Chapter Thirteen

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Merry Christmas!  A little late!






Chapter Thirteen

APOV


It was weird that I hadn’t ever spent a lot of time thinking about sex given the fact I’d been a whore.  Or if I did, I thought about it in terms of how many guys I’d have to suck off or fuck in a night or something.  It was always business; it was never because I wanted to.  

That had not been the case the last few days.  We hadn’t even had sex yet and all I could think about was Tyler—his hands, his body, his smile, his hair, his hands; his hands on me, his fingers in me.  That became the thing I thought about the most: his fingers inside me.  No one had put their fingers inside me in a way that was just for me in so long that I wasn’t sure I remembered what it felt like.  So when he said it was cool for me to ask for things, that was fucking what I was asking for.  I think I easily doubled, if not tripled, the amount of times I got off thinking about him compared to the time before Tyler.  

We called each other a ridiculous amount of times those days we didn’t see each other.  And the fact that I could hear him and couldn’t see him almost made it worse, because the fantasy thing he was talking about, it was really fucking easy when his voice was in my head.  

We could spend the entire day together today, though—I didn’t have to work and he was blowing off class.  I wasn’t sure that was really a good thing, that he was blowing it off for me, but it wasn’t like he was actually getting graded on anything, anyway.  

That was totally selfish and shit, but I just didn’t care.  I wanted to see him.  For as long as possible.  

We made plans for him to come over with his latest activity at an unreasonable time in the morning.  A time that neither of us would have been up normally for if it weren’t for seeing each other because we hadn’t in so many days—so many days being, like, three.  

I didn’t know what to expect—as usual—when I opened the door.  He was holding a huge box full of shit.  I laughed and moved out of the way.  “What the fuck is all this?”

“This is our project.”  

Project or not, the minute the box was out of his hands and the door was closed, I was kissing him.  I’d thought about that mouth for three fucking days, and it was just as soft and amazing as I remembered it.  

The first kiss was nice, gentle.  

It was frantic after that.  

My hands roamed all over his back and in his hair, and his were doing the same, and I wanted to climb up his body and press myself close to him…and tried just that.  I let out a whimper and a gasp when my leg started to ride up his leg and his hands dropped to them and lifted me up, backing us up to the couch.  

I think we were both a little tightly wound.  From there our mouths were completely possessed, and I was obsessed with the way his tongue fit along mine and our teeth would connect and how he’d frame my lips with his and suck them into his mouth and how we just kept it up for the longest fucking time, our breathing heavy and his fingers kneading along my sides.  

I think we got a little carried away, because before long, I was grinding down into his lap and rolling my hips into him and he was pulling me forward, and I would have done whatever the fuck he wanted to at that moment.  I could feel he was hard and it gave me such a rush of confidence, not because I could get him hard—I could anyone hard—but because I could feel myself getting wet, and that meant I wanted it as much as he did.  I wanted him; I wanted this.  I couldn’t remember a time where I wanted someone like that.  Where I wanted the attention, wanted him to keep touching me, keep kissing me.

He pulled back, resting his forehead on mine.  “Allison, we have to stop.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

“I know.  I don’t either.  And that’s why we have to.”

Goddamn motherfucking responsible cocksucker.  

I rolled my hips into him anyway, just for good measure, and he moaned into my mouth, kissing me again.  I held his face to mine, my hands kneading his neck and pulling at the ends of his hair.  I suppose that was kinda mean, but…I had needs, goddamn it.  

He chuckled as he pulled away the next time.  “Boy, once you want something, you really go for it, huh?”

I ground into his lap for an answer.  

He groaned, holding me still.  “Ok, we have to stop or I’m gonna do something really stupid.”

I was completely breathless. “Maybe I want stupid.”

“No.” He shook his head, pulling away.  “I don’t want stupid.  Not with you.”

“Ugh.”  I hadn’t really meant for that to come out, but he laughed at it.  I basically went limp, falling against his chest in defeat.  I let out a huge, shaky sigh and loved the feeling of his hands rubbing up and down my back before he just held me.  

“It’s not because I don’t want to.  I want to.  You have no idea how much I want to.”  His voice was so quiet.  “I just don’t want to fuck this up.”

I sighed into his neck.  “I know, I know.”  I backed up and looked at him.  His lips looked like mine felt: swollen and red, and his hair was a mess from what my fingers had been doing to it.  He leaned his head back on the couch.  “It just fucking… I’d rather be stupid.”

He chuckled.  “Being stupid is easier.”  He reached out a hand and moved the hair out of my face.  “I missed you.”

I smirked. “Yeah, I guess I missed you a little bit, too.”

“Just a little?”

“A tiny bit.  Not even worth mentioning really.”

