Текст книги "Some Sort of Crazy"
Автор книги: Melanie Harlow
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
“Definitely.” He knelt down and started sopping up the water.
“Oooh, what’s the reason?” I asked, clasping my hands together.
“Sometimes I like wearing a woman’s shoes while I fuck her.” He looked back at me and rolled his eyes at my stunned expression. “Because I want to take you somewhere nice, Natalie. Jeez.”
“Oh. Sorry,” I said, laughing. “But with you I never know.”
I finished packing my bag, adding a white strapless sundress and some nude heels, a bathing suit, and my camera. When I was done, I went into the bathroom and pulled an extra toothbrush from my vanity and offered it to Miles. “Want this?”
“Yes, thank you.”
We brushed our teeth side by side at my sink, Miles in his boxer briefs and me in boy shorts and a tank. As our eyes met in the mirror, I felt a funny little flutter in my chest. For all his egotistical jokes and promiscuous ways and his complete refusal to seriously commit to anything except ink, he really was being very sweet to me. He’d make a good boyfriend or husband if he ever decided to get serious. Too bad he’s content to be a man-child his whole life. He’s got a lot to offer someone besides just sex.
He finished up and caught my eye in the mirror. “You look funny when you brush your teeth.”
So much for sweet. I spit and rinsed. “Shut up, I do not.”
“You do, and you get toothpaste all over your face. Look at you, you’re a mess.” He grabbed a hand towel and smashed it over my mouth, tucking me under his arm. “I could make a mess on your face.”
“OK. That’s it.” I took the towel, threw it down, and took him by the shoulders. “You’ve threatened me enough times with a mess. You should fucking do it already.” I marched him backward into my room and pushed him down onto the bed.
“Is this you bossing me around?” he asked, leaning back on his elbows as I yanked his underwear off.
“Yes.”
He grinned. “I like it already.”
I woke up feeling rested and happy, Miles’s arm still curved over my belly, the sheet pulled up to our hips. Smiling, I stayed wrapped up in him a few more minutes before carefully sliding out of bed to use the bathroom. When I came back into my room, he was on his back, one arm over his head. I snickered at his hairy armpit, his messy hair, the scratches on his shoulders. I’d be surprised if there weren’t teeth marks too. I’d been a little out of control last night.
But holy hell, it had been fun. The most fun I’d ever had in bed—and I had three more days of it to look forward to. Three days of guilt-free, uncommitted, mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex. Beyond that, I didn’t even care.
I poked Miles in the shoulder. “Wake up, sleepyhead. You talked me into a road trip and I’m ready to go!”
“Oh God, what time is it? How can you get up so early?”
“It’s not early, it’s nine already!”
He groaned, but he sat up and blinked. “I need my glasses. Where the hell did I leave them?”
“In the glove box of your car,” I said, already heading into my closet. “Let me throw some clothes on and grab them while you wake up.”
“Thanks. Keys are on the table in your front hall.”
I put on denim shorts and a soft white t-shirt and tugged my Converse sneakers on my feet. Snagging the keys off the table near the door—my belly cartwheeling at the memory of my back against it—I went outside and practically skipped to the Jeep in the sunshine. What a perfect day to start my vacation.
Ten minute later, Miles had loaded my bag in the car and we were on our way to his house so he could pack. I suggested stopping by Coffee Darling for a couple cups to go, but Miles saw through my plan to check up on things, and we hit Starbucks instead.
At Miles’s house, he packed up a duffel bag while I stripped his bed—we’d left it a mess yesterday morning. When he was done and I’d put fresh sheets on the mattress, he announced he had to write a quick blog post.
“Right now?” I paused in the middle of slipping a pillow into its case.
“Yes, before I forget any of the details of that fuckhot blowjob you gave me last night, although that is not likely to happen in this lifetime. If ever anything was unforgettable, that was it.”
My cheeks got hot. “You can’t write about me giving you a fuckhot blowjob!” I shrieked, although secretly it delighted me to think I might be the subject of one of his lurid posts. Me, of all people. Me!
He laughed. “I love when you say fuck. Listen, men and women depend on me. I make the world a sexier place, therefore a better place, when I share these things. And you’re helping me do that. You should feel proud of yourself.”
