Flesh and Bone Page 2

  I take them with my own and she proves hungrier than I imagined.

  I kiss her, using my tongue to explore hers. Her mouth is hot, searing hot. And suddenly I need to feel her center. To see if it too is hot and wanting to take me in. I reach down and soak my fingers in her come. Slick and thick and heated. I find her clit and frame it, squeezing the sides as I jerk her off. Up and down, up and down.

  She grips my hair and bites into my shoulder.

  “Uh, uh, uh.”

  Her clit grows, swells between my fingers. I move my hand faster. Side to side. Vibrate her. She claws my back, my scalp, and then leans completely into me as if she can no longer support herself.

  I tell her, “Yeah. Come again for me, baby. Come so I can fuck you with my cock again.”

  Her head jerks back, mouth angled up to the ceiling. She comes in a brief cry, but her mouth remains open and silent as her body takes the rest of it. I bite down on the pulsing part of her neck, give her all I can. Her eyes are wide open, fixed on the ceiling, her face crumpling in sheer ecstasy.

  Then she collapses upon me, body limp like a snapped rope. I hold her for a moment, kissing her neck, tasting her perfume mixed with her sweat. Oh, what an elixir.

  Her mouth finds my skin, timid at first but then bold as she nibbles my neck. I so badly want to take her to bed, to lay her down and kiss her all over. To spend the night worshipping her with my tongue.

  But the fantasy is not complete. And I know it’s time to finish it. Bending at the knees, I lift her and carry her to the couch. She giggles mischievously and I lay her down and stand over her. I tear off my T-shirt and my breasts pucker from the cooler air. Her eyes almost close as her pupils dilate with desire.

  I know this look. Would kill for this look.

  I move closer and clench my teeth with nerve. Finally, I say it.

  “Suck me.”

  After a long, seductive look, she props up on an elbow and grabs the cock. Her eyes remain locked with mine as she first licks it up and down and then takes it in her mouth. I watch her tongue; I watch her lips. My mouth begins to water. She’s sucking me, swallowing me nearly whole. Her hand tugs on the shaft as she sucks. Again the smack, smack, smack.

  Each one hits me at my core. A flamethrower triggering off my clit and firing into my body.

  Oh God. Oh God, she’s really sucking me off.

  I hold her head. The feel of her bobbing back and forth intensifies the pleasure. She groans and closes her eyes. She moves faster, takes me deeper.

  Oh God, I’m close. I’m so close.

  I pull her head back. Her lips are parted, her eyes an abyss of sparkling blue.

  I push her back and climb on. I reach to tear off her blouse. She groans her approval and lifts her arms so I can tug off the loose bra. Her breasts are cinnamon, centered in dark chocolate. My mouth takes them hungrily, tugging and sucking and biting. She calls out my name and arches herself into me.

  I reach down for the cock. She starts to beg.

  “Give it to me, give it to me.”

  She spreads her legs and with the cock in my hand, I feel her smooth, slick lips with my knuckles. Inward and upward I plunge.

  “Oh God!” she cries out.

  I feel her hips move beneath me and I plunge again as she claws my arms. She throws her head back in passion and I lick the straining tendons of her neck and push in some more.

  The leather of the couch creaks and squeaks. I fuck her, fuck her good. And the fire in my own core burns hotter. My face flushes again. I’m close.

  Head spinning, I sit back on my knees and pull the cock from her. Her eyes open in surprise and my hands go under her ass to lift her hips. I find her opening and wait, placing the head of the cock just inside. And then I plunge.

  “Ah, ummm.” She watches me as I fuck her.

  I’m guiding her hips, yanking her to me, thrusting into her.

  The heat spreads from my face down to my bare chest. My breasts sway as I move. My clit shoots fire into me with every thrust.

  I’m close again. So close.

  She begs for more, turning her head from side to side.

  I go harder. I go faster.

  “Do you like it?” I ask.

  She moans.

  I ask again. “Do you like me fucking you?”

  She looks at me. “Yes. Yes, I like it.”

  “I’m going to come.” I can’t help myself. The sound, the feel of her under my hands, the pounding of my clit.

