little flutter of heat and electricity stirred between my legs.
“That’s not funny.”
“Yeah it is. Hold on…”
Click.
“Okay, you can come in now.”
I turned the knob and opened the door.
The lights were off. Though the venetian blinds were shut, late-afternoon light still glowed in the window – but the room was dim enough for the candles to be dazzling.
Lots and lots of candles. Probably twenty of them, those little tea candle lights. They sat in clusters on the window ledge, on Shanna’s bare desk, and in a couple of places on the floor.
In the middle of the room was a quilted blanket laid out on the floor. Beside that was a picnic basket, the big wicker kind. And sitting on the blanket were two plates with knives and forks and spoons and linen napkins, and little plastic tubs from a supermarket deli. There was a bottle of red wine, too, and crystal wine glasses.
And a tiny white vase with a single red rose sticking out of it.
Derek stood there behind the picnic basket, looking a little shy – like he wasn’t sure I was going to like it or not.
My hands flew to my mouth.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, and my eyes welled up.
“Is it okay?” he asked. “I just… I wanted to do something special for you, since it might be… the last time I ever see you.”
I felt like I was going to cry.
All I could do was nod. I took my hands away from my mouth so he could see I was smiling, and then he relaxed.
“Okay,” he grinned, and walked past me and shut the door.
Then he put his hand on the small of my back, and an electric thrill of pleasure ran through my entire body.
“Have a seat,” he said.
64
I sat across from him as he cut the foil off the wine bottle with one of those combination knives/corkscrews.
“How’d you get all this stuff up here?” I asked.
“Ryan. He snuck the picnic basket up here when he disappeared.”
“Ahhhh.” I looked around at the plates and silverware and glasses. It was pretty damn nice for a picnic basket. I probably would have gone with plastic plates and cutlery. “Did you buy this?”
“No, it’s Ryan’s parents’. He kind of borrowed it for me.”
“Kind of?”
“Ahh, they never use it.”
Derek pulled out the cork, then poured us each a glass. He clinked his against mine.
“To you… and to your brilliant future as a world-famous journalist.”
“And to your brilliant future as a world-famous rock star.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said, and we both took a sip.
I had only tasted wine at a wedding before, and I was expecting not to like it – but I did. It was a lot sweeter and mellower than the sour stuff at my cousin’s reception, and a hundred times better than the crappy beer I’d had at the few parties I’d gone to in high school and college.
“You like it?” he asked apprehensively.
“Yeah. It’s really good. How the hell did you get it? Do you have a fake ID or something?”
“Yeah, I do, but, uhhh…” He grinned. “Ryan stole it for me from his parents’ wine collection. I told him to get something awesome.”
“OH MY GOD!” I cried out. “You’re going to get him in so much trouble!”
“I’ll make it up to him.”
“Derek…”
“Chill out, he was happy to do it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Dinner and wine, compliments of the Miller family.”
“Hey – just the wine and picnic basket,” he said defensively. “I bought everything else myself.”
I suppressed a smile. “Okay. What did you get?”
There was a fancy salad made with greens and tangerine slices, and herbed potatoes, and chicken stuffed with artichokes and cheese. I warmed up the chicken and potatoes in the microwave – the one appliance I had brought from home, and the only one left in the room – and we ate and sipped wine and talked.
For dessert there was a big, thick slice of double chocolate cake. We shared it off the same plate, laughing and battling with spoons for the last bits of frosting. I would have given it to him if he asked, and I’m sure he would have given it to me – but the rivalry was more fun.
It was also a way of dealing with the sexual tension in the air.
The light was gone by the time we ran out of wine. I leaned back against my bed, buzzed and happy in the glow of the candlelight. Derek lay on the floor across from me, his long, muscular frame stretched out and his head propped up on his hand.
God, he was hot.
“Did you like dinner?” he asked.
“It was great,” I sighed. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
“I feel bad, though…”
“Why?”
“That must’ve cost you a ton of money.”
A ton of money for a guy who lived in Crack Central, anyway.
He shrugged. “It was worth it.”
