Heartless (21 page)

She’s undoing my button and zipper. My breath catches. She pulls at my boxer briefs, releasing me. She’s at least done
this
before. She wraps her small hand around my shaft and squeezes. I breathe hard, willing her to stroke and pull, but she’s got a soft touch right now, and it’s maddening, it’s making my aching desire sharpen and will soon push me to do something…

I unhook her bra, toss it aside, and squeeze her tits together. Her gorgeous, tight tits. I play with the nipples, making them rise to the occasion, and then I drop down, take one in my mouth, while she moans. I slip away from her tentative grasp on me and it’s a relief. Quickly, so she doesn’t see, I grab myself, squeeze hard, bend to one side, just to take the edge off. I drop to my knees, kissing her sternum and belly on the way down. I can smell her now, through her skirt. So sweet and salty. My mouth is watering. I grab her ass and pull her crotch to my face. She tenses. I can feel her glutes tighten under my palms. I haven’t even gone under her skirt yet. Why is she nervous? I look up through the valley of her tits and see her looking down at me. Why does she look scared?

I sit back on my heels, let go of her ass, shit why didn’t I take my jeans off? I feel all cramped. I rise up on my knees, pull off my shoes by the heels, and slide my jeans past my hips. I drag one knee, and then the other, out of their denim confines.

She’s moved away from me now. She’s over by the couch, and I’m standing like an idiot in my shorts between the foyer and the living room. She folding her arms over her tits now, as if embarrassed. I want to tell her don’t cover up such luscious beauty. I throw my jeans on the chair in the corner and move to join her by the couch. Maybe soon we’ll end up
on
the couch, maybe with her on me… Shit, she’s still backing away, still looking like a frightened rabbit. Instead of telling her to bare her tits to me, which is what I want to
growl
at her, I say, “Are you all right? Is everything okay?”

She nods and smiles shyly.

She seems to need to hear me say this a lot. To be honest, I’m getting sick of playing nice. She doesn’t conjure up nice feelings in me. I mean, I don’t want to
hurt
her, but goddammit I want to
fuck
her.

Cool it, J, I tell myself. Don’t let that side of you get out of hand. She still needs delicate handling.

For some unknown reason she’s afraid to want me. We had a good night. I impressed her. We had fun, and we’re hot for each other, so I don’t really understand the problem. I step forward and take her in my arms before she protests. And I feel her melt there. She softens in my arms, heats up again as I kiss her. My hands slide back down to her ass, and her hands follow my moves. I feel her fingers cup my ass through the thin cotton of my boxers and that makes my dick jump. I pull her closer to me, so I can press into her belly. She’s so warm and soft. I kiss her neck and collar bone and guide her to the couch. She sits down and pulls me down next to her.

Yes, I think. Yes, yes, yes. She wants me. Don’t rush it, J. Take it slow and you will be rewarded. My hand slides into her hair, pulls a little. She moans. Did I pull too hard, or did it feel good? She starts to lean back, into my hand, so I keep pulling through her hair, not too hard, but just enough to guide her head back to the cushions. I rise over her and she pulls her legs up and stretches out along the length of the couch. I watch her as she slips her skirt off and then I lift up and lay down on top of her. We are chest to chest, our underwear the only barrier to our full nakedness. I kiss my way down her throat, to the gap between her tits, across the dip of her sternum until I reach the divot of her navel. Does she know where I’m headed? I hope she does. I hope she wants it. Because I can’t wait anymore. I let my tongue slide across her belly, from one hip bone to the other, until she can’t help but shudder. I catch the waistband of her panties in my teeth. She gasps. Then she whispers something. What did she say? I have one hand on one smooth creamy hip and I’m about to slide her panties off.

“I want to keep those on,” she says. Damn. I let go of her panties. But I’m not going to let that stop me. That can be sexy, too. I slide a little lower, my chin dragging lightly over her mons until I graze her clit. That makes her shudder again, and her back arches ever so slightly. I feel heat coming off her. She’s wet. Very wet. And I’m going to make her wetter. Her panties will be a sopping mess when I’m done with her. I’m curled down at the end of the couch, my head between her legs. She seems to be trying to wriggle away from me, but I hold her in place.

“It’s okay,” I say. “I want to do this.”

