Big Girls Do It Better (2 page)

"You never put our song in the line-up." Chase's voice came from behind me.

I squealed, whirling around with my fist flying. The Dive was in an area where it didn't pay to let your guard down. I'm not a small girl, and I know how to punch. I've flattened men before, with my fists and with pool sticks and with beer bottles. I've knocked teeth loose and caused concussions. I'm not a brawler, but I can take care of myself against most men.

Chase caught my fist easily. He held my closed fist in his for a moment, then curled his fingers around my wrist and pulled me to him. 

His other hand drifted up as he slowly and inexorably dragged me against his chest.

I flinched away from him, trying to get away from his hand, which I was sure held a knife, but then I realized it was empty and merely reaching for my face. The backs of his fingers brushed my cheek, and then he wrapped his hand around the nape of my neck and pulled my lips against his.

His kiss made my knees buckle. He was still holding my wrist up near our faces, as if worried I might haul off and hit him for kissing me. I thought about it. I really did. This guy was trouble. He just wanted me because he thought I'd be easy, and desperate.  A lot of guys assumed that, and a lot of guys had gotten a rude awakening.

But Chase, the way he was kissing me...it didn't feel like a guy who assumed he'd be in my pants. He was kissing me like he
hoped
he'd be in my pants, like he was working to get there, and I really liked how it felt. 

His fingers loosened on my wrists, and I tugged my hand free. I didn't hit him. I let my arm drape across his shoulders, and my fingers tangled in the soft, dark hair on his neck.

He groaned, a low, animal sound in the very bottom of his throat, a primal growl that had my belly trembling. I wanted to hear that sound again, wanted to feel the power of his voice and know that I'd caused it. So, naturally, I grabbed his ass.

Oh, my sweet Lord
. The man's ass was a perfect globe of muscle, and I swear it was made to fit in my hands. Once I had a hold on that fine piece of leather-cupped flesh, I couldn't let go. I was actually factually electrified as if I'd grabbed a high-voltage wire.

His chuckle was the same amused leonine rumble of pleasure, but laced with amusement. He slipped his hand from my neck and let it trace a sensuous, teasing line down my back to rest just above the swell of my hip, no more sexual a touch than if we were dancing in a club. I curved my spine into his palm. 

Our kiss broke for a moment, and he pulled his face back to meet my eyes. His hands slipped down to grasp my buttocks, watching my reaction. I pressed into him, lifted up on my toes so he could get a better grip on me.

He kissed me again, and this time it wasn't a kiss meant to surprise, like the first two, quick and hard and shocking, all lips and startling power and zero finesse. This time, he kissed me slowly, languorous and deliberate and skillful. He let our lips meet, and then he slipped his tongue out to touch my teeth and explore the contours of my mouth, the corner where my upper and lower lips met, the hollow beneath my tongue, and then farther in to slide along the surface of my tongue.

I moaned, then, a soft murmur of my vocal chords. Chase tugged my hips flush against his, and I felt a hard length between us. It was only a bulge against the leather of his pants, but it was enough to get me wetter than a rainforest between my legs.

My hands circled around away from his ass to slip between us, reaching to unbutton his pants. Even through his pants I could tell the man was endowed like a god. 

"Just a taste." The words actually came out of my mouth.

"You can have more than a taste, sweetness," Chase said.

I didn't think he realized I was talking about his cock.

"I didn't mean your lips," I said.

What the hell is wrong with me?
My brain seemed to be disconnected from the rest of me. 

Chase pulled away long enough to meet my eyes. "I know," was all he said, giving me the smirk, that stupid, knowing quirk of his lips. 

I wanted to wipe it off his face, either with my fist or my lips. I wasn't sure which. He was touching me and kissing me like he owned me, and it infuriated me and intoxicated me at the same time.

Intoxication had the upper hand, by far.

My hand found his stomach, and rested there as I warred with myself over whether or not I could bring myself to touch him farther down. I wanted to, of course I did, but I wasn't that kind of girl. I just wasn't. I was the girl that let guys convince her into bed. I didn't pursue them, because that never went well.

But Chase was pursuing
me
, wasn't he? That was the argument the horny side of me offered up. It was starting to sound like the logical side of me too, which was odd. Usually the horny side and the logical side were telling me exact opposite things. So, when they started agreeing with each other, I listened.