“Derek…”
“Hey, I wanted to do something nice for you, okay? Just say ‘thank you.’”
“…thank you. It was wonderful.”
“You’re welcome.”
I sat there, my face flushed, my insides warm…
…and not just from the alcohol.
“What now?” I asked, and yawned. Damn wine.
“Looks like somebody needs a nap.”
“Mmm… maybe just a little one…”
“You don’t drink much, do you?”
“Mmm… no,” I said, shaking my head. Then I narrowed my eyes and said in a mock-disapproving voice, “You probably planned on that, didn’t you?”
“No, not at all,” he said as he shook his head ‘yes.’
I giggled again… and then slowly grew somber. “Look… about last night…”
His eyebrows raised slightly. “Yeah?”
“…we can’t do that again.”
“I thought it was amazing,” he said softly.
“It…”
It was, it was, OH MY GOD it was amazing. But…
“…I have a boyfriend,” I whispered.
He nodded his head. “I know.”
“Well… that’s why we can’t do that again.”
He didn’t say anything.
“It wouldn’t be… right…” I said, and stifled a yawn.
“Why don’t we get into bed?” he suggested.
His words sent a sexual charge of syrupy sweet desire from my belly down below.
“W-what?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Relax,” he grinned, “we’re just going to let you take a nap, that’s all.”
“…oh…”
I didn’t mean to sound as disappointed as I probably did.
“…no kissing, though…” I slurred.
“No kissing,” he promised.
“…and no… funny stuff…”
“I can’t be funny?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Okay, no funny stuff.”
“…just a nap… right?...”
“Just a nap.”
“…okay…”
Riiiiiight.
65
I stood up gracelessly, plopped down on the bed, and removed my shoes and socks.
He moved the dishes over to Shanna’s side and put up the picnic basket.
“…wow… a guy who makes me dinner, and cleans up…” I giggled as I stretched out on top of the covers.
“Damn straight.”
He started blowing out the tea lights.
“…no… leave them… they’re pretty…”
“Okay,” he agreed, but moved the ones on the floor over to the window ledge. Then he kicked off his clunky boots, pulled off his socks, and laid down next to me on the bed.
The weight of his body next to mine sent another jolt through my lower extremities.
“Turn over on your side,” he commanded me gently. “I want to spoon you.”
“…oh…” I said, catching my breath. “…okay… but no forking…”
He frowned. “Forking?”
“…joke… sounds like…” and I silently mouthed ‘f*cking.’
He burst out laughing. “Okay – no ‘forking.’”
“…okay…”
I turned over onto my side and he snuggled up against me.
Sweet baby Jesus.
As soon as I felt him against me, I was wide awake, and I wasn’t going to sleep.
His body felt hard and firm against mine. His legs pressed against the back of my thighs… his pelvis against my rear end… his firm, muscular chest against my back. He draped one arm across me and pulled me in close to him, pressing me against him. I crossed my arms over my chest in an ‘X’ – otherwise his muscular forearm would have been resting against my breasts. His breath tickled across my neck, and I could feel heat radiating off his body like a furnace.
GOD I wanted him so bad.
And it only got worse as the moments ticked by.
I listened to his breathing, slow and steady, right behind me. And as it caressed my neck, the spark between my legs just kept getting warmer and warmer.
I stared at the wall, my eyes wide open.
It was hard to think. The wine and the sheer physical presence of him was overwhelming any thoughts in my head.
I just wanted him, that was all.
And then… I felt it.
A soft pressure against my ass… growing… getting harder…
Bigger…
Thicker…
“I can feel that,” I announced, my voice clear but a little unsteady.
He chuckled. “Sorry,” he said, and pulled his pelvis back so that the pressure was gone.
Damn it, I shouldn’t have said anything…
I lay like that for about 30 seconds, and then I blurted out, “I just said I could feel it, I didn’t say you had to move it.”
He laughed again, and pressed his pelvis against me.
Ohhhhhh God.
I could feel it against me, straining through his jeans and against my ass.
I was so wet.
And then he started to touch me.