He was smiling. “Well, that’s something.”

“So what’s this fucking box for?  What kind of project are you distracting me from sex with?”

He cleared his throat and scrubbed a hand over his face.  “Yeah, just gimme a minute or ten.”  His head thumped back on the couch.  

I moved off of his lap, because I’m sure that wasn’t helping, and he groaned.  I wasn’t sure if it was a thankful one or not.  I think it was easier when I wasn’t sitting on his lap, though.  I didn’t want to make it harder for him—not harder than it already was.  

And I kinda started giggling to myself because…ya know, harder.  He was still hard, and he turned his head to the side to look at me when I kept giggling.  I really couldn’t stop.

“What?” he asked.

I giggled some more and he picked up his head from the back of the couch, looking at me.  

“What?”

I waved him off. “Nothing.  I just kept thinking about how I didn’t want to make it harder for you, because you seem to be the one that has to be responsible, and, well—” I broke off into giggles “—I don’t know how I can help to make it less hard.”

He blew out a laugh. “Yeah.  Laughing at a guy usually works.”

I backed up.  “No, I didn’t… I’m not laughing at you, Tyler.”

He smiled. “I know.  I’m just teasing you.  Laughing wouldn’t work, anyway.  Everything you do makes me crazy; it wouldn’t matter.”

“Oh,” I said, and then smiled to myself.  

My smiling just made him smile wider.  I kinda liked that.  

“Yup.”  

I really didn’t want to make it ha—difficult.  I didn’t want to make it more difficult for him, so I got up from the couch and stood next to it instead.  “You want some coffee or something?  I can give you a few minutes to—” I laughed quickly “—settle down or whatever.”

He smirked. “Coffee’d be great.”

I nodded. “Ok.  I’ll get on that…and leave you alone for a few.”

I giggled the entire time I was in the kitchen.  I’m not sure if it was because I was proud of myself or because I felt bad that it was easier for me to get off of the sex track physically.  It wasn’t embarrassment—I mean, we both fully well knew that was gonna happen.  

I sat down at the table and he followed me into the kitchen a few minutes later, and I couldn’t help it again, I just started laughing.  He chuckled and got a cup from the cabinet, helping himself to the coffee.  He sat down and we both just kinda smirked at each other over our cups.  

He blew out a breath when he finished his. “Right, so…before we were derailed by hormones, I had a box.”  He got up and brought it back to the table.  “Whether it was rational or not, it really pissed me off when you said no one had ever given you flowers.  That’s just wrong.  Guys should have been giving you flowers all the time.”

My brow furrowed. “Why should they have been giving me flowers all the time?

“Because.  They just should have.  It’s just testament to the fact that you dated, or didn’t—or whatever—total assholes before.  And you said you wanted to keep them and wished that they wouldn’t die.  So, naturally, I decided I had to do something about that.”

Well, there we went again, bouncing all over into territory where he confused me—as to why I should have been bought flowers in the first place and then deciding he was making it his mission to help me keep them.  

“Wait, what?  How do you keep flowers?  They die.”

“Well, yes, but I looked up ways to preserve them.  And a lot of the ways are really stupid, and people said they didn’t really work or, like, if you press them, you don’t really have the flower—it’s all squished and shit—so that’s not really letting you keep it.”

“Pressing flowers?”  Did that really just come out of his mouth?

“Yeah.  Well, no.  We’re not pressing your flowers, but we’re going to try to preserve them.”

“Uhm.  Ok.”

“You said you wanted that, right?”

“Well, sure.  That’d be great.  I just… Ya know, you just always show up at my apartment with shit and I’m trying to keep up.”  

Jesus Christ, I don’t think anyone had ever actually listened to me as well as Tyler.  It was like he missed nothing.  Me saying I wanted to keep them had been such a small fucking part of the whole night.  It was just… He made me feel like I was actually being heard, and that was totally different than just listening.  

“We don’t have to,” he said quickly.

“No, that’s great.  I just… It’s like the ice-skating—just, bam, one day we’re ice-skating.  I love it; it’s great.  My brain just needs to catch up with your grand plan.”  I smiled at him.  “That’s really sweet.  Thank you.”

He shrugged.  “So I printed off about a thousand different instructions, some were just ridiculous, and this one seemed to be the easiest and the best way to preserve the whole flower.  I have no idea if it will work or not, and I’m not handy with like crafty shit at all, so this may be a complete disaster, and I may blow up your kitchen or something.  But I mean well.”

The smile hadn’t gone anywhere.  “Ok.  What are we supposed to do?”

He started unpacking the box.  “Well I think this one with glycerin is the best one to try.”  He showed me a list of instructions.  “There were some that suggested sand and shit, and baking and hanging, but I know my mom tried the hanging thing once and it failed miserably, and baking individual flowers was just… It sounded stupid.”  