I chewed on my bottom lip. “Fine. But don’t use my name.”
“I never use real names.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “It protects the innocent, and it keeps things light. Fun.”
While Miles wrote, I sat on the porch with my coffee and a book from the house’s dusty library, a volume of poems by Mary Oliver. I’d never heard of her before, and I didn’t know much about poetry, but hers was so beautifully easy to understand, and so personal, I felt like she was speaking right to me. One poem in particular, called “When Death Comes,” made chills sweep across my back and down my arms. I sat up straight and read it again, then I looked out across the orchard, half expecting to find the poet herself standing there, pointing a finger at me. I looked at the words again, trying to memorize the final line.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
It was such a simple statement, and yet so powerful an idea. I knew exactly what she meant. That feeling had inspired me from the time I was young to go after what I wanted and do my best to achieve those goals. Swimming, good grades, Dan, a college scholarship, my own business, my house…but I could see now how fear of change, or maybe fear of failure, had shaped that ambition into a careful, tidy, safe sort of life. And when my life was over, did I really want no mistakes on my record? No messy lessons learned? Nothing that made me say, I can’t believe I did that!?
I wasn’t planning to, as Miles said, fuck up my life. But I was planning on taking a few more chances. Living out loud a little more. If I made mistakes, so be it—I’d own them.
Miles came out onto the porch with his duffel, his computer bag, and his coffee. “Ready?”
“Yes. Just let me put this book back.”
He tipped his head too read the cover. “Ah. That’s a good one. I got it for my mom for Christmas one year after hearing Mary Oliver on NPR. I doubt she ever opened it. Want it?”
“I can’t take your mom’s book,” I said, rising from my chair. “But I might buy my own copy. I really like it.” After I replaced the book on the shelf, Miles locked up the house.
“Want to take the top off?” he asked after throwing his bags in the back and his coffee in a cup holder.
“Sure.” I put my coffee in the car too, helped him remove the roof panels and stow them in the back, then jumped in the front seat.
Miles slid in behind the wheel a moment later and surprised me by grabbing my face and planting a huge kiss on my lips.
Butterflies took flight inside me. “What was that for?”
“For being brave,” he said, starting the car. “I’m so fucking proud of you.” He threw an arm across the back of my seat and looked over his shoulder as he reversed out of the driveway.
“Thanks. I’m kind of proud of myself, even though my life feels a little upside down right now.”
He grinned as we started down the highway. “Told you it was me.”
It took me a few seconds to realize he meant Madam Psuka’s prediction. “Oh, stop. That wasn’t real. You didn’t upend my life, you just helped me see that I needed to make some changes. Have more fun. Explore a new side of myself.” I cocked my head. “Hey, what did you call me in your article, by the way?”
“Cinnamon Buns.”
“Cinnamon Buns!” I yelled, my eyes bugging. “That’s the anonymous nickname you gave me?”
“Yeah, why? You don’t like it?”
“No! For one thing, it will be totally obvious to anyone who knows what I do for a living, and for another, I thought it would be something sultry and glamorous, like Svetlana.”
“Mmmm, Svetlana.”
I hit him on the leg. Hard.
“I’m kidding,” he said, laughing. “You’re much hotter than Svetlana. Beautiful girl next door with hidden dirty streak beats Ukrainian acrobat any day. And anyone who reads this article will agree with me. Trust me, it’s highly complimentary.”
“When can I read it?”
“Right now if you want. It’s live.”
“It’s live? I thought you were going to let me see it first, at least!” Diving into my purse, I scrambled for my phone. “Oh, God. I’m scared.”
“Don’t be. I’m telling you, it’s all good.”
My heart thumped hard as I searched for his blog, my body prickling with heat. What had he said about me? I saw the right link in the search results, clicked on it, and began to read.
Want a Better Blowjob Tonight?
I thought so.
And I’m here to help.
Last night, I had quite simply the best blowjob you can possibly imagine. I’m talking the Aston Martin of blowjobs. The Stanley Cup of blowjobs. If blowjobs had a World Series, this girl was Ty Cobb, Roger Hornsby, and Joe Jackson COMBINED.
