Calendar Girl - An erotic novel (Xcite Erotic Romance Novels) Page 4

  ‘Spread those cheeks for me, big boy,’ I whispered. OK, so I was getting into this. Something about having one false cock buried deep inside me while one waggled in front of me as I walked.

  Alan had widened his knees where he knelt on the sofa. He handed me a bottle of lube and I started working on him with my fingers. ‘You know the drill,’ I said. When I shifted, I felt that a small nodule resided inside the harness too. So when I moved I was both stroked on the clit and filled by the appendage. ‘Oh, God, yes. I like my present,’ I said and watched his back pebble with goose bumps.

  ‘Fuck me, Merritt. Do me. Don’t wait. You have me so turned on I feel like I could cry. Or punch something. Or both.’

  I plunged into him, holding on for dear life as if I were the one being fucked. The dildo inside me surged up as I thrust in and so it went. Faster and faster until I came, shivering around my toy like a slut. Alan’s huge hands had been at work, jerking off, clutching his balls. He balanced himself by pressing his forehead to the back sofa cushion.

  I pulled out and he was up and at me like some large predator. I let out a little yell as he pulled the wet dildo from me, his hands flashing on the condom wrapper, big fingers flying. ‘God, Merritt, that was so fucking hot. I could love you, I think,’ he said. Nonsense words, really. We’re-going-to-fuck words. I-want-you-so-bad words. But just words.

  Nevertheless a spiral of fear filled my chest and my stomach rolled over with nerves. I came, hard, as he drove into me, holding my hips flush to his overstuffed sofa so I couldn’t squirm or escape or hardly move. When his teeth came down on my nipple and bit me just hard enough to jump start an orgasm. I came again like a runaway train on a snowy track as sleet kissed his window glass. But after that night, I put him off and put him off and put him off. We had one night of apologies and pity sex and then Alan was gone. Good-bye February, hello, March.

  ‘I really don’t know why he has to do this to me,’ my mother said.

  I gaped at her. ‘To you? Um, Ma, I don’t think Jack is gay because of you. Or to do anything to you. I don’t think that it has anything to do with you at all.’

  As hard as that is to believe!

  She frowned, her mocha-painted lips drawing down into an unhappy arch before she caught herself and returned her face to a neutral position. ‘He was perfectly fine last year.’

  I rolled me eyes and sighed. ‘Woman,’ I said. When she glared at me, I caught myself. Too much time around Jeffrey was the problem. ‘Mom,’ I said, starting again. ‘Jack’s sexuality has zero to do with you. It’s just how he’s wired.’

  She looked unconvinced and a bit miffed. ‘Like I said, he was fine a year ago.’

  ‘He was fine. He is fine. What you mean is, he was in the closet and you were unaware of his sexual orientation.’

  ‘Shush, you!’ she said.

  ‘What?’ We walked through the mall looking for a birthday gift for Aunt Rita.

  ‘Stop saying sexual.’ My mother would Botox her face and pay for a trainer. She would hostess lingerie parties and even attended a sex toy party once as it was the chic thing to do, but God forbid her daughter say sexual.

  Eesh.

  ‘Sorry. OK, how about this. Your son is happy.’

  ‘It’s OK to say gay now,’ she informed me.

  I had to fight the urge to beat my head against the shop window. ‘I mean he is happy as well as gay. As in content, satisfied, in a good place.’

  She nodded sharply but her mouth was still a harsh line. ‘Fine, fine. Whatever.’

  Oh, my God. I just nodded to move past this ridiculous speed hump in the conversation.

  ‘So what about you and this Alan that Jackie told me about. He said he’s a huge, beastly, strapping man.’

  ‘He is, but it’s over.’

  ‘Why? Because he chewed too long? Didn’t like the same movies you like? I tell you, Merritt, you are too picky. What was wrong with this one? He liked bass instead of flounder? He didn’t like blue?’

  ‘No, Mom. He liked blue too much.’ It was hopeless to try and explain to her why I was laughing so hard. When we went to lunch, I met Duncan.

  Chapter Four

  MARCH 1ST, LUNCH TIME, right on schedule if he’d known. A bit stuff and a stickler for detail, Duncan turned to us during lunch from a neighbouring table and said, ‘Pardon me–’

  Do you have any Grey Poupon?