Just my arm at first… brushing across my skin… just barely grazing the fine, blonde hairs on my forearm.
His fingertips traced up all the way to my wrist… and then over the back of my hand… and up my fingers… and then began to trail slowly, softly, maddeningly back down.
Some people are ticklish and don’t like being touched that softly.
I’m a little ticklish, too… but I love being touched like that.
I swallowed hard, my mouth watering as he kept stroking me… slowly… moving up to my elbow, then trailing up my arm… touching just under the sleeve of my t-shirt… and then tracing back down.
“You’re touching me,” I whispered, barely loud enough to be heard.
“You said no kissing,” he whispered back. “You didn’t say no touching.”
I began to breathe harder as his fingers caressed the bare skin of my other arm.
“Do you want me to stop?”
Tell him yes, tell him to stop, say you have a –
“…no,” I whispered.
He paused, and then he backed his body away from mine.
What are you doing?! I was thinking, disappointed beyond belief –
But his hand took hold of my shoulder and pulled me onto my back.
He was still lying on his side, though, looking down at me.
I stared up at him, but the green of his eyes was lost in the shadows.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered.
I swallowed hard again… then closed them.
His fingertips began to touch me again… this time the side of my neck, gentle as a breeze, making me shiver. He slowly caressed me all the way up to my left ear… then ran his fingers so gently across my earlobe, stroking it… then moving down the curve of my jaw… down the front of my neck, to the exposed skin at my collar…
Then the pressure from his hand disappeared. I was wondering what happened when I felt him lift up the edge of my shirt –
“No,” I whispered, and caught his hand.
“Relax,” he said. “I won’t go far.”
My lower lip trembled as I stared at him, at his kind smile… and I took away my hand.
He pulled up my shirt to the base of my bra. Then he began to stroke my stomach… my waist… my hip…
His fingertips disappeared just slightly beneath the edge of my jeans… and then his palm pressed warm and firm against my skin, the pressure increasing the tiniest amount.
I heard someone moaning.
I realized it was me.
That didn’t stop me, though.
Or him.
The pressure from his hand disappeared again and reappeared at my shirt collar… but this time he traced his fingertip down over the cloth, down my sternum… and then slowly drifted over to my right breast, hesitating, waiting to see what I would do.
I knew I should stop him…
…but I didn’t.
I wanted him to keep going too badly to say anything.
His fingertip continued to trace over the fabric of my shirt. Because I was wearing a bra, he had to press the tiniest bit harder, but I could feel the pressure as he circled the curve of my breast, slowly getting closer to my nipple… then finding the little hard bud beneath and stroking it, a tiny bit harder, with a tiny bit more pressure, until it was hard and swollen and aching beneath his touch.
I was moaning louder.
He leaned in and put his lips against my ear, and breathed sooo softly, his lips grazing my skin, caressing me.
I was going wild inside by now, but I couldn’t show it. I just lay there, moaning, as his breath sighed in my ear, and his lips nibbled softly at my earlobe, and his fingers…
Oh God, his fingers.
They began to drift over my jeans, the friction vibrating through the cloth and tickling my skin. I felt his fingertips move between my legs, over the seam of my jeans, a light pressure whispering across my *.
I didn’t consciously do it, but my legs relaxed, and I spread them farther apart.
His fingers trailed down lower, the tiny vibrations of his fingers against cloth transferring to my skin, making me flare even hotter, making me even wetter.
And then I felt his fingers at the top of my jeans… and the gentle pop of the button… and the slow zzzzzz of the zipper.
I opened my eyes. My chest was heaving now, my breathing labored, my heart hammering in my chest.
He paused, waiting for me to say something.
I didn’t.
His fingers slid softly down my belly, under the edge of my underwear, caressing their way through my hair down there… and then the tip of his finger found my wetness.
I gasped.
He was still breathing softly, his lips caressing the folds of my ear, his tongue gently licking my earlobe…
His finger dabbed my wetness and used it to barely, barely touch my *, using the lightest pressure imaginable as he circled around it, then over it, the slightest caress, sending shivers of pleasure through me from head to toe.