I snuck my fingers underneath his shirt to touch his stomach, and the slab of muscle my hands found was ribbed and cut into deliciously soft yet hard divots and squares. It was a tempting playground, and normally I'd jump at the opportunity to rub my hands on Chase's abs, but right then I was in search of another, more dangerous place to explore.

The leather was rough and pebbled under my fingers as I dragged my hand south from his stomach to the waistband of his pants. The bulge was growing larger as my hands neared it, and I felt a tremble in his hands on my hips, the merest leaf-shake of his fingers, but it was enough. He wanted it, too. I mean, of course he did. He's a guy. All guys want their cocks touched. 

But this was different, right? He wanted
me
to touch him. And it was right there, waiting for me. Sure, I didn't even know his last name, but here was this ridiculously gorgeous guy decked out in leather pants with a ripped body and what promised to be a deliciously enormous package, and he was all but claiming me as his, if only for tonight.

 I found the button and slipped it through to let the tight pants spread apart, and then drew the zipper down, forcing myself to go slow, because you can't rush beauty. Then there was a thin layer of stretchy cotton between my hands and his cock, just black DKNY boxer-briefs that didn't stand a chance against my daring fingers. The bulge sprang free and I pulled the band of the boxers away from his belly to get a glimpse of the glory contained therein.

Fuck me sideways! The man is hung like a porn star!
It was too good to be true, surely. He would let me get a glimpse, maybe let me suck him off—which I would gladly do right there and then—but that would be it. No way he'd take me back to his place and fuck me proper. 

Determined not to let such a golden opportunity go to waste, I touched him with my forefinger, just one reverent brush of the pad of my finger along the pre-come-glistening tip. He gasped, sucked in his belly and throbbed his hips into my hand. 

Oh, oh, oh my god
. 

Touching his cock was like eating chips; I couldn't stop after just one. I had to have more, had to get both hands around him, and yes, he was a two-hand man. Maybe even two and half, because for a big girl I have small hands. I wrapped my fingers around his girth and shoved his boxers farther down with the heel of my hand so I could fit my other palm around him. 

He sucked in his breath and arched his back. "God, Anna. You're driving me crazy."

"I like hearing you say my name." I didn't mean to say that, but it slipped out, and Chase didn't seem to mind.

"Anna," he gasped. 

I smeared his pre-come on his cock with a hand-over-hand motion, and he writhed into my grip. He was nearly there, about to explode on my hands, and I wasn't about to stop. He put his hands on my ribcage, just beneath my breasts.

"Yes," I whispered, "touch my tits."

I felt the veins of his shaft pulsing under my touch. I dug one of my hands into his pants and cupped his heavy, tight testicles as I continued to work his length with the other hand. He was bucking up and down with his entire body, bending his knees and thrusting up with his entire torso, driving his cock through my slippery grip. His eyes were hooded and his breathing was coming in desperate gasps.

 I was determined to make sure he damn well never forgot this experience, even if it was all we'd ever have together. I didn't care about getting off myself, momentarily; I knew I could go home and break out Mr. Pinky McVibrator and use this memory to come at least once, if not twice. I was multi-orgasmic, if only with myself. No guy had ever made me come more than once, and most never did at all.

"Anna, wait," Chase gasped, trying to back away. "This wasn't...I wanted to—with you—"

I didn't let him get away. He curled in over his stomach and clenched his muscles; I knew it was time. I dropped to my knees, wrapped my lips around his head and sucked for all I was worth. He couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but thrust his cock into my mouth and shoot his load into me. He shot, and he shot, and he shot, and I took it all, tasting the smoky, salty thickness against my tongue and my throat and for once not minding at all, for once actually understanding those girls who claim to love giving head. 

I'll do it, every once in a while, just to make the guy feel good and to remind him who had the power, but I'd never enjoyed it before. I didn't dislike it, I just wasn't a "hooray, I'm sucking cock" kind of girl.

But Chase...oh, he came beautifully. He stretched his mouth wide and arched his back, fluttering his lovely, pulsing cock into me, holding back, restraining himself from cramming himself down the back of my throat. 