She relaxes a bit. Is she embarrassed? Why are girls embarrassed by their smells and fluids. Don’t they know how fucking hot they are? How maddening their scents make us males. All we want to do is eat them up or climb as far up inside as we can. This is as close as man gets to heaven on earth. And we aren’t embarrassed by that desire. No one should feel bad about feeling good. And boy do I want to make Heather feel good. Better than she’s ever felt before. No one’s ever going to make her feel like I make her feel. I slip my tongue along the crease of her thigh and use its pointed tip to push away the edge of her panties until I feel the skin of her outer lips. Oh, yes. I’m over the edge, navigating to her labia. Oh, man, they are slick and wet and sweet. Fuck this fabric! I used my fingers to hold one side away and flick gently at her folds with my tongue. I tentatively touch the nub of her clit. Her back arches suddenly and I pull back, protecting my neck. I stroke her belly with my other hand. That’s my baby, just relax. I go for a soft swipe of her clit again. She moans and arches again, but not too quickly. She rocks her pelvis forward, giving herself to me now. I take as much of her soft floweriness in my mouth as I can. I lick high and low, fast and slow, and then I hone in on her clit again and swirl rhythmically. She’s whimpering now. And breathing in and out quickly through her mouth. That’s it… Her rocking is matching my sucking rhythm. Good girl. She’s opening wider, wanting to give me more of herself. That’s it baby. I slide my fingers between her legs, pull her panties to the side of her opening. I circle my fingertips around that sweet, dark passage. She stills suddenly. Oh, maybe I shouldn’t go in there? Maybe not with my fingers? I let my tongue slide down, explore her there with my tongue. That seems to be okay. I point my tongue and probe inward. She stills again. Okay then. No penetration right now. Just take it slow. I caress her belly with my other hand and let my wet fingers gently stroke her labia for a minute or two while my tongue works her clit again. This feels good to her. She’s rocking against my face again. I lick and lave and suck and swipe and I get into a zen rhythm of motion. I let my pussy-scented fingers drift down between her legs toward my dick. It’s late and I think this will be the main attraction, and I’m not complaining, but I am straining. So I grip myself and stroke and pull to the same rhythm of my tongue. She starts to speed up so I do, too, my jaw working overtime, my tongue flicking and tremoring over her swollen nub. I tug at my dick, faster and faster. Oh, man, that feels good. I imagine my dick where my mouth is, and deeper. She’s really moaning now, and bucking. My hand on her belly is holding her in place while she thrashes around under me. Fuck, I’m on fire. I feel my explosion building as she squeezes me between her legs. Her cries are high pitched and gaspy, and she’s got her hands in my hair now, so I know she’s close. Shit, what am I going to do about my come? I try to tug my underwear up but I’m sticking way out of it. Damn. I can’t spew on the couch. I focus on Heather, give all my attention to her throbbing clit. She’s at the edge. I take her over. And it’s killing me, and making me fucking ecstatic. She’s pulsing and spasming in my mouth. More hot liquid spills out of her and I lap it up, until she’s writhing and pushing me away. A second ago she was driving my face into her soft hot center and now she’s pushing me away with post-coming sensitivity. And I am raging, ready to explode, with nowhere to go.

“Josh, come here,” she whispers. I know she wants a hug now. She wants to cuddle, but I don’t know if I can handle that.

“Come here,” she say again, more forcefully.

She looks down at me, all soft-lidded and flushed. I lift myself up and over her, my raging erection as obvious as a baseball bat between us. She reaches down to it and grabs hold. “
Come
here,” she says. She holds me over her belly and starts tugging with smooth, firm force. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. My whole body tenses. My eyes pinch close and I hold my breath. I’m coming. I’m coming now. I release a huge breath and pour all over her beautiful, smooth skin. “Oh, yes,” I moan. “Oh, Heather.”