Oh God, I felt like I was going to die.
His fingertip kept circling, caressing, so wet, so soft, the tiniest bit of pressure, over and over and over and over –
– and then he leaned across my body and kissed me.
Not hard. He kissed me the way he’d been breathing in my ear: no more than a whisper of a touch, his lips barely meeting mine… soft… caressing me with his wetness…
Just like his finger circled me, wet, stroking me, wetter, soft but gradually increasing, my * throbbing so sweetly and my muscles contracting in tiny spasms every twelve seconds, then every ten, then every eight, getting closer and closer together as the shudders got more and more intense.
I opened my mouth the tiniest bit and he slipped gently between my lips. Our tongues touched, wet, sliding against each other, soft but more insistent, just like his finger as it began speeding up, gradually, the pressure increasing, circling me, stroking me, firmer, more pressure, and the tiny contractions were getting bigger and more powerful and more rapid and more intense and I opened my mouth to him completely and moaned as he entered me fully with his tongue. His fingertip, now drenched, moved faster and firmer and sweeter and harder and suddenly I was coming and I clutched at him, arching my hips against his hand, crying out into his mouth, feeling the waves rolling through me so powerfully that I couldn’t think, contractions on top of each other, pleasure and bliss and ecstasy and I cried out again and again, and then I was gasping and settling back down, and I couldn’t stand it anymore, I was too sensitive, so I put my hand on his and he stopped.
He pulled back away from me and searched my face, his eyes moving back and forth between my eyes, searching for… anger? Hurt? Feelings of betrayal?
None of that here.
I only felt desire.
“…was that… are you…” he whispered.
“Take off your clothes,” I whispered back.
66
He didn’t need to be told twice.
He rolled off the bed and stood up –
“Slowly,” I whispered. “I want to watch.”
He stopped and stared down at me in the candlelight, then nodded like he was dazed.
You know how hot guys in the movies take off their shirts? They reach up behind their backs and grab the fabric and pull it over their heads, and the whole shirt lifts up from their abs, and it looks really sexy?
Derek did that, and it was even hotter.
He did it slowly, just like I told him to.
He reached behind him and began to pull his shirt over his head.
I watched in silent awe as the fabric slid up over his stomach, revealing his abs. They were amazing. Like a real-life Calvin Klein underwear ad, but better. Deep shadows ran between the muscles, outlining him like some sort of Rembrandt or Caravaggio painting. (Thank you, Art History 101.)
I couldn’t help myself. I had to reach out and touch them.
My fingers glided over his flawless skin, and I could feel the ridges of his muscles beneath my touch. He groaned as my cool skin glided over hot flesh, and I could feel the muscles twitch in ecstasy beneath my fingertips.
The shirt slid past his ribs and across his massive chest, and the reality of him was better than any fantasy. Firm, massive pecs… tiny, dark nipples… the lightest dusting of chest hair, just enough to make it obvious he didn’t shave. His tattoos were dark shapes across his skin, barely visible in the candlelight.
He tossed aside the shirt and put his large, rugged hands on his belt –
I stopped him with just a touch of my fingers.
He looked down at me, tortured, hungry.
Please, PLEASE, we can’t stop now! he seemed to be begging.
We aren’t, I said to him with my eyes.
But I want to do it.
I knelt in front of him and put my lips against his body, not kissing him, just feeling the muscles beneath as I slid my mouth softly over his skin.
He tilted back his head and groaned.
I took his belt in my hands and unbuckled it… then undid the top button. They were button-fly jeans… so I grasped one side in each hand and pulled hard.
Fr-fr-fr-fr-frip all the buttons came undone, and his pants were open before me.
I could feel they were caught on something beneath – something large – so I carefully nudged and pulled until he was free.
He was wearing black boxers, and I could see the outline of his erection beneath the cloth, straining and tugging with a mind of its own. I touched my fingers to it tentatively, and realized with shock that the cloth was wet. He’d drenched them with pre-cum, he’d gotten so turned on when he was touching me.
Beneath the damp cloth, he was rock hard. And big. Bigger than I was used to, anyway. My mouth watering, I gently pulled the waistband of his boxers out and slid them down.