  She throws her head back and lets out a high-pitched cry. I spill over the edge and tumble down, down, down.

  Our bodies keep going. Fucking involuntarily. Fucking for sheer animal need.

  We fuck we fuck we fuck.

  And then we are still.

  I lie on her. Breath ragged and coming quickly. Her skin is moist, her chest rising and falling, hungry for air.

  The fantasy has been played out.

  The sweet, sweet fantasy.

  She seems to know my thoughts because she stirs. She pushes me back and I sit on my knees as she swings her leg around me to stand.

  “Was it everything you wanted?” I can’t help but ask, my mind just as spent as my body.

  A thorny look comes into her eyes. She picks up her panties and comes back to me, pushing me onto my back.

  “It was, yes. But now it’s my turn.”

  “Your turn?”

  She straddles me and carefully eases herself onto my cock. Her eyes glaze over. At first with hesitant intensity and then with incredible pleasure.

  She leans forward, her face mere inches from mine.

  “I’m going to have my way with you now.”

  She trails her panties along my face, hanging them over my mouth.

  “Taste,” she says. “Taste me while I fuck you.”

  She starts to move. Back and forth, to and fro. Her hand kneads my breasts. Presses into me for support. She moves faster. Her hips snapping.

  She groans.

  I reach for her breasts, massage them as she moves.

  “There’s more to this fantasy?” I ask, the fire building again as I catch the taste and scent of her on the delicate lace of the panties.

  “Oh, yes,” she says, stuffing them completely into my mouth as she quickens her hips. Her eyes flash with playful danger. “There’s a whole lot more to this fantasy.”

  L is for Love

  It started off simple enough. A cold, wind-driven night. The kind that makes you pull tighter on your already buttoned wool coat and hunker down against the curt, biting wind.

  Gina Gordon was heading to the library for her Wednesday night scheduled reading. She was late and cursing up a storm, hands shoved into her coat pocket. Crossing the wet pavement, she hurriedly flung out her hand for the door and her keys came along for the ride, falling to the ground.

  Mumbling another series of curse words, she bent and scooped up the keys. At that very moment, the door opened from the inside, knocking Gina back on her behind so forcefully that she bit her tongue.

  “Ow, oh God,” she said as she fingered her mouth. Her head spun and her tailbone seemed to have bitten into the ground.

  Someone moved toward her, their colors trailing like a smeared painting or a fast-moving object. Gina blinked, but she had trouble focusing.

  “I’m so sorry. Oh, shit. What did I do?”

  The voice sounded familiar. Gina blinked again and took the offered hand. She stood on unsteady feet and allowed her vision to settle.

  Melanie Macbeth stared back at her.

  One doesn’t forget a name like Melanie Macbeth.

  Macbeth was Gina’s favorite Shakespearean play.

  And Melanie, lately, was quickly becoming another one of her favorite things.

  Gina swayed. Or did she swoon? She wasn’t sure.

  Melanie was talking, but Gina couldn’t hear. She often had this problem with Melanie Macbeth.

  “Are you okay? Gina?”

  Melanie’s hand was insanely war
m when it touched Gina’s cheek. And the world seemed to rush around them, a record player on high speed.

  “Yeah, I’m…” Normally she would’ve had something witty and clever to say. But the hand radiated and her tongue throbbed.

  “Ow.” Gina felt the wound and flinched. Blood quickly flooded her mouth, and she turned her head just as quickly to cough.

  “Oh my God.” Melanie bent down with her.

  Gina, burning with more embarrassment than pain, tried to speak. “Get back. Don’t wanna get blood on you.” Only it came out sounding like her mouth was full of cotton. She coughed some more. Her face burned hotter. It was embarrassing. Very embarrassing.

  “Here.” Melanie gave her a tissue. “Hold this to your tongue.”

  Gina closed her eyes, unsure which she hated worse—the pain from her tongue, or the feel of the soft, dry tissue inside her mouth.

  “Better?”

  Gina stood. Melanie steadied her by cupping her elbow.

  “We should get you inside.”

