Goddess (14 page)

“It’s not a reputation I deserve anyway. Hold this,” he said. Handed me the umbrella. “I have an extra key.”

Ashland knelt and lifted several flowerpots on the back patio. It must have been hard to see anything in this storm, but he finally found a small brass key. “Aha,” he declared, “my reputation is saved.”

He quickly unlocked the door and helped me inside. We stood in his warm kitchen, dripping copious amounts of water onto the tile floor. I kissed his wet lips again. “My hero.”

He pulled me to him and kissed me more deeply. I could hear thunder rumbling outside as the storm grew fiercer. I shivered in my wet clothes. “We need to get you out of those.” He took me by the hand but I resisted.

“We’ll get your wood floor wet.”

“I’ll get some towels.”

“Don’t bother,” I said. I peeled off my jacket. I pulled my sweater over my head and unbuttoned my jeans. “Come on, it won’t do any good for just one of us to get naked.”

Ashland pulled off his coat and unbuttoned his oxford while I struggled out of my wet jeans. I stood again, wearing only a bra and panties. Ashland’s eyes were on me. I reached around and unhooked my bra, letting my breasts fall free. Then I peeled off my panties and tossed them on a chair.

Ashland responded by pulling off his own pants and boxers in one smooth motion. His lustful eyes told the same story as his cock standing straight out like a divining rod that had just located a wellspring of water.

He took me by the hand. “Come upstairs,” he said. I followed his naked body down the hallway and up the stairs, feeling like Eve about to share some sweet fruit.

But by the time we reached his bedroom, I was shivering again, unable to throw off the chill. “Get under the covers,” Ashland said, pulling back the comforter. I slipped in between the clean sheets. He climbed in next to me, pulling the thick down covering tightly around us. He had built a fire earlier; its warmth radiated across the room. He wrapped an arm around me, letting me rest my head against his shoulder. I relaxed completely into his embrace.

We lay quietly like that for a few minutes, listening to the storm outside. The rain drove incessantly against the 100-year-old windowpanes, sometimes tapping out a rhythm too fast for the most limber dancer, at other times coming in great, impatient slaps. I could hear the wind whipping bare limbs and leaves back and forth in the yard and the occasional clap of thunder. I could only imagine the spectacular streaks of lightening far out over the lake.

I’d always loved storms, but this one felt especially memorable. I was tucked cozily under a thick comforter with my lover lying next to me. “Warm now?” he asked. He reached out with his free hand to push a damp strand of hair away from my cheek.

“Mmmm.” I felt balanced between the relaxation of the moment and the tense anticipation of what might happen next. “It reminds me of being at my grandparents’ house.”

Ashland propped himself up on one elbow and watched me with bemused eyes. “That wasn’t quite the effect I was hoping for.”

“That was a compliment. They lived way out in the country in a little farmhouse. The nearest neighbor was a mile away. My parents would leave me there for weeks at a time during the summer. I’d sleep on the living room sofa.”

“It sounds a bit lonely.”

“It was, but it was fun too, being far away from my ordinary world. I’d lie there late at night listening to a freight train rumbling by or a storm coming up in the distance. I felt very free and alive. That’s something I didn’t experience at home.”

Ashland leaned over and gave my ear a sympathetic kiss. “Why not?”

“My mother was a dark, judgmental cloud constantly hovering over me, and my father was pretty passive. It was hard to feel good about myself.”

He continued to spread gentle, reassuring kisses across my cheeks, my nose, the curve of my lips. “I would guess she didn’t have a positive attitude about sex.”

“That’s putting it mildly, though it was mostly unspoken. She certainly never shared the facts of life with me, other than to tell me that boys were only interested in one thing.”

I gazed up at the ceiling, enjoying the feeling of his lips on my warm, tingling skin. “I felt like a soda bottle that someone had been shaking since I was 14,” I continued. “When I finally escaped home to go to college, I let the top off. It was quite an explosion.”