Ohhhhhh God.
It was perfect.
It was beautiful.
Long and thick, with a big swollen head, the tip gleaming wetly in the candlelight.
I reached out and touched my fingers to the scorching-hot skin –
Derek grunted as his cock bucked beneath my hand.
I hurriedly tugged the underwear and the jeans the rest of the way down. He helped and stepped out of them, until he was standing there completely naked, his gorgeous cock standing straight up at attention, his muscled legs like something Michelangelo might have sculpted –
And his ass.
If Shanna could have only seen his ass.
I actually made him move to the side so his hip was facing me, and I ran one hand over that perfect, absolutely amazing bubble butt. I could feel the heat as I cupped my palm over his cheek – could feel the firm muscle filling up my grasp.
Jesus.
I looked at the opposite side of his body and saw that large, lovely, thick cock jutting into the air, pulsing with his heartbeat.
Then I looked up at his face and discovered he was grinning down at me.
“Everything okay?” he whispered.
“Uh huh,” I nodded.
“Now for you,” he whispered.
He bent over and tugged at the hem of my shirt. I lifted my arms and let him pull it over my head. As he threw the shirt over on Shanna’s unused bed, I reached behind me to undo my bra –
“No,” he said. “I want to do it.”
I watched as he kneeled down in front of me on the ground so that our faces were almost level.
He put one of his hands against one bra strap and slowly nudged it aside, so that it fell off my shoulder… and then he did the same with the other. The entire time, he looked at the swell of my breasts, entranced. It was like he was slowly unwrapping a present, and wanted to savor every second.
Then he reached behind me and his face was against mine, and we kissed as his hands moved to my bra strap and unhooked it expertly.
But he didn’t let the bra fall.
He kept holding onto it, keeping it in place. He bent down, his chin in my cleavage, and began to kiss the tops of my breasts. Slowly, slowly, he lowered the edge of the bra, inch by inch, kissing one breast, then the other, until the edge of the cups slipped past my nipples. His lips found the right nipple and he took it in his warm, wet mouth and sucked and licked until I gasped with pleasure.
Only then did he let the bra fall completely away. As he switched his mouth to the left breast, his rough hands moved to my right, cupped it, fondled it, gently rolled the wet nipple between his rough fingers as I whimpered and grasped his hair with my hands.
Then suddenly he was pushing me, lowering me onto my back. I stared up at him as he stood, stared at his cock jutting into the air. He bent over my body and hooked his fingers not only into my jeans, but also through the top of my underwear and pulled both down in one fluid motion. I wriggled my hips to help him along, until I was lying there completely naked on the bed.
He used his strong hands to shift me around so I was lying lengthways on the mattress, moving me as easily as I might rearrange a pillow. Then he fumbled with his discarded pants on the floor and pulled out a foil wrapper from a pocket. He was about to tear into it –
“Wait,” I said.
He stopped and looked at me like Oh no, please don’t say ‘stop’ now –
“Lie down,” I whispered.
He frowned, but lay down next to me as I scooted as far back on the narrow bed as I could. Then I took the foil wrapper from him and put it under the pillow.
“What are you doing?” he asked, confused.
“You got to touch me… now I get to touch you,” I breathed in his ear.
He stared into my eyes as I traced my fingers over his chest… circled his tiny, erect nipples… then traveled across his abs, down around his hips, over his thighs. Every so often his eyes would roll back in his head and he’d groan, and then he’d open them again and continue looking at me like he was caught somewhere between pain and bliss.
I just enjoyed the sensations of touching his taut, firm body… feeling the hard sheets of muscle beneath my fingers…
And then I reached where I really wanted to go.
My fingers brushed through soft curls and nudged up against his rigid shaft. I put my fingers around him in a ring, encircling him.
God he was thick… just the sensation of him filling up my hand was making me wet again…
“Unnnh,” he groaned as my hand traveled up slowly, gently, to the head. I rubbed my fingers in his pre-cum and stroked softly downward, trailing wetness along his cock.
