Page 62 of Intoxicated
“Something wrong with marionberries?” I turn to him. Does he see my nipples? ‘Cause I can feel my nipples.
“Only Oregonians care about marionberries.”
“Aren’t you an Oregonian?”
He shrugs. “Depends who you ask. My birth certificates say I am. My mom says I am. Me? Eh, I can take it or leave it.”
“Because it’s changed too much from your childhood?”
He hooks his finger at me, as if I’m the reason we’re not getting busy right this second. “There’s one thing that hasn’t changed about Portland, that’s for sure.”
Slowly, I go to him. Curiosity? Desire? We’ll say a bit of both. I’ll probably smell hints of wine and pot on him as soon as I’m close, but for now, the only reason he’s so interested in me is because of stone-cold sobriety. He sees a woman he wants. A woman he knows he can take. That lascivious look in his eyes has me already taking off my panties. Whoops. There they go. Right on the floor. In case he doesn’t know how skirts work, I pull mine up a little ways before pressing my knee against the edge of his bed. “What hasn’t changed?” I ask.
“The abundance of interesting women who keep me on my toes.”
“I don’t see you standing on your toes right now.” I keep my hands to myself, but it’s a challenge. If you saw the finely chiseled torso that I do right now, you’d be having issues, too. If I weren’t so in control of myself right now, I’d be slobbering all over this chest and grabbing those hips like I’ve never had sex before.
As if to taunt me, Drew leans slightly back, the stretch of his sweats on full display. Ah, yes, he seems to have regained control of his dick. The blood is flowing free again. His brain saysget hardand the trouser snakes sayswell, okay.My teeth graze my button lip as I imagine teasing him to the point I see a fine little wet spot right where the tip of his cock is. I like those things hard and dripping, if you couldn’t tell. Especially if I’m expected to put some kind of orifice on them.
To hell with expectations, honestly. Especially if I’mwantingto fuck one of my holes with those things.
Let’s see… how many holes do I have? At least three. Two are self-lubricating and have fantastic little nerve endings that make things a hundred times better. But he was saying something about the third earlier.
Maybe some other time. When I’m in the mood to be a bad,badgirl.
“Tell me one thing,” Drew says, head propped up on his hand. The way he lays, with one foot kickstanding behind him and his chest open to my line of sight, has me in such a tizzy that I believe he’s doing it on purpose. “Are you looking at me like that because you’re hungry for more than pancakes? Or because you smoked a fat blunt earlier?”
Only now do I realize I’m chewing the inside of my cheek a little too enthusiastically. That oral fixation, man. It’s getting me. The more I look at him, the more I want to repeat yesterday. I want his cock rammed down my throat, the taste of Drew Benton overwhelming me as he fucks me so hard I struggle to breathe. I want him to make me feel like the most depraved woman in the region, as if I don’t get more, more,moreof him, I’ll completely combust. I don’t usually feel this way about a guy. Usually, the passing fancy ends with me having sated my curiosity and ready to move on to someone else. Rarely does money and pleasure mix in the same man. Yet I keep forgetting who Drew really is. He’s such a…bro.He may be thirty, he may have his own successful (albeit deplorable) business, and he may have the funds to live off of for the rest of his life, but I look at him and see a regular guy who takes care of himself. There’s nothing more to it than that.
Dare I believe I’m falling for him?
“I don’t know how I’m looking at you,” I lie, “but I can tell you what I’m thinking.”
“Go ahead. Tell me. Lie to me, if you want. I don’t mind, as long as you make it hot.”
I untuck my T-shirt from my skirt. The damn thing was all askew and wrinkled, anyway. “I’m thinking about your sad, pathetic dick from earlier.” Ooh, am I doing a little domination tonight? Make him feel insignificant, to the point he fucks me until I’m convinced he’s the greatest shit in Seattle? I could get into that. “And wondering whether it’s had time to recover.”
“Yes, yes, I knew you’d be into what I’m packing soon enough. That’s why I was back here sobering up for you.”
“Liar. You fell asleep, too.”
“Only for a couple of hours. You slept way longer than me.”
I ease forward, my nose coming closer to his. “Everything working downstairs?”
“Why?” He asks that, yet Drew’s hand doesn’t hesitate to reach up my shirt and clasp my breast. I half expect him tohonkit, considering the playful mood he’s in. Yet all I get is an infuriating flick of his finger against my nipple. “You want me to fuck you like I’m taking payment for buying your train ticket?” It takes every drop of effort to not let my eyes roll back.
I don’t have enough effort. There they go. Can’t see shit now. Can only feel heat rushing to my pussy and tingles exploding in my tits.
“Mm-hmm. That’s what I thought.” Drew pulls his hand out of my shirt. I nearly fall forward. “You’re an easy slut.”
He says it with a nonjudgmental click of the tongue. Although everything from his tone to his posturing is facetious, I can’t help but take his words to heart. Does he sense that I take him seriously? Because Drew changes tune, sitting up to take me by the hands and draw me down into his lap. Soon, my arms are wrapped around him, his hand pushing up my skirt and sinking into the heat of my thigh. I’m so secure in his embrace that I almost forgot what he said.
“I mean,” Drew says, “you know what you want. Some people would say that makes you an easy slut.”
There’s something poetic about the way he says the wordslut.Most men say it with disdain. They’ve picked up the cadences from society. From the men in their lives. From the very women they tell are sluts. Of course, a slut can be any woman they sexually disagree with. She could be the purest virgin at the nunnery andstillbe a slut. I fully understand the connotations of that word. My exes have called me a slut, a whore, a floozy. Women call me Jezebel.
I call myselfcomplicated.