  Suddenly, the icy wind infiltrated her skin again. It surprised her. For those brief few moments, she hadn’t been bothered by the bitter wind.

  Melanie held open the door and Gina stepped inside. The warmth of the library caved in on her and she found it difficult to breathe. Usually the warmth comforted her, but not now. Now it felt stifling and entrapping. Gina couldn’t run away from Melanie even though she wanted, at that moment, to do nothing more.

  Melanie was the head librarian and Gina saw her every Wednesday and sometimes on the weekends when Gina would come in and peruse the shelves. Lately she’d found herself searching for the meaning of the word love. In the books and in her everyday life.

  That curious mission came to Gina’s mind now, as Melanie quietly escorted them to the washroom where she encouraged her to sit on the low counter.

  “Open,” Melanie said softly, as if offering the sweetest, most sugary reward a child could dream of if she did so.

  Gina fought off the nervous urge to swallow. She opened her mouth and had to close her eyes as Melanie took a closer look.

  “Open a bit wider,” she whispered sweetly. Gina opened her eyes and saw the penlight Melanie had dug out of her purse. Gina’s heart rate kicked up as the scent of Melanie’s gum mixed with her Obsession cologne.

  “Now stick out your tongue.” The words swirled like a warm, rum-tainted elixir.

  Gina complied. She stared at the orange-brown maple wood of Melanie’s eyes. Striated panels of beautifully stained wood, shooting from her pupils. Golds, oranges, browns. She stared at the paleness of her skin. Like moonlight on the darkest of nights. Her lips were like fragile pink rose petals basking in that incredible moonlight, just waiting for the right moment to open.

  Gina was mesmerized. Normally, she didn’t get such an opportunity to stare so blatantly at Melanie.

  “It doesn’t need stitches, so that’s good,” Melanie said, lowering the penlight. “The bleeding’s finally stopped. There’s some swelling, but that should be down by tomorrow.”

  “How do you know so much?”

  “I read a lot.”

  Melanie smiled and held a warm, wet paper towel to her face. Gently, yet firmly, she cleaned Gina’s chin, lips, and cheeks. Then she examined Gina’s forehead and shone the penlight in her eyes.

  “Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?”

  Around you? Always.

  “Shih,” Gina let out.

  Melanie’s back straightened and she looked alarmed.

  “I’m sorreh. I mean…I wasn’t talken to you.” Damn, it really hurt to talk. And she felt like a fool. A blabber-mouthing, word-slurring fool.

  What was she going to do? Words were her world. They comforted her, entertained her, and when she spoke them they protected her. Not being able to speak was for her like telling a mime he was a double arm amputee.

  “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Melanie looked worried.

  Gina held her breath and felt her heart pounding furiously throughout her body. It was thudding, slamming, surging. All she could do was sit and stare, her senses electrified and seeking, taking everything there was to take in about Melanie Macbeth.

  Her scent, so wonderful and warm. The splitting orange embers in her eyes. Melanie was like a quaint little cabin nestled in the blizzard-blown woods. Safe, warm, cozy. Shelter from the storm of life. Gina wanted to walk inside and never return.

  She wanted to lie with her on a big bearskin rug, skimming over her firelit skin with her fingertips. She wanted to watch the small weight of her breasts pucker along with her lips. She wanted to take those lips into her mouth and…

  “Gina?”

  Gina refocused.

  Melanie’s brow was furrowed. “I’m worried. We should take you to the hospital.”

  “Wha? No.” Gina stood. “I’m okay.”

  Melanie sighed. “I wish you would go in for a CAT scan. Just to be sure.”

  “No.” Gina shook her head for extra effect and said as best she could, “Besides, I have a reading. I never miss a reading.”

  “That’s true, you don’t.”

  Melanie took Gina’s hand and held it wrist facing up. Gently, she straightened her fingers and retrieved the wadded tissue. She threw it away and re-closed her fingers, giving her hand a slight squeeze.

  “You’re blushing,” Melanie said.

  “Oh.” Oh? Gina cursed her cotton-stuffed tongue. She wished she could just tear open the seams and rip it all out.