I laughed.  “Yeah, ok.  So we’re doing which one?”

“This one,” he said, pointing.  “I got a bunch of glycerin from the craft store and I think they thought I was making a bomb or something because they looked at me really funny while I was checking out.  I read a lot of different instructions…”

He read instructions on how to preserve flowers.  For me.  Like, researched flower preserving.  Who the fuck does that?  And why did he always feel the need to make me feel so fucking special?  I wasn’t special.  I wasn’t anything.  He really didn’t need to do that.  It was nice—it was really fucking nice—but I just didn’t know if he really understood who he was doing this for.  I just…

“Tyler,” I said.

“What?”

“You know you really don’t have to do this stuff.”  I gestured to the box and the bottles of…whatever the fuck he’d just taken out that would blow stuff up.

His brows pulled down. “I want to do this stuff.”

“Why?”

He looked straight at me.  “Because.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Because no one else has and I want to.  I want to because you think I don’t have to.”

What the fuck did that even mean?  “I don’t know what you mean.”

He stood up to unload the box, but then he shoved it over and he sat down.  He sighed and then looked right back at me again.  “Allison, whatever life experiences and shit you’ve had—they sucked.  There’s no other way to really describe them.  It’s fucked up that no one’s given you flowers, or taken you out to a proper dinner, or given you a present, or asked you what your favorite color is and all that shit.  Or to do those things for you without having a reason behind it, or something they want from you in exchange.  

“I’m not asking for anything from you, and I only want you to give me what you want.  And it’s not like I do this kind of stuff for everyone, but I want to do it for you.  I want to do things for the people I care about—it’s normal to want to do things for people you care about.  

“And you do it, too—you make me dinner, or get the kind of soda I want at the theater, or buy the kind of beer I like and have it here.  It’s the same kind of thing.  I want to do these things because you deserve them.  You deserve for someone to treat you the way you should have been treated all along.  Ok?”

Well motherfucking Christ.  

I mean what do I even say to that?  Some of that shit, up until recently, were things I didn’t even think existed.  And his gentle question at the end was just…

I sighed and tried to keep my voice from shaking.  “It’s not a switch I can flip, Tyler.”

“I know.”

I nodded.  “Sometimes, things you do just don’t make any sense to me.  I don’t see what’s behind them.”

“No, it’s because you’re looking for something behind them.  And there’s nothing to find.  I just want to do it.  It makes me incredibly angry and sad when you don’t know why I’d be doing something nice.”

“Why does it make you feel anything?”

“I dunno, it just does.  Because it’s wrong.  Because me doing something nice for you shouldn’t mean you question why I’m doing it.”

I didn’t say anything back to him because I knew what he was trying to say.  I just couldn’t help it.  

“I know that you can only go on what you know,” he said this quieter than all the other stuff, “but I dunno, I guess I’m hoping if I do enough of it, it just becomes normal enough to be normal.”

I nodded.  “Ok.”

“Yeah?”

“But not everyone is like you, Tyler.”

“I know that.”

“It’s dangerous if I start to think that way.  Where I come from, that’s dangerous.”

For a while, I thought I’d stumped him, that he didn’t have any other answers.  After a few minutes, though, he said, “Ok, so then I’m trying to do enough of it so it’s normal enough to be normal with me.  So it won’t be dangerous to you outside of what we have.”

I thought about that for a few minutes as he started to unpack the rest of the box.  I loved that he gave me time to think if I wanted it.  

There was no pressure that way.  

I was beginning to…I dunno what the word was exactly, get used to, I guess—but that sounded more negative than I wanted it to—his sort of detailed or complex ideas.  He threw shit at me sometimes faster than I could take it in.  Ideas that didn’t at all line up to the life I’d had before I met him.  

And it wasn’t that I thought he was wrong, or that what he said wasn’t the normal way of things, because I knew that most of my life had been completely fucked up and not normal.  But like I’d told him, I couldn’t just flip the switch.  I couldn’t turn it off.  I couldn’t just accept what he said as truth without some sort of experience to go with it.  Words didn’t usually mean much, and I supposed that was why he did these things instead.  He showed me instead because he knew that him saying it wasn’t really going to help me at all.  

He really wasn’t asking for much; I didn’t really know if he was asking me for anything.  He just wanted me to understand that the things he did weren’t connected to anything else—that there was no catch—and he wanted to do it enough so I didn’t even wonder if there was a catch or why he wanted to do something.  

I don’t think he was really looking for me to answer, and I think what I said gave him the answer he wanted anyway.  “So what do we do with this shit?