I’ll call her Cinnamon Buns. Because she looks as delicious and smells and tastes like the best one you’ve ever eaten.
This blowjob from Cinnamon Buns was clearly a gift from the heavens, and I feel strongly that the gods bestowed it upon me because they knew I would act benevolently. Thus, I share with you my experience not to inspire envy or resentment, but in the hopes that you can find a way to get your girlfriend’s eyes on this article and inspire her to blowjob brilliance as well.
In return, gentlemen, you will please follow this link to an article called 10 Ways to Get Her Off Tonight (You’re Doing It Wrong, Asshole).
OK. Let’s begin. You with me, ladies?
First, I want to commend you for reading. You’re clearly smart, sexy, and fun, which makes you the hottest woman he has ever known even before you put that gorgeous mouth on his unworthy dick. You are a goddess. (See what I’m doing here, guys?)
Now, I’m just going to come right out and say it: I’ve had a lot of blowjobs.
But this one.
This one.
As I watched Cinnamon Buns get to her knees on the floor in front of me, my dick sprang up like one of those inflatable Bozo the clown bop bags I had as a kid. I’d push it down and it would pop right back up again, ready to go.
Not that there is anything funny about my dick, of course. It is very serious. Let me rephrase.
My dick stood tall like a proud soldier ready for duty, weapons locked and loaded.
Much better.
I had a feeling before she even got started that this was going to be a blowjob of epic intensity, and I was right. Now, partly it was because of our great chemistry, and partly it was because she’s just magic, but here are five things I can’t stop thinking about today, things that you can do tonight to create a little magic of your own for your guy—just make sure he deserves it.
1) Take Control…Then Give it Up. Cinnamon Buns pushed me into the bedroom, shoved me down on the bed, and bossed me into a blowjob like it was for her, not me. She came at me like it was her birthday and all she wanted was a great big piece of birthday cock, and I was gonna give it to her or else. But she knows I like submissiveness too, and when I took charge, she let me.
2) Look Up. One of the reasons guys love blowjobs is it’s fun to watch. We are visual creatures, and your mouth on his dick is the best movie he’s ever seen. It’s his favorite, in fact, and he can’t watch it enough times. And when you, the beautiful star, look up and make eye contact with him, he feels like a million fucking dollars. Sometimes Cinnamon Buns looked up at me with this innocence in her eyes, as though she couldn’t believe how big I was, how hard I was, how deep I was. Other times, the look in her eye was pure salacious delight, and she’d moan or laugh or sigh, like the pleasure was all hers.
3) Use Your Hands on Him. Yes, it’s mostly about his dick, and no man will complain if that’s all you want to focus on. But while you are merrily sucking him into oblivion, don’t be shy about touching him other places. Balls. Nipples. Ass. (Cinnamon Buns was not shy.) If he doesn’t like it, he’ll let you know, but I’m gonna venture a guess he does.
4) Use Your Hands On Yourself Too. At one point, Cinnamon Buns got so turned on by what she was doing, that she touched her body the way I would have if I hadn’t been so paralyzed with joy by the sight of her doing it. In fact, I nearly fired the canon before I could properly warn her, which a gentleman should never do. (Are you listening, gentlemen?)
5) Swallow. You don’t have to pretend it’s the nectar of the gods, but it sure makes us feel good when you do. I don’t actually recall the expression on Cinnamon Buns’s face when she swallowed because I was too blinded by rapture, but when I recovered the use of my eyes, she looked delighted. Sated. Pleased with herself and with me.
I was pleased as well.
And I showed her by returning the favor before she even caught her breath.
Sound good?
You know what to do.
(Guys? That goes for you too.)
Oh my God.
I finished the article and read it again three more times. My mind whirled, my heart beat crazily, and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. Not only because the me he’d described was so hot and alluring or because he was so cute and funny or because his words brought back the memory of last night in breath-stealing detail, but because of three little words he’d said about me…
She’s just magic.
I wasn’t magic, but we were.
I felt it too.