  I snickered and he frowned but went on. ‘Can I borrow your pepper grinder? Mine is stuck and apparently they cannot just bring me a new one. I asked five minutes ago. Maybe they are constructing a new one in the kitchen.’

  My mother laughed heartily, one snob enjoying another snob’s funny. I handed him the grinder and our fingers brushed. I noticed a redness rush to his cheeks and couldn’t help but be flattered. A snob with good taste. He fancied moi.

  ‘This is my daughter, Merritt, and you are?’ My mother had pounced. Swooped in like some bespectacled, brooch-wearing bird of prey. She smelled son-in-law material and wasn’t about to let it escape.

  ‘Duncan Chalmer, ma’am. Merritt.’ He nodded to me and I nodded back, barely swallowing another laugh. This one high-pitched, nervous and mortified.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ I said.

  ‘Likewise. Extremely much so. Might I recommend the spinach salad? It’s to die for here.’

  ‘Really? I do like a good spinach salad.’

  Duncan nodded but his eyes kept darting to me. A pale ice blue, deep set, blondish hair cut almost militaristically short. Did he iron his socks? His boxers? Or was it briefs? Boxer-briefs was what my money was on. And eyeing the cut of his shoulders in that navy blue suit, I decided I’d like to find out. Hello, Mr March. ‘Sounds great. I love spinach salad.’

  My mother snorted, very unladylike. ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since ... um, Jeffrey started making those spinach puffs for his parties.’

  ‘Oh, yes, those are grand. I love those. Jeffrey is a good cook.’

  ‘And gay, ‘I couldn’t help but remind her.

  ‘Yes, but it’s OK for him to be gay. He’s always been gay.’

  I had to keep from laying my head on the table; she was exhausting. Truly. Duncan looked both amused and a tiny bit horrified. He nodded to the waiter who delivered a tall glass of water with three wedges of lemon. And a new pepper grinder. And when I say new, I mean brand spanking new. Duncan was peeling the plastic barrier off the bulbous head that held the peppercorns.

  ‘My son is gay,’ my mother informed the waiter and Duncan. ‘Newly, freshly gay,’ she continued.

  I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it again. No words would come. I didn’t feel so bad, the two men were doing the same. I had no chance at all with Mr March. None.

  Duncan cleared his throat, smiled, and said, ‘May I join you?’

  What an amazing kisser. Duncan worked with his hands but what he could do with his lips was insane. Three days after we met we were on our first date and when he kissed me after ice cream and the warm, magic of his mouth met the cold shock of my lips, I was hooked. If he could kiss that way, then what could he manage down below? I shivered to think.

  We’d stopped to kiss on the walk through the park. Ice cream, kissing, walking, kissing, watching the wind whip at the oak trees and the squirrels scurry for food the park visitors tossed out, kissing. Finally, I turned full-on to him as he kissed me and his hands slipped inside my big blue parka. His fingers inched under my red sweater and the warm pads of his fingers swept my bare stomach making the muscles flutter and dance. I shivered again, but not from the wind.

  His tongue was stroking mystical patterns over mine, his soft, soft lips working against mine so that my pussy flooded with anticipatory juices. Oh, how I wanted proper, peppercorn Duncan. Wanted his pink, full lips on my pussy, sucking at my clit like a tiny little berry. I wanted him to stroke the taut tip of his red velvet tongue in and out of my pussy hole until I begged. Then I wanted him to suck me like a lollipop until I came before buryin
g his cock into me, balls deep, and dangerously ready. I sighed into his mouth and his fingers crept a bit higher so that he swept his fingertips along the underwire of my bra.

  ‘Naughty girl,’ he said and then kissed a perfect trail down my throat. He worked his fingers under my bra as my coat flapped around us. I felt the insanely warm touch of his fingers to my nipples as his tongue stroked my clavicle and my panties were wetter still with my own slippery need. I thought I might come right then and there.

  ‘Take me home, God, please, take me home,’ I blurted. Maybe I should be ashamed. But I so was not at all. And everyone would just have to deal with it. I wanted to know what proper, neat Duncan could do in the sack.

  ‘Say please again,’ he chuckled.

  ‘Please, please, please!’ I gasped and he pinched my nipples hard one time so that I whooped and everyone turned to look. I blushed a deep crimson but when he took my hand and tugged me toward where his car awaited, I hurried along after him, eager and shameless and ready.