When I'd milked him of every last drop, I tucked him back into his DKNY boxers, zipped up his pants and buttoned him up. 

"You have a beautiful cock," I told him, rising to my feet, "and you taste good too."

I kissed him once, a fast, hard crush of the lips. 

"Thanks for a good time, Chase," I said. 

And with that, I turned and made my exit.

"Wait," Chase growled, grabbing my arm. "You can't just leave. That wasn't what I—"

I kept moving, despite his grip on my arm. "I have to finish my set."

He grabbed my other arm, then, and pulled me forcefully back around to face him.

"I wasn't done with you yet."

I yanked my arm free, starting to angry that he'd ruined my exit, and was in the process of ruining my memory of him. "Let go, Chase. You got what you wanted, didn't you? I've got to go back to work."

Chase's eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed. "I didn't ask you to do that."

I gritted my teeth. "Yeah, I know. You didn't ask for it, not in so many words, but guys like you know how to get what you want without asking for it. Especially from girls like me."

"Guys like me." Chase frowned and squeezed my arm hard enough to make me wince.

"Yeah. Guys like you. Talented, gorgeous, guys who can get anyone they want."

"How do you know what I want? And what do you mean by girls like you?"

I absolutely refused to answer that question.  Storming out of the alley towards the front door, I rounded the corner just as my partner Jeff came looking for me. I haven't mentioned my partner yet, have I? Jeff...a stable, steady guy, a good business partner, better-than-average looking, and a great singer. We DJed together, splitting the profits and making quite a bundle. We'd never been more than friends and partners, even though I knew he had a crush on me. I wasn't willing to go there with him, not with all his baby-mama-drama. He and his baby mama, Amanda, were the on-again, off-again type of couple, and I didn't want any of that mess. 

"Everyone's waiting, Anna," Jeff said. He knew me well enough to see I was upset. "Is everything okay?"

I was glad he hadn't come around the corner twenty seconds earlier; he wouldn't have done or said anything, but it would have hurt him to see me doing that to Chase, and I didn't want to lose a good partner.

"I'm fine, Jeff. Don't worry about it." I turned him by the shoulders and pushed him back through the front door of The Dive.

"Anna, wait." I felt Chase's hand on my arm. I spun around with my fist flying. 

Of course, he caught it like he had the first time. Thank god, Jeff was already inside, so he didn't see anything.

"Chase, seriously. We both know the score here."

"There's no score. Don't be like this. What you did felt great, better than great, but that wasn't what I was going for. I don't know why you're getting so upset, all of a sudden. I like you, I want—"

"Anna, let's go!" Jeff stuck his head out the door, saw me stumble as Chase told me he liked me.

"Hey, listen, buddy, I don't know what your game is, but Anna's not interested." Jeff thrust his chest out and strutted towards Chase, thinking he was defending me. Jeff was sweet, meant well, and was obviously fearless, since Chase was several inches taller and several pounds of muscle heavier. 

I pushed Jeff back inside. "It's fine, Jeff. He's not bothering me. He was just leaving."

Chase's face darkened. "No I wasn't." He strode past me, ignoring Jeff completely. "You owe me a song, at least."

Jeff raised an eyebrow at me, and I shrugged, stifling a sigh. 

We sang "Broken" by Seether and Amy Lee. I couldn't hold on to my conflicted feelings, not with Chase's dulcet growl braiding perfectly with my voice. The bar was silent as we sang, even the bartenders going still to watch. Tension rippled in palpable waves between Chase and I, propelling our performance into overdrive.

Sometimes while performing time itself seems to stop when you hit your notes just right. The music glides between the pores of your skin to bubble through your veins in place of blood, and you can't help but clutch the mic with both trembling hands and let the song flow out of you like blood from a wound. In those moments, when the music has replaced everything and even awareness of your own body has faded, you can't even breathe, can't do anything but let the song own you, let the performance rocket through you. There's no people, no problems in your life, no buzz of alcohol in your blood or pain in your heart. Sharing that moment with another person...it's more intimate than sex. You and the other person lock eyes, bend at the waist to belt the notes into the mic and invisible sun-hot flames burn between you, linking you. You could be the only two souls alive in the world.