My fingers broke their ring-shaped ‘O’ and cupped his tight sack… tickled his balls with the lightest touch of my nails… and then ringed around his girth again and slowly moved upwards.
“Oh Jesus, Kaitlyn,” he moaned, and screwed his eyes shut in delicious frustration.
I traveled back up to the swollen head, wetting my fingers with his juices, and stroked back down, slowly, then back up, slowly, over and over, until he was soaked and slippery, and my hand could move with almost no friction at all. I increased the pressure of my grip slightly, moving up a little faster, massaging the sensitive head and making him groan, then slipping down to his base, then back up.
I must have done that for at least five minutes, gliding my hand up and down and around that thick, gorgeous cock, feeling his skin soft as silk, wet as my p-ssy, hot as a fever, and hard as steel beneath my touch.
Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. I pressed my upper body against his and sought his mouth.
He kissed me greedily as I moved my hand over his cock, wet and slippery, up and down, stroking him, faster, faster. He lowered his head to my breasts and sucked and licked and I moaned, and I was stroking him harder, firmer, faster, faster and then he cried out and his entire body tensed. I looked down just in time as I felt the first convulsions in my hand and saw the spurting jet of white milky come, hot and wet over my fingers as it splashed onto his taut, muscled stomach, over and over, a new spurt every second as his cock pulsed hard and thick in my hand.
“Oh Jesus oh Jesus oh Jesus,” he moaned as I continued to stroke him, letting up on the pressure, but still rubbing softly, my hand even wetter than before.
I kissed his lips and he kissed me back deeply, caressed my face and my hair as I slowly stroked him… slower… and then stopped.
67
I grabbed a couple of Kleenexes and wiped off my hand and then his stomach and cock. I loved the weight of it lolling there in my hand, not fully erect, but still thick and long and beautiful.
Then he pulled me down next to him on the bed and we kissed again. He pressed his body against mine, muscular and hot and slightly damp from where he had come. We lay there like that for four or five minutes, just kissing and making out and touching each other in the afterglow.
But when I felt him growing hard again, pressing against my stomach… when I felt his hand travel down to my thighs and touch me on my lips… I put my hand against his and broke away.
I shook my head ‘no.’
He stared at me. “What’s wrong?”
The buzz from the wine was gone.
The flood of hormones had temporarily abated.
And I wasn’t turned on enough – not yet, at least – to ignore what I was doing. Not a second time.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated, more insistent this time.
It was like I hadn’t been thinking about it all along, and now that I was, the dam came tumbling down. Silent tears spilled out of my eyes and streaked down my cheeks onto the bed.
“Oh, Kaitlyn – no… don’t,” he whispered tenderly, and cupped my face in his hands. “Please, don’t…”
I closed my eyes and smiled a little through the tears – a bitterly sad smile. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t.”
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t… do this… I want to, but I can’t…”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I want to. That’s the problem.”
“Then do it.”
He reached to kiss me, but I turned my lips away.
“…I can’t…”
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then he asked, “Because of him?”
I nodded ‘yes.’
The guilt was crushing me. Guilt over what I’d done… and what I still wanted to do… and the fact that if I could go back in time 30 minutes, I still would have done it all over again.
I broke down into sobs. “I’m sorry.”
I could hear the kindness in his voice, even though my eyes were closed. “Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
I have a LOT to be sorry for, I thought miserably.
“You must hate me,” I whispered.
“I can’t hate you – I could never hate you. I’m in love with you.”
“Stop being nice to me!” I wailed.
He chuckled. “Would it be easier if I was mean?”
“Yes!”
“Okay – grrrrr! You – grrrr!” he teased me, sounding like a cartoon dog.
I laughed through my tears. I couldn’t help it. “That doesn’t sound very mean.”
“I’ll try harder.”
I laughed again, then grew sad. “Why don’t you call me a bitch.”
“Because you’re not one,” he said softly. “You never promised me anything. You don’t owe me anything.”
The sweetness with which he said it made me break down sobbing again.
“Will you do one thing, though?” he asked.
“W-what.”