“Tell me about how you lost your virginity.”

I looked over at him. “Not many guys want to know about their girlfriend’s sexual history.”

“I want to know everything about you.”

“I lost it freshman year, that is, if you subscribe to a strict interpretation of the term.”

He chuckled. “I consider myself a sexual Unitarian.”

“I think his name was Ray or Richard. I can’t remember now. I was overwhelmed by dorm life—the drinking and the pairing off—so I hid out in the library. I would see him almost every night studying French or calculus—curly black hair, glasses, cute but shy. It took him almost a month to get up the nerve to come over and speak to me. We started going down to the library cafeteria for study breaks, talking for hours about literature and politics. I thought it was all very adult and romantic, but I was getting frustrated because things weren’t moving along further. I finally had to invite him back to my room when my roommate was away for the weekend and make a pass at him.”

“The moment of truth,” Ashland murmured. He nuzzled up against my neck, planting kisses over every inch of it.

“Except it wasn’t. It was awkward and fumbling, and he was so nervous he couldn’t keep it up.”

“What did you do?”

“I felt sorry for him, so I crawled under the blanket and gave him a blowjob to get him hard. I had no technique, but when you’re dealing with an 18-year-old guy, you don’t need much.”

“That did the trick?”

“It did, but after that night he stopped going to library and started avoiding me.”

“He was ashamed,” Ashland said. “Guys that age aren’t at the height of their emotional security.”

“The girls you date aren’t much older.”

Ashland took a playful nip at my shoulder. “Shush,” he chided gently. “I’m the one conducting the interview here.”

“It got better. I had a lot of boyfriends, good, bad, and indifferent. It was fun, but it never lived up to my earlier dreams.”

Ashland stopped kissing me and leaned against his hand, his eyes focused on my face. “What dreams?”

I hesitated a moment. I had never told a man about my dream lover, or the real origin of my tattoo, but this felt different. It felt right.

I shared the story of the man who visited me in my dreams, the symbol that often appeared, and the intensity of the experience. When I finished, I looked over at him. Ashland was gazing at me with what might be described as wonder. “Everything I learn about you just makes you more intriguing.”

“Or crazy.”

He kissed my cheek again, then my eyelids. “I’m beginning to let go of the idea that we’ll find a rational explanation for everything related to Magoa.”

I turned and offered him a long, suggestive kiss. “Maybe it’s time we both let go of rationality.”

We continued to kiss, the passion building until it matched the storm outside. Ashland crawled under the comforter and let his lips slowly work their way down my arm, past my breasts, across my stomach, my thighs. It was a slow, excruciatingly pleasurable journey.

His lips continued down my leg until they reached my foot. He ran his tongue along the tattoo’s border. I could feel the ache in my vagina, not just from his touch, but from the memories associated with my tag. “I think it’s my duty as a scientist to find out if you’re a mortal or a goddess,” he said from the foot of the bed.

“If I’m a goddess then why do I still have to do the laundry?”

His head appeared from under the comforter. “Not when you’re with me.”

His mouth made a leisurely journey up my leg again, as if I were an exquisite meal that must be savored. Was it archeology that made him such a great lover—the patience to dust off every tiny fragment and consider its import?

His lips and tongue performed an elegant ballet around my vagina, pirouetting along the lips, flirting with my clit, then spinning away to explore the crevice between my thigh and leg. I writhed in the agony of wanting him, needing him to satisfy my riotous desire.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of tormented pleasure, his tongue reached my clitoris as he simultaneously slid his index and middle fingers inside me, immediately locating my G spot. It was like ascending to heaven. As he continued to pleasure me, inside and out, I was a whirling dervish, dizzy with longing. I couldn’t hold back now, nor did I want to. I came, bucking, crying out, “Yes, yes, oh god…” Ashland had to hold onto my hip with one hand to keep his tongue firmly on my pleasure zone.