“Mmmm….” She murmurs. She slows her rhythm but keeps stroking until I’m completely emptied, my cream blending into the pale surface of her skin. I hold myself up over her, but my biceps feel weak now as a deep wave of relaxation flows through me. I hold myself up like that, catching my breath, for another moment or two. Eventually, I say, “I’ll be right back,” and I reluctantly hop off the couch and force my wobbly legs to the powder room off the foyer. I find a pretty hand towel and turn on the tap. As the cloth soaks up warm water, I look at myself. My skin color is heightened, my eyes are heavy-lidded and my pupils dilated. I’m semi-erect and when my dick taps against the cool porcelain, I shudder. I squeeze out the excess water from the cloth, grab a wad of toilet paper, and return to Heather. She is exactly as I left her: spread languidly on the couch, her eyes closed, a soft smile arcing her kiss-swollen lips.

I wipe up my mess with the toilet paper and then I gently slide the warm cloth between her legs. She seems surprised yet touched by this gesture. She looks into my eyes as if seeing something new for the first time. What is it? A kindness she’s never felt before? The idea of that cracks my heart a little. I fold the cloth and wipe her belly clean of me.

“Thank you,” she whispers. I can see that sleep is edging closer. I feel it, too.

“Let me tuck you in,” I say. I gather up her clothes and take her to her room.

Upstairs, she leads me to her room It’s pretty. It suits her. I want to dive under the beautiful bedspread with her, but I resist the urge. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” I say.

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “And I’ll make
you
breakfast in the morning.”

“Mmmm…” She rolls over and I know I’ve lost her to dreamland.

I explore the upstairs a bit. I haven’t been up here before. I find a linen closet and grab a sheet for myself, plus a throw blanket from her aunt and uncle’s room.

I settle onto the couch after tucking my clothes and the wet cloth off to the side. I’ll take the cloth home with me and wash it. Within those fibres are elements of the insides of the two of us combined, which so simple, yet so amazing. I fall asleep thinking of ways to get even closer to Heather.

Heather

At my next session with Miranda, after telling her how close Josh and I were becoming, she encouraged me to consider telling him more about the death of my parents.

“If you’re serious about this young man, you’ll need to ask yourself if it’s possible to have a relationship based on less than complete honesty. In the long run, denying parts of yourself limits the depth of an intimate relationship.”

“I’m not really being dishonest. I’m just leaving parts out. And what if I didn’t deny those parts? Maybe there wouldn’t even be a relationship at all.”

“You think Josh would reject you if he knew the truth?”

I shrugged. I couldn’t be sure, but… “For sure it would change things. He’d see me differently. Then it would probably just be a matter of time before he lost interest.”

“I see.” Miranda sat back in her chair and watched me.

I held my arms in front of me, each hand gripping the opposite elbow. It was a protective posture. Not quite as defensive as crossing my arms in front of my chest, but it was still body language that communicated a barrier. Another thing I’d learned from Miranda. I let go of my elbows and rested my hands on my thighs. I felt very aware of the trust it took to shift my posture, to present myself as more physically open to Miranda. I felt vulnerable, as if my heart were exposed. I suppose in a way, with my arms lowered, it was.

A light smile played across Miranda’s face. She leaned forward slightly, preparing her next question.

“You said you felt quite frightened before you got to the drive-in field. What was going through your mind then?”

“That I’d been an idiot for trusting Josh. That as soon as I let my guard down bad things happened.”

“Anything else?”

“It seems so silly now. Silly to think Josh would do anything to hurt me.”

“And yet your mind convinced you that was possible. Why?”

“From what I’ve learned from you, it’s probably because some bad things happened in the past when I trusted someone.”

“Good. Yes. Your past trauma got triggered by what you perceived as a present threat. Did you feel anything else? Anything that might have been different from how you felt in the past?”

I thought for a few moments. “Even though I was scared, I knew I would try to fight back. I hadn’t felt that before.”

Miranda smiled widely this time. “I’m glad to hear that. You’re not as much of a victim anymore. You know you have choices, and some strength to draw on.”

“I still can’t believe I thought Josh might hurt me.”

“The fact is, we can’t predict who might hurt us and who won’t, we can only develop our own resilience to respond to any situation we find ourselves in. We are able to react with more clarity and assertiveness the less the situation reminds us of the past. But the past usually gets triggered by feelings, not just similar situational details, so understanding the feelings associated with trauma is key.”

I nodded. I knew it was my responsibility to track my feelings, and to recognize what was coming from the past and what was coming from the present.

“But you still think Josh needs to know the truth?”

“If he had experienced something like you had, how would you approach him?”