Chapter 4
We walk back to Dee’s apartment. Stumble might be a more appropriate word.
Dry-hump would fit too.
I have the overwhelming need to kiss her every few steps—to pull her to me, or press her against the wall of a building to gain the necessary friction. And she’s in no way passive—dragging her fingernails along the bare skin of my abs, dipping her hands into my pants to squeeze my ass. We’re like two hormone-driven teenagers, making out in the school hallway, who don’t give a shit if they get caught.
We eventually arrive outside her apartment door. I stand behind her as she fiddles with the double locks—grinding my pelvis against her ass, cupping both tits in my hands, massaging and teasing those beautiful attributes. Once we’re inside, Dee crashes against me, standing on her toes to give me an intense, wet, tongue-tangling kiss. Her hands are all over my hair, pausing in their exploration just long enough for me to rip the jacket off her body. Then I bend low and make quick work of those minuscule shorts, leaving Dee wearing the white tube top and a string thong, with a scarce lace triangle.
I thought Delores was beautiful clothed, but naked—she’s breathtaking. Long, lean legs, narrow hips, a tight stomach with skin so soft it feels like a caress. She’s not overly sculpted; she has a yoga body—slim with the suggestion of firm muscles just below the surface. On my knees, I unbutton my shirt. Dee bends at the waist and pushes it off me, her hands grazing my back’s physique appreciatively.
“God, you’re so f*cking hot.” She sighs.
Already using the new nickname, and I haven’t even made her come yet. I’m good.
Without pause, I spread her knees wide enough to fit between them. Her upper body uses the wall behind her for support. And I place a long, openmouthed kiss against her cloth-covered cunt. Delores’s chin rises and she keens. Her scent is sweet, fruity, with a hint of spice—like a ripe apple with a touch of cinnamon. I drag her thong from her body, craving full contact. With my moist, heated tongue, I trace her cropped, flaxen landing strip, then I move lower to lick and nibble the rim of her p-ssy. Done with the warm-up, I sink into her, laving and sucking, making her whimper and buck.
I wasn’t talking shit when I said I know my way around a *. Most guys think heading straight for the hot-button is the way to go—but they’re wrong. Too much pressure, applied too fast, isn’t enjoyable, might even be uncomfortable for a woman. You have to tease it, gradually stimulate it, until it’s stiff and reaching and pleading to be fondled. Once Dee is at that breaking point, I open her lips with my fingers and dance over her knotted bud with my tongue.
She screams—in relief and decadent bliss. I lick her with more force, up and down, without ever losing contact, then I slide two fingers into her sodden, clenching p-ssy. Her hips thrust against my face and her hands hold me in place as she comes with an openmouthed moan.
With the sound of Dee’s heavy breaths still in my ears, I stand up and wrap an arm around her waist. She sags against me, pleasure spent and wobbly. I lift her feet from the floor, but she doesn’t seem to have the strength to wrap her legs around me. Her lips seek mine, and her arms cling to my shoulders.
“Bedroom?” I ask between kisses.
“Last door on the left.”
My tense legs carry both of us to the room. When I step in, I don’t take in my surroundings or notice the décor—my senses are solely attuned to Dee and my own raging desire. Slightly recovered from her come-coma, Delores sits on the edge of the bed and beckons me forward with entreating amber eyes. Holding my gaze, she unbuckles my pants—the hiss of the zipper and our labored breathing making the only sounds. She pushes the clothing down, and I step out of them. She eyes me eagerly, like a treasure hunter seeking a fervently sought bounty.
My cock is at his best—long, thick, painfully willing. Delores licks her palm.
And it’s the sexiest f*cking thing I have ever seen. Bold and brazen.
Then she encases my dick in her slippery, searing hand, gripping it firmly, jerking tenderly. I move closer, without really thinking, and Dee takes it as a sign to bring her mouth into play. I watch as she licks me from base to tip, swirling around the foreskin, before taking me fully into her mouth—so deep I feel the back of her throat.
