Page 73 of Being Lost

He launches himself forward, hovering over me. “Only if I fuckin’ shave my face,” he tells me. “This is mine, okay? All fuckin’ mine.”

His sudden burst of possessiveness is hot. My skin burns as he exhales a heated breath.

So, okay, I won’t be looking for another man. That thought, that command, my immediate agreement to it, doesn’t worry me one bit. I doubt he’s going to disappoint.

“Say you’re mine, Patsy. I want to hear it from your lips.”

I want to tell him that maybe I should try out the goods before committing to anything, but already I know, what Lost is offering is so much more than I’ve ever had before. As his eyes stare into mine intently, I bite back my saucy comment, realising at my age, at this time in my life, I couldn’t have envisaged a man like this would want me. I should reach out and grab the chance with both hands.

But still I hesitate. “We don’t even know where I’ll be this time tomorrow, in a week, in a month…”

“You’re in my bed. And I’m going to move heaven and earth to make sure that’s where you’re going to stay, Patsy. Fuck, woman, I haven’t even had you yet, but my mind is made up. I want you. However long you want me to be yours.”

It’s far too soon to make forever promises even if I didn’t have a crime boss intent on finding me. But I can’t deny there’s a connection with Lost that if things work out, I’d like to explore further. Sure, he can be an ass, but at least it seems when he is, he has the guts to admit it.

“Yours,” I breathe out, realising it’s the only response I can make, knowing it’s right for this moment.

He lowers his head, taking my lips in a kiss that leaves me bruised and feeling thoroughly ravished, and I love every minute of it. Then, finally, he moves down and satisfies my curiosity as to what difference a beard makes. Well, having no experience, I can make no comparison, but as his mouth works my clit, I have an insight into what the women in the books I read find so enthralling about oral sex.

Sex with my ex had been polite. He wasn’t selfish, using his fingers to bring me off before moving on to the main event. I hadn’t been surprised that I didn’t orgasm with him inside me, my reading showing it was not uncommon at all. Magazine articles were full of women needing clitoral manipulation to get off, and I’d been too embarrassed to ask Phil for extra help.

But I’d had pleasure and had enjoyed the closeness of the physical connection with a man. Even though his choice of position was limited to one, and it had only ever been with the lights off. I’d thought that was the most I could expect from sex.

I was wrong, I think now, as Lost licks, sucks, nibbles and runs that beard over my clit, then changes things up just when I think I’m going to reach the peak I’m striving for, by moving down and thrusting his tongue inside me.

I never really thought about the differences between tongues and fingers, never appreciated how different the former would feel. But I already know I’m going to be addicted, and hope Lost’s been truthful about how much he enjoys it, as I’m going to want to experience this, a lot.

“Fuck, you taste good. Hope you’re enjoying this, babe, as I’m going to be down here for a while.”

“Mmm mmm.” It seems I’m unable to make a coherent response.

This time, when he moves his mouth back to my clit, he starts to push one of his thick fingers inside me.

“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he comments, easing it in then out, gliding through my wetness which I worry isn’t as sufficient as it once was. “Hold on,” he tells me when I tense at the intrusion. Pushing himself up, he leans over and opens a bedside table, and takes something out.

My eyes widen, then shut. I turn my head to the side as he opens a tube of lube. I’m embarrassed, never needing to use that before, but then the last time I had sex, I was two decades younger.

“Babe?” he queries. “Look at me.” When I do, he continues, “What’s up?”

“That’s not sexy,” I cry out, unable to stop myself.

“Babe,” he reproaches me. “I’m big, you’re tight. It’s been fuckin’ years for you. Neither of us are as young as we were. And I need to ask you, I’m clean, but do I need a condom or not? What’s your preference?”

I suppose we need to have this conversation, and maybe should have had it before. “Lost, I…” my voice falters. Telling him the symptoms of my age creeping up on me doesn’t seem the right time or place. It’s an admission that while my mind is as excited as any teenager embarking on a new romance, my body isn’t able to keep up.

“Patsy,” he interrupts. “If you’re expecting a young stud who can go for repeat rounds and keep it up all night, then you’re going to be disappointed. I’ve not got the stamina I had once and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

“I’m going through menopause,” I tell him fast, as though ripping off a Band-Aid. “It’s been months since I had a period, but I don’t know if I’m still at risk of falling pregnant or not.

“Condom it is then, babe, unless,” he looks at me and winks, “you want to take a risk.”

A baby at my age? My horrified expression gives him the response he needs. “I’d love to fuck you bare, Patsy. But that’s got to wait. If I were younger, I’d love a baby, but now? Hell, I’ll just have to enjoy our grandkids.”

Ours. That word, that indication that we could have a future, the suggestion that I’ll have a man by my side when my children give me grandbabies, I know I’d like that.

“And for now,” he picks up the lube again, “we make our own sexy, babe.” With that, he again lowers his head, lapping my natural lubricant I am still producing, feeling him licking me clean, then he raises his head, grinning broadly.

Glancing down, I see his beard glistening with my juices. Another wink, then he’s back, attacking and teasing my clit, making my thighs clench against him, my stomach muscles flutter, my mouth open wide as the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever had makes me see stars.

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