Why was she so quiet? Did she hate it? As she read, I kept trying to get a glimpse of her expression, read her body language, but she was sort of turned toward the window. She gasped once or twice and brought one hand slowly to her mouth, but I couldn’t tell if it was because she was shocked, embarrassed, or touched. Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have written about her. Natalie wasn’t show-offish like other women, who sometimes begged me to write about them. A lot of them even asked me to use their real names too, which I never did. Not only for their protection, but also because real names suggested a level of intimacy I wasn’t comfortable with.
“Hey,” I said, tapping her head. “What’s going on up there? Do you hate it?”
“No, I love it!” she said, turning toward me with bright eyes. “Are you kidding? Thank you for saying all those things. Really, it was the best blow job you’ve ever had? The Stanley Cup of blowjobs?”
“Definitely.” I nodded, relieved she wasn’t angry. “You’re the top. And I’ve had a lot of blowjobs, I mean seriously a lot, and by some really hot women. I remember this one girl who—”
“OK, OK. Enough.” She held up her hand. “I get it. Thank you. I’m flattered, and you should stop talking now.”
I grinned at her. God, I was even starting to adore the frowny face. “Sorry. Anyway, she was nothing compared to you. That was my point.”
“So you really meant all those things you said?” She sounded surprised.
“Like I told you, I always mean what I say, Nat. Especially where you’re concerned.” I wondered which things in particular had her curious, but didn’t ask. “Now my problem is that you’ve ruined blowjobs for me forever because nothing will ever compare.”
“Oh, right.” She shook her head and sighed. “Something tells me you’ll be just fine, Miles Haas. And considering you just explained exactly what you like in a blowjob to any woman who reads your stuff, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of qualified applicants to replace me.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’ll always be my favorite.” I tugged a few strands of her hair, happy at the sweetly surprised expression on her face.
For about five seconds.
Because I realized it was true—no matter what happened, no matter how many hot girls lined up to blow me, I’d forever compare them unfavorably to her. And what about sex? Had she ruined that for me too?
Quickly I tried to think of another girl I’d rather go to bed with than Natalie, another pussy I’d rather taste, another body I’d rather be inside. And I couldn’t.
A sweat broke out on the back of my neck.
Because I realized I’d never been able to think of another girl I’d choose over Natalie. Ever.
And now that it had happened, I never would.
What the fuck was I going to do about that?
For one crazy moment, I wished we weren’t so good together. I wished the sex was average, the chemistry lackluster, the feeling I got when I came inside her something less than fucking transcendent.
For an even crazier moment, I thought about promising her everything and all of me if only she’d say she wanted it.
Then I shook it off.
That was fucked up.
• • •
We stopped once for lunch and once for more coffee and gas, and arrived in Detroit around four o’clock that afternoon. Natalie wanted to see my apartment before we did anything, so I parked in the garage adjacent to the building and took her up to the twenty-third floor. I unlocked the door and let her in first.
“Wow,” she breathed, setting her bags down. “This is beautiful.”
“Thanks.” I set my keys on a small table against the wall and kicked the door shut. “The guy who rents it to me said it was built in the twenties but abandoned for years before they renovated.”
“That’s amazing.” She walked over to the huge floor-to-ceiling windows and looked out. “I love the view.”
“Cool, isn’t it? The guy asked me if I wanted shades on those windows and I said no way.”
She turned around and took in the furniture, wood floors, and two-story ceiling before wandering over to the kitchen. “Holy shit,” she said, running her hand over the shiny granite counter. “This is gorgeous.”
“Yeah, he’s a chef, so this kitchen is totally decked out.” I went to the huge stainless fridge and took out two beers, taking the caps off before handing one to Natalie. “Actually he owns a restaurant called The Burger Bar in Corktown that I love. Maybe I’ll take you there for dinner.”
“Why’d he move out?” she asked, her wide eyes taking in the dark wood cabinets and stone tile floor.
“He got married and bought a house in Indian Village.”
“Oh.” She took a sip of her beer and meandered into the pantry. “What the hell, Miles? You have, like, nothing in here.”
“I’ve got the basics.” I leaned back against the counter and tipped up the bottle.
“What basics? Cap’n Crunch, Doritos, and Twinkies? Oh wait, I do see a bag of flour in here.”
“Yeah, I think he left that.”