My eyes roll closed. I grunt and I curse and I beg for more. Dee doesn’t disappoint—plunging me in and out of her heavenly f*cking mouth over and over. But when she takes my balls in her hand—rolling, rubbing them, tugging in the most delectable way—I have to put the brakes on. I’m afraid I may blow my load—and I’ve got way too many ideas for that to happen now.
I grasp a handful of her hair and ease her off. Then I lean down and kiss her as blood pounds in my eardrums. She lays back and takes me with her until we’re stomach-to-stomach, thigh-to-thigh. I rip at the remaining fabric of her tube top and yank it down, revealing two plump, gorgeously full tits.
And on one, is a winking diamond piercing.
Holy mother of f*ck.
My cock grows harder, weeping at the sight. I attack her breasts like a gluttonous animal—sucking and biting, grasping and tugging with my hands. My mouth covers her pierced nipple, tasting cold metal and warm flesh. I pull at it with my teeth and lap it with my tongue. Dee writhes and whimpers below me, scratching my back with her nails, leaving scalding, sensuous gouges in their wake.
“F*ck me, Matthew,” Dee wails. “I need you to f*ck me, now.”
In a flash, I retrieve a condom from my wallet and roll it on in record time. Holding her ankles, I pull her to me, so her ass is at the edge of the bed. I drag the head of my dick over her needy p-ssy, teasing at the opening.
Then I look her in the eyes and ask, “How . . . how do you want it?”
“Hard,” she moans. “Hard and deep. I want to feel every f*cking inch of you inside me.”
I thrust inside harshly, as deep as I can. Dee’s back bows off the bed and she screams, “Yes! Please . . . yes.”
I pull out slowly, until just the head remains in her, then I push back in, circling my hips, rubbing against her * when I’m buried balls-deep.
This is lust at its finest—primal passion, visceral hunger.
I keep the pace Dee craves, f*cking the breath out of her with every thrust. Until she’s reaching for me, begging for faster. I cover her with my body, and she wraps her arms around my neck, tasting my mouth as I drive into her furiously.
Her cheek is pressed against mine when she comes—eyes closed, crying my name over and over, a phenomenal sound that I’ll never forget. And as her orgasm clenches my cock, I come too—so exquisitely long and hard, I’m pretty sure I blacked the hell out.
It’s amazing. Groundbreaking. Easily the greatest sex of my life. And while I’m still inside her, before my heartbeat is able to relax, I know that Dee Warren is like no other woman who has ever come before.
After we get our breaths back, Delores gets up and disappears into the bathroom then exits a few minutes later wearing a multicolored, paisley, silk robe. I grab my pants off the floor, fish out the pack of cigarettes from my pocket, and ask her, “Do you mind?”
She opens a window, then retrieves a half-smoked joint from the wooden jewelry box on her dresser. She holds it up. “Smoke ’em if you got ’em.”
I lay my head back on one bent arm and light up. Dee slides into the bed beside me, putting an ashtray on my chest as she tokes up. Her robe falls open, exposing her magnificently pierced breast. I blow out a line of smoke and run my finger around the ring.
“What’s the story behind this?”
She inhales deeply, smoke escaping her lips as she tells me, “Remember how I told you Billy, Kate, and I grew up together?”
I nod.
“Billy’s the youngest, only by a few months. When he turned twenty-one, we all got trashed celebrating. Kate and Billy had tattoos done. I got pierced.”
I tug gently on the ring, touching and testing it out like a kid with a new toy on Christmas morning. “It’s sexy as hell. But I’m curious, why didn’t you get a tattoo?”
She snuffs out the dead bud in the ashtray. “Tattoos are too much of a commitment. I don’t like having anything on—or in—my body that I can’t get rid of.”
I put out my smoke and move the ashtray to the bedside table. Then I turn on my side to face Dee.
Her hand trails down my stomach and wraps around my cock, brushing her thumb across the foreskin. “What’s the story behind this? I thought all Catholics had to be cut?”