  His house was a small, neat cottage with a navy blue door. His bedroom a large neat, light space dominated by a sleigh bed done in shades of white. He kissed me like he couldn’t breathe without it and his tongue danced over my collar bone, my shoulders, my breasts as he undressed me. He undressed me as he did everything else, methodically and calmly. A surgeon preparing for surgery, a seamstress stitching a seam. I writhed and danced, hurried and impatient under him. But he did it his way – maddeningly slow and tantalizingly well.

  I pushed at his shoulders, trying to get that wet, blessed tongue of his down to my belly button and then lower. I didn’t shove him, I gently encouraged him to kiss me lower. He did, kissing the flat of my belly and briefly the small swell above my panties. When his fingers hooked in my panties and tugged to bare my pussy and the V of my legs I almost started praying, though I’m not religious in the least.

  Duncan veered up, kissing up my ribs, pushing his warm fingers into my cunt and flexing. The friction and stimulation was enough to make me shake under him. His lips closed over my nipple and he sucked. I sighed. He licked, I shimmied. He fucked me with his fingers, his hard cock pressing to my thigh through his (yes!) boxer-briefs. He’d stripped down to there and there he stayed for the moment. Because this moment was all about me. He rubbed his hard length for a moment and sucked my other nipple until I was nearly babbling. I pushed his shoulders gently again and he kissed along my side so that I jumped from the tickling sensation.

  ‘Kiss me, please,’ I said. Meaning there.

  ‘I am kissing you,’ he laughed, flexing his fingers a bit more so that my release came closer still. I was going to come soon one way or the other.

  ‘No, kiss me lower.’ I laughed because I still couldn’t manage it. To say it out loud. Sometimes I’d whispered it like a prayer in the dark, but this was not that moment.

  He kissed my hip and I tried to rotate but he held me flat. ‘No ... lower ... still.’

  Duncan scraped the hot flat of his tongue over my hipbone, he kissed below my belly, he kissed my hip and then my inner thigh, but still no closer to ground zero. When he went to move up, I held him fast with my palms. Gently, so as not to appear rabid. ‘Good God, would you please, for just one second lick me?’ Desperation had given me a voice.

  ‘Oh that,’ he said, moving up and fishing in his pants pocket. He removed a condom, bent and kissed my lips perfunctorily and then rolled it on. ‘I don’t do that.’

  ‘That?’

  ‘Cunnilingus,’ he said.

  ‘Cunnilingus?’ I echoed, as if I had never heard the word and who called it that, anyway?

  ‘Yes, that. I don’t do that.’ He pushed my legs wide and insinuated himself between. I was so beyond horny, so ready from his staggering kisses that I shimmied into position so he could guide his cock to my soaking wet slit. Duncan ran the head of himself along my pussy and then rolled my own slippery juices over my clit. The pressure was unbearable and I grabbed at him, trying to pull him in. He laughed softly and slid into me in one slow stroke.

  ‘Why?’ I couldn’t help but ask even as I hooked my leg behind his back and tugged him close. He thrust into me with an exasperating kind of patience. Caught my arms up above my head and held me there so I couldn’t rush him. My inability to spur him made me wetter and a bit crazy.

  ‘It’s too messy,’ he said simply and bent to kiss me. I guessed to shut me up, but who knows.

  Duncan fucked me to the edge once, twice, three times, before delivering the death thrust and plunging into me high and hard so that every nerve that needed to feel him did. I came with a loud cry and he pulled free, flipped me to my belly and moved back into me. His fingers roamed my buttocks like a man reading Braille. He traced the curve of my back, the flare of my hips, the dip of my spine until goose bumps reared up along my skin. I shivered and he stroked me like his pet.

  ‘I’m going to come, Merritt,’ he said. ‘And I’d like you to come with me. Will you?’

  I nodded as his fingers gripped my hips and his thumbs made small swoops along the fleshy part of my bottom. ‘Yes, yes,’ I agreed heartily.

  ‘Will you put your fingers to yourself for me? Circles and feathers and figure eights. Touch yourself for me, Merritt. Come with me,’ he said. The last of it a bit thin and wispy from him struggling to keep control. The sound of his struggle had me in a frenzy. I rubbed my clit in hard circles, shoving myself back to take the full brunt of his cock.