  Melanie didn’t seem to notice. She handed her a paper cup full of water and told her to carefully rinse out her mouth.

  “Better?” Melanie asked softly.

  Gina swooned for real this time, lost in Melanie’s eyes.

  “You sure?” She steadied her, cupping her elbow.

  Gina nodded, burned hotter, and then managed to speak. Sort of. “Mmm-hmm.”

  Melanie watched her for a moment and then gave Gina her coat and book bag. Once again cupping her elbow, she led the way through the door and headed into the main room.

  The patrons were there, waiting for Gina by the big stone fireplace, many of them already comfortable in their chairs.

  They all voiced hellos when they saw her. She gave a wave and smiled. Melanie led them to Gina’s chair. It was dark green leather and positioned in front of the fireplace. A standing lamp and microphone flanked the chair, along with an ottoman where she always placed her book bag. Melanie offered Gina the chair and then sat next to her on the ottoman. Silence filled the room.

  Gina was supposed to finish the John Irving book, but as she tried to say the simple word “hello” she knew she wasn’t going to be able to do it.

  Melanie was watching her. She smiled gently at Gina and then looked to the listeners.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Gina is unable to read to you this evening.”

  There were mumbles and grumbles. Someone asked why.

  Melanie explained. “I hit her in the head with the door and she bit her tongue.”

  Gina did the oddest thing. She started to laugh. The whole scenario was really quite ridiculous.

  “Since I’m the one who beat her up, I’m going to offer my services as a substitute reader for the night. That is, if you’ll all have me. And…” She looked to Gina. “If that’s okay with Gina.”

  Gina smiled. Then she nodded. She looked out at the crowd. Twenty-eight souls, give or take. Many had been coming to the Wednesday night readings for years.

  She adored them. Just as they adored the words she shared.

  Melanie found the book and opened to the marked page. She began to read.

  Gina watched for a while. She studied Melanie’s lips, the way they pressed and parted, the movement of the tendons in her throat, the graceful swoop of her neck. Then Gina closed her eyes and listened. Melanie’s voice was like sugar. Thick, sifting handfuls of sugar. She imagined herself scooping up palmful after palmful and just letting it run through her fingers.

  She
imagined licking off the remnants. Imagined each tiny little granule melting on her tongue.

  It was heaven. Sweet, sugary heaven.

  And before she knew it, Melanie had stopped. The sugar canister had been closed. Gina opened her eyes and found Melanie watching her.

  “How’d I do?”

  Gina swallowed. “Good.” She blushed again.

  Melanie smiled.

  Some of the listeners approached them, many of them talking to Melanie, who was always very kind and very patient. And she touched them, not just emotionally but physically. She would cup their upper arms, or touch their faces and hands. She gave long, firm hugs, and yet she was as gentle as a lamb. She was wonderful. A wonderful human being.

  “Are you ready?”

  The question came out of left field. Gina tried to stop and rewind the past few moments. But she couldn’t.

  People were leaving, heading for home. Gina focused. Melanie was looking at her.

  “We should really get you home.”

  Melanie swung the book over her shoulder and reached for Gina’s hand.

  Oh, how warm it was.

  It was so warm that Gina barely noticed the harsh gale-like wind as it attacked them outdoors. All she could feel was Melanie’s hand. Soft and warm and alive.

  “You live in the Heights, don’t you?”

  Gina nodded. “How did you know?”

  Melanie shrugged. “I’ve known for a while.”

  They rode in silence after that, in Melanie’s Honda. Gina thanked her lucky stars that she didn’t have to walk home, marching into the wall of frigid wind. Being with Melanie was better than she’d imagined. Warm, cozy, safe from the harsh cold. She felt like melting into the seat, and she found herself feeling disappointed when Melanie swung into a parking space and turned off the ignition.

  “Here we are,” Melanie said. And before Gina realized it, Melanie was at her door, pulling it open and helping her out.

  They entered the building and the wind whistled through the outline of the doors.

  Melanie smiled softly as they rode up the elevator and walked down the hallway to Gina’s door.

  As best she could, Gina asked if Melanie wanted to come inside.