“I think that’s Judaism.” Then I explain, “I was a sickly newborn—nothing major, but enough for my mother to be wary of anything that might’ve caused an unnecessary complication.”
For some insane reason, my parents assumed I’d have a circumcision performed when I was a strong, healthy adult. Like I would ever—ever—let a scalpel anywhere near my dick unless my life depended on it.
And maybe not even then.
Yes, in case you’re wondering, there were a few girls in high school who were slightly . . . unsure about how to proceed with a non–cookie cutter cock. But once they took it for a test ride and realized it works the same as all the other models, it was in high demand.
She continues to stroke me until I’m hard and hot in her hand. Then she looks down and says, “I like it. It’s pretty.”
I grip Delores’s hips, roll onto my back, and lift her over me so she’s straddling my waist. “Okay, you officially suck with adjectives. Pussies are pretty, not dicks.”
Her robe falls fully open and I lick my thumb then press it to her * to show her just how pretty I think her p-ssy is. F*cking gorgeous.
Dee starts with a giggle but ends with a breathy moan. “Enlighten me. What adjective is suitably masculine for a mighty dick?”
Her hips mimic my thumb’s movements, rotating in tight circles.
“Mighty is a good start. Scary works. Powerful, impressive are always winners.”
I rub with more pressure. Her hips move faster and in ever-widening circles. She pants. “I’ll keep those in mind for next time.” Then she bites her lip and looks me in the eyes. “I love to f*ck when I’m high.”
She rises higher on her knees, lining us up.
“I have a feeling I’m going to love it too.”
“Shit, that was awesome,” Dee exclaims into the pillow, where she’s just planted her face.
On my knees behind her, I remove condom number two with a tissue and collapse next to her. “It really f*cking was.”
Doggy style never disappoints.
She lifts her head and looks at the bedside clock. “Damn. I have to get up for work in four hours.”
Just to clarify—this is my cue to leave. It’s the nice way of saying, Thanks for the sex. Good-bye. Most of my one-night stands aren’t sleepovers. Unless I’m completely wiped out, I prefer to sleep in my own bed.
I stand up and start to get dressed. I zip my pants, but still shirtless, I tell Dee, “I had a great time tonight.”
She rolls over to her back, making no attempt to hide her naked glory. “Me too.”
My eyes trail over her lustrous, after-sex-sheen-covered skin, settling on the nipple piercing that begs for more playtime. “I want to see you again.”
Dee smirks. “You mean you want to screw me again.”
I slip my arms into the sleeves of my shirt and admit, “Baby, that goes without saying.” I pick my pack of cigarettes off the floor and put them in my pocket. “I’ll call you.”
She responds with a short bark of laughter and an eye roll. She grabs the silk robe and stands beside me.
“What?” I ask, slightly confused.
She shakes her head condescendingly. “You don’t have to do that. I’m not the kind of woman you have to make promises to, that you have no intention of keeping. It was fun, let’s just leave it at that. If I never hear from you again, that’s okay too.”
This isn’t the reaction I expect from a chick I spent the last hours giving multiple orgasms to. Most of the time, they’re asking to check my phone to make sure their digits are in my contact list. Demanding specifics—dates and times when their phone will be ringing.
Dee’s attitude is refreshing. And intriguing. And definitely challenging.
As we walk down her hallway, I insist, “That’d be terrific . . . except, you will be hearing from me again.”
She pats my shoulder. “Sure I will. But, if it’s all the same to you, I won’t hold my breath.”
I take her hand from my shoulder and kiss her knuckles. She watches. And the smirk falls from her face and is replaced with . . . surprise. Yearning.
“Don’t hold your breath”—I wink—“just make sure you’re waiting by the phone.”
Then she’s smiling again. She holds the door open, but before I step through it, I lean in close and kiss her cheek. “Good night Dee.”
Her hand covers the spot my lips just touched. And her honey-colored eyes meet mine. With a trace of sadness in her voice she says, “Good-bye Matthew.”
When she closes the door behind me, I stick around until I hear all the locks click into place. Then I head home for some well-deserved shut-eye.