  Duncan hissed like he’d been burned and his grip on me tightened. ‘Merritt,’ he managed and then I was coming. My wet fingers flying over my own engorged flesh, my body slamming back to greet his. We came together and then fell into a heap on the white, white bed.

  My heartbeat was barely down when he leaned over and gave me a short but sweet kiss. ‘Now I need a shower. Immediately. Then I’ll clean out the tub and you can go.’

  I watched him leave. A tight little ass and a shock of uber short blond hair. And a neat freak. Oh, shit.

  I waited for the shower water to kick on and then I found my cell phone. I dialled Jeffrey and Jack answered. I looked at the number. Nope. I had dialled right. ‘Jack?’

  ‘Mer?’

  ‘Jack, why are you answering Jeffrey’s phone! If you two are–’

  ‘Calm yourself down little sister. I came over to borrow a stock pot.’

  ‘Do I believe you?’ I asked aloud and then thought it over. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Whatever,’ my brother said. ‘Do you want Jeffrey or not?’

  ‘Of course I do! That is why I called Jeffrey.’

  I could hear my brother glare at me. ‘Hold your britches on, then.’

  There was a scraping, muffled, staticky transfer and then Jeffrey chuckled darkly and said, ‘Girl, tell me, what is wrong with this one.’

  ‘He doesn’t do that.’ I turned to my back, my breasts pebbling with goose bumps, my nipples spiking in the chilly bedroom. I laid there, splayed like some long-suffering saint.

  ‘Do what?’ Kitchen noises filled the background and I wondered what those two were up to. Please, dear lord, don’t let them be banging each other, because frankly, Jeffrey was a slut and I didn’t want him to break Jack’s heart.

  ‘Cunnilingus,’ I whispered.

  Total silence. And then, ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘But he was good in bed, right?’ Jeffrey asked, handing me his world famous Bloody Mary.

  I stirred with my artistic celery spear and frowned. I had to be honest. I’d left Duncan’s house that night to return home. This morning I was slugging red fire with Jeffrey and trying to explain my mix of emotions, satisfaction with annoyance. Euphoria with disappointment. ‘He was awesome in bed. He just wouldn’t ...’

  ‘Suck, lick, spear, lave, trace, toy, eat?’ Jeffrey was laughing so hard a tear slipped from one big brown eye. Hmm. Was that eye shadow?

  ‘Yes! I mean, no! None of those. And I found it very distressing.’ I sighed, bit a chunk out of my vegetable and chase
d it with some blood red liquid napalm. You’ve heard the saying it’ll put hair on your chest? Jeffrey’s Bloody Marys would put hair on your chest, your back ... your palms and the soles of your feet. ‘Wooohoot!’ I yelled.

  ‘I know. Good, right?’

  I could only gasp for air. I managed a nod and wiped my eyes.

  ‘It’s the Old Bay that really does it. And you are simply spoiled. So he doesn’t go for the oral Olympics. It’s not like he left you hanging, right? I mean you did get an orgasm.’ He batted his lashes and played with his red scarf.

  ‘Is that Jack’s scarf?’ I said suspiciously. I had just noticed the shoots of black fringe and realised I had bought it for my brother three Christmases before.

  Jeffrey blinked and smiled. ‘He left it here when he came to borrow my pot. I have procured it temporarily. I’ve always coveted it anyway. I can’t believe you didn’t buy me one.’

  ‘You are a thief,’ I sighed, with no real heat. ‘I know it shouldn’t be such a big deal, but it is. I wanted him to ... you know.’

  ‘Eat you like a lollipop?’ Jeffrey took a slug of his own drink and let out a bawdy yawp.

  ‘Jeffrey!’

  ‘Lick you like an ice cream cone? Go diving for pearls? Go down below? Eat the h–’

  ‘Jeff!’

  ‘Don’t call me Jeff!’

  ‘Don’t be a turd!’

  ‘Fine,’ he said.

  ‘Good,’ I said.

  ‘To a month without tongue,’ he chuckled and raised his glass.

  I clinked mine to it, frowning at his amusement. Instead of cheers I said, ‘Damn.’

  Chapter Five

  I HAD COME UP with a game plan. I didn’t tell Jeffrey because he had a way of derailing me in one of two ways. He either laughed so hard I scrapped the idea or he was the voice of reason. The second was the rarer of the two. Usually the level of laughter indicated how crazy I was at any given time.