Finally, I collapsed on the bed, trying to catch my breath. He looked up at me, smiling. “Have I served you well?”

“You don’t think you’re done, do you?” I teased. I managed to push myself up until I was on my hands and knees. My legs felt weak; I wasn’t sure I could have stood even if the house was on fire. “Lie on your back,” I ordered him.

He raised an eyebrow questioningly, then obeyed. I shoved the comforter aside impatiently, revealing his cock in all its glory, ready for my pleasure. “Hand me one of those strange, square packages you mortals keep in your nightstand.”

He dutifully retrieved the foil packet and handed it to me. I ripped it open with my teeth and unrolled the rubber onto his penis. “This is the last time we’ll use one of these if I have anything to say about it.”

“Your wish is my command.”

I straddled him, then began moving my hips lazily, letting his cock caress my vulva. “Don’t move,” I ordered him.

I reached down, aligning his cock with my vagina, slowly slipping it inside me, enjoying the look of pleasure on Ashland’s face. He felt delightfully warm and snug inside me, like a custom made jacket. I pushed my ass into his pelvis, thrilled by the sensation of being penetrated so deeply. I used to feel uncomfortable in this position, being in control; a man gazing up at my naked body. But now I relished it. I looked down at Ashland; he was watching my face, his eyes savoring every nuance of my experience. “Don’t you dare cum,” I told him. “I plan to be awhile.”

“Take your time.”

As I continued to ride him, he cupped my breasts with his palms, using his thumbs and index fingers to pinch my firm, expectant nipples just hard enough to send a spasm of pain mixed with pleasure through my body. I reached down and began massaging my clit, moving my finger rapidly over and around it. I couldn’t hold back; I felt another orgasm rushing to the surface. I closed my eyes and squeezed my legs hard against his hips, arching my back as wave after intense wave slammed against me.

I paused for a moment, catching my breath. When I opened my eyes again, he looked pensive as he regarded my face. “What are you thinking?” I asked him.

“I’m remembering a Schubert sonata TJ used to play for me. I would close my eyes and let it carry me away to a place I’d never imagined before. That,” he said, his voice touched with emotion, “is what it feels like when I’m with you.”

“Do you remember the name of the piece?” I asked him.

“I’m afraid not, and don’t ask me to hum it. That’s not one of my talents.”

“Then I won’t make you sing for your supper.”

“Hmmm,” he said mischievously “I wonder what’s on the menu.”

“Me,” I replied. “If you’re hungry enough.”

“Famished.”

I smiled slyly as I rose, letting his still erect cock slide out of me. Crawling to the head of the bed, I grasped the antique brass headboard and swung one leg over him. My pussy was now directly above his face. “Are you ready?” I asked him.

“I’ve been ready for a long time.”

I slowly lowered myself onto him. His tongue eagerly reached for my clit. The scrape of his whiskers on my inner thighs was erotic and masculine. My vagina was like a saturated sponge drenching his face. He didn’t seem to mind.

His hands reached up to grasp my ass, subtly encouraging me to let go. I lowered myself further, thrusting my pussy into his face as his tongue worked its magic. I didn’t understand how he could breathe; a fleeting image of myself giving him mouth to mouth resuscitation danced across my consciousness.

He reached under me and scooped up some of my juices with his middle finger. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, and at this point I didn’t care. I could feel his hand on my ass again. His finger slipped between my cheeks and pressed against my anus. I leaned forward to give him better access, gripping the cool metal tightly. His finger slipped effortlessly into the tight space. I could feel myself closing around it, wanting it to take up long-term residence. As his finger ventured in further, I could barely endure the double dose of pleasure. I squeezed his head between my thighs, probably rendering him deaf as well as dumb.

I could feel the wave rising again, awesome and uncontrolled, larger than I had ever experienced, sweeping me out into the deep, lifting me up, pummeling me, twisting me around. I was in an altered state, not even aware of what I was doing to Ashland, somewhere far below me.