Viral/Like It Was The Last Fuck of Our Lives Page 3

Like It Was The Last Fuck of Our Lives (page 3)

“Take off your jeans,” she told him. It came out a little more firmly, more commanding than she wanted. But he was going to obey her. That was the important thing, wasn’t it?

“I’m not wearing any underwear.”

“That,” she pointed out, “is sexy. Take them off.”

He brought his hands to the button on his jeans and she saw the vein on his smooth arm raise up on his skin as he did. His fingers moved quickly.

“Slowly,” she clarified.

He undid the top button, then the next. He paused. He must have noticed her eyes were locked onto his crotch because he laughed.

“You’re a bad girl!”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” she told him. The smile on her face contradicted the dominant tone she was trying to use. But he played along.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Okay. I see how it is.”

Then he unbuttoned the next button and the next and he spread the folds of his jeans apart. She saw his pubic hair, the start of his cock. She found penises fascinating. How something so large could be so concealed. She was always surprised how it was never obvious inside the clothing when it seemed like it should have been. It was like every guy’s prick was smaller until air hit it and then it grew in size. It was weird. Like that old lie that your blood was blue until it reached the air and it magically turned crimson. Children will believe anything. He pulled the jeans down slowly and stepped out of them. Now he was naked before her.

He was so beautiful. She looked at his dick, watched it slowly harden. She hadn’t even done anything yet! It was dizzying, how she enjoyed the spell she cast on him. It was flattering that the idea of having her was enough to turn him on. As for penises, it’s not like she’d seen a hundred of them. She didn’t know the exact number of lovers she’d had in her 28 years, but it couldn’t have been a dozen. And none of them, at least none that she could remember, had a cock like his. His truly looked sculpted. His penis was impossibly smooth, not too thick, and just the right length, at least for her. She had always been ho-hum about oral sex, but she found she enjoyed it with him. When she would first put him in her mouth, he would gasp, like it was a surprise, like it was the first time anyone had done that. She moved her gaze from his dick to his face. And then she noticed something.

Something was missing.

Naked Hands Panties

His television wasn’t on. Nor was there any music. Not that she needed anything to set the mood, they each provided enough of that on their own, no stereo needed. But the absence of the sound from a television, that seemed wrong.

She’d gotten so used to the running commentary, it was strange to have it not there. The live feeds of the President, congratulating himself, trying to rewrite history, and telling everyone everything was going to go back to normal “very quickly. Very quickly.” She noticed that men often repeated phrases when they lied. Had Garrett ever lied to her? They didn’t have a relationship where lying should come into play. They had no need to lie to each other. If he called and she didn’t feel like coming over, she told him. But that never happened. Her heart leapt every time she saw his text. I want you. But she kept her cool. She never texted him back right away. Sometimes he would text her a second time—Hey. I said I want you. Bad.— before she responded to him and that thrilled her every time.

She stared at him. He stood there, the light from the living room softly illuminating his front, the lights from the kitchen behind him giving his silhouette a hard black edge. Pria knew she was attractive and she’d dated handsome men before. But she reveled in the fact that Garrett found her beautiful, that he lusted after her. And she distinctly got the feeling that he didn’t have any other lovers. Something about the way he treated her made her feel like she was the only one, just as she was solely his. Occasionally she fantasized that their strictly sexual affair might turn into something more, but he never indicated he was looking for more so she never went very far down that path. She knew she was incredibly fond of him. But did she love him? Somehow that feeling seemed…inappropriate. Like bringing a gun to a knife fight.

Their sex was animal, primal, a complete envelopment of passion. The fact that there were no strings is what made it so erotic to her. There was a freedom previous relationships—maybe every relationship—didn’t give her. Their partnership could float, like a balloon, into bigger skies, not be earthbound, clenched tightly in the hand of a child who’d lose interest soon. 

“That’s one of the things I love about you,” he told her one night. “You give me so much of you but don’t ask for anything more.”

Was she about to ruin that now?