“Will you let me spend the night with you? Just sleeping here beside you?”
I shook my head. “No… I can’t…”
I knew I would give in again. I knew there was no way I could hold out against his touches, his kisses, his body.
“I promise you I won’t do anything again,” he whispered.
I looked at him reproachfully. “Like you promised before?”
He grinned. “Sorry about that.”
“No you’re not!” I said loudly, but with a certain amount of humor.
“No, I’m not,” he agreed. “But if it’s a choice between trying for sex again and having to leave you, then I swear to God, I won’t do anything. If you change your mind, then you’re going to have to make the first move. But otherwise, I swear on whatever you want me to swear on, I won’t do anything.”
I looked at him for a long time, wanting to trust him.
“…we have to get dressed,” I whispered.
He nodded. “Okay.”
“…all your clothes.”
He looked at me quizzically. “Why?”
“Because you’re too hot.”
He laughed out loud. “Okay, this is the first time ever in my life I wish I were a little uglier.”
I laughed with him. “I don’t.”
“But you have to get dressed, too. I can’t have you lying there naked, or even just in a t-shirt, and not totally want to feel you up.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
He sighed. “I can’t believe I even said that… ‘you have to get dressed, or I’ll feel you up’…”
I laughed and wiped away my tears. “You promised.”
He nodded. “And I’ll keep it. Unless you make the first move.”
“I won’t.”
He grinned. “We’ll see.”
I rolled my eyes at his confidence – but when he got up out of bed and I saw his naked body in the candlelight… saw his muscles, and the shadow etching them in relief… saw his gorgeous cock, now limp but still thick…
My mouth watered and my insides churned and I had to turn away.
“You can look now,” he said, and I turned around. He was back in his t-shirt and jeans…
…and he was staring lustfully at my breasts.
I liked it.
I liked him looking at me that way.
I wanted him to break his promise – I wanted him to come over and take me –
But I knew I couldn’t live with that guilt.
“Turn around,” I said.
“Really?” he asked, both exasperated and amused.
“Turn around.”
“You know, a few minutes ago, I was doing a whole lot crazier stuff than just looking – ”
“Turn around.”
He sighed theatrically, then turned around and crossed his arms. “Maaaan, I don’t never get to do nothin’…”
I laughed. “I think you got to do quite a bit.”
“I still want more.”
So do I.
But I didn’t say anything as I found a new – dry – pair of panties, pulled on my jeans, and pulled my shirt back over my head.
“Okay.”
He turned around and smiled at me. “Well… what do you want to do now?”
“Let’s just… go to sleep.”
“It’s pretty early.”
“I just want to lie here with you,” I whispered.
He nodded his head. “Okay.”
68
So now you know I lied – lied to you, lied to Shanna, lied to everyone – about having sex with Derek.
…sort of.
In the days and weeks that followed, I kept telling myself that I wasn’t any worse than Bill Clinton (Mr. ‘I did not have sex with that woman’).
Derek and I didn’t go all the way.
We didn’t even do oral.
It was just touching.
Incredibly erotic, sensual, and astoundingly hot touching… but just touching.
…right?
But I came to the conclusion that if Bill Clinton is your measuring stick in matters of sexual faithfulness, you really f*cked up somewhere along the way.
69
I lay there for a long time in Derek’s arms as he spooned me like before.
I noticed this time that he quite conspicuously kept his pelvis from touching me.
I was glad.
Sort of.
…no, not really.
But I knew I couldn’t feel that thick, hard pressure against my body and hold back.
True to his word, he just held me. No touching, no caressing, no kissing, no nothing.
And I didn’t make a move on him… even though I knew what incredible delights lay beneath his clothes. Even though I knew I could just make the slightest motion, and then he would take it from there… and I could temporarily forget everything else, swept away by passion and ecstasy.
But my misery was enough to keep me in check.
Something Shanna had said kept echoing in my mind. I’m sure if she had known the effect it would have on me, she never would have said it… but it was as effective as a chastity belt.
At least I don’t tell some guy I love him and then f*ck around behind his back.
So I never made a move.
It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.