“Oh my God.” She came out, shaking her head. “Let’s go to the grocery store while I’m here. I’ll help you fill up your pantry and show you some easy things to make.” She put her hand on the fridge handle and looked at me. “Do I even want to open this? Is six months’ worth of moldy takeout food going to attack me?”
“It might.”
She opened it up and sighed. “No mold. But what do you live on? Beer and cereal?”
I shrugged. “I could probably live on that.”
She shut the fridge and stuck a hand on her hip, looking adorably concerned for me. I let myself fantasize for a moment that she lived here too, that we shared things like beer and Twinkies, that she’d cook for me and I’d…well, I’d think of something to do for her. There must be something I had to offer.
Your dick! That’s what you have to offer, asshole. So stop with the stupid silly shit and go have sex.
“That diet cannot be healthy.” She threw a hand up in exasperation. “How are you in such good shape? It’s so annoying!”
Smiling, I set my beer down and tugged her toward me by the hem of her shirt, setting her hips against mine. “How about cinnamon buns? Are those healthy?”
“No.”
I buried my face in her neck, kissing her hungrily, licking her throat. “But they taste so good.”
She giggled. “I suppose they’re all right for a treat. Every once in a while.”
“How about now?” My hand slid up her stomach, palming her breast as I kissed my way to her mouth. My dick came alive, pushing against the crotch of my jeans. “Can I have some now?”
She set her beer on the counter and took my face in her hands, sliding her tongue along my lips. “Yeah. Want to show me your bedroom?”
Without another word, I took her hand and led her up the stairs to the loft bedroom, which was above the kitchen.
“Aha. You have a shade on this window, at least.” Natalie went over and pulled it down, and the room into shadow.
“Only because I like to sleep in, and that window gets morning sun.” I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her away backward. “Come here, you. It’s been hours since I’ve seen you naked. That’s not right.” Lifting her shirt at the bottom, I pulled it over her head, then undid her shorts and yanked them down.
She turned to face me, sliding her shoes off her feet before taking off my shirt. For a moment, she stood silently, looking at my bare upper body. Then she put her hands on me, running them up my arms and down my chest. “I used to look at you,” she said, her fingertips brushing my nipples, which made my cock surge with lust. “That last summer before you left, I used to look at you and wonder what it was like to touch you this way.” She unbuttoned my jeans and slid a hand inside them. “And I felt so guilty,” she whispered, bringing her lips to my chest, her fingertips playing with the tip of my cock. “I knew it was wrong, but sometimes I saw you looking at me, and I wondered what you were thinking.”
“Uh, safe to say I was thinking about fucking you.” I reached between her legs and stroked her softly through her panties. “I used to imagine your body naked under mine, your back arched, your legs spread.” I slid my hand inside her underwear, teased her open. “I’d think about touching you this way, making you wet.”
Her breaths coming faster, she wrapped her fingers around my dick and worked them slowly up and down. “And then what?”
“Then I’d have to go take a shower so I could jerk off.”
She looked up at me. “Show me. I want to watch.”
Oh, fuck. Was she serious? “You do?”
“Yes. Let’s take a shower together.” A devilish little glint flashed in her eyes. “And I’ll let you watch me too.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “You are such a bad girl right now.”
“I know.” Rising up on tiptoe, she whispered in my ear. “You can punish me later.” Then she took her hand off me and sauntered through my closet into the adjacent bathroom, stopping to look over her shoulder in the doorway. “Well, come on, cowboy. You brought me all the way here. Don’t you want to play with me?”
I stared at her in complete fucking disbelief. What the hell was this? She was out-Miles-ing me! She was so hot and had me so off-kilter, I didn’t even know what to do with myself!
Get it together, Haas. Natalie Nixon is standing in your bathroom doorway in a little white lace bra and panties, and she’s asking you to play. This is what you do—you play. You don’t have Emotions, you don’t have girlfriends, and you don’t have time to stand here wondering if the life that’s being upended here is yours. Now get the fuck in there and do your thing.
But even as I grinned and ditched the rest of my clothes while she watched, biting that juicy bottom lip of hers, the floor seemed to tremble beneath my feet.