He smiled.  “Some of the instructions said all you had to do was cut off the end of the stem of the flower, or crush it and stick that end in the glycerin, but I think from reading I’ve determined that only makes the flowers last a little longer, it’s not actually preserving them, so we have to dunk the whole flower in it.  But we can try both and see which works better, and if neither work, then I’ll just buy you more flowers.”

I laughed.  “Ok.  So we just stick all of them in this?” I pointed to the bottles of glycerin.

“That’s not real clear, either.  They all say to mix it with water, but the dunking one says just to stick it in there, and the stem only one says to boil it.  If all we’re doing is sticking stems in it, it won’t take that long,” he chuckled.

“So…should we do half and half?”

“Sure.” He nodded.  

I went to get the flowers, loving the thought of always having them in my room, keeping them forever.  It was that Tyler wanted me to have nice things, too—nice things for me.  That was what confused me sometimes, because it was so rare.   He wanted what I wanted.  It was a hard concept for me to remember.

Once I got them back to the table, we didn’t really talk much.  We followed the directions, pouring two parts water and one part glycerin in the large pan he brought, and realized too late we were going to need to put them somewhere, so I had to rummage around the apartment to find enough cardboard to lay them out on.  

It was really messy, but it was fun doing it with him.  

For the second set, I boiled the water and he started crushing the stems of the other flowers, and it occurred to me that this was probably not a normal date activity, and that made Tyler even more different.  How many dudes would crush fucking flower stems while not getting laid?  Seriously.

As I brought the water over and he poured the glycerin in and we stuck the stems in the pot, I bumped my hip against his.  “Hey.”

He turned to look at me.  “Hi.”

“You’re pretty great, ya know?  I don’t think I’ve told you that.”

He smiled.  “Thanks.  I think you’re pretty great, too.”

“Oh, my God, make me fucking puke.”

“Oh, shit.” My head dropped to hang in front of me for a second.  

Jordan hadn’t been up yet when Tyler got here.  I’d kind of forgotten that Jordan even lived in the apartment—or at all.  It wasn’t that I was afraid she was going to catch us or something—I’d caught her with guys before—it was just…the whole I-want-Tyler-to-myself thing.  I didn’t want her horning in on our time.  Or having this kind of conversation in front of him.

She moved around us to get to the coffeemaker, a noise leaving her mouth that was some part hurling, some part pure disgust.  “And what the fuck are you doing in our kitchen?  What are those flowers doing in the pot we use for chili?”

Tyler was smartly quiet, just went about stuffing the rest of the stems into the pot.  

“Morning, Jordan,” I said with a fair amount of ‘get the fuck out’ laced in there.

She turned to me with her cup of coffee, sipping it noisily.  “What?” she asked, smiling brightly.

“Maybe you’d like to have your coffee in your own goddamn room, huh?”

“No.”  She shook her head.  “I think I’d like to know what lover boy is doing over here.”  She was being annoying on purpose, sticking her face in between us to look in the pot.  “Were they dirty?  Are you sterilizing them?  Is this some kind of new kinky shit you two are trying after the relish got old?”

“Ugh.”  My hand came up to cover my face.  “Tyler, I’m sorry.”

He actually smiled at me.  And Jordan.  “It’s cool.”

Say what?  

Jordan hitched a hip and glared at him.  “And what exactly is ‘cool’, lover boy?”

“Well,” he started, sticking the last flower in the pot and turning around to face her, “you want to protect her, so we have that in common.  You want to make sure I’m not a total asshole, so I get that, too.  But I think I’ve figured out that all the guys you’ve dated are either the same caliber as the ones Allison has, or just one step up, so me being nice is just as confusing to you as it is to her.”  He folded his arms and leaned against the counter.

I’d never seen Jordan speechless—not once—she always had an answer.  
He wasn’t done, though.  “We’re currently preserving her flowers because I thought it might be nice, and I took your advice and got her the wallet, which was a really great idea.  When you can actually call me lover boy, I’ll let you know.  And when that happens, we won’t need relish or your approval.  And don’t forget, you’re the one who brought me to her in the first place.”  He held out his hand to me.  “You wanna go make out in your room?”

My eyebrows were up to the ceiling, I’m sure, but I took his hand without question and said, “Fuck, yeah,” before walking past Jordan and leaving her mouth hanging open in the middle of our kitchen.

Tyler only let go of my hand when we got to my bedroom and he sat on the bed while I closed the door.  I turned to find him smirking from the end of the bed, and I leaned against the door for a minute, wondering exactly what the fuck had just happened there.  

“I can’t believe you said that—no one talks to Jordan that way!  I don’t even talk to Jordan that way.  Not like that.  We swear at each other and bitch and shit, but…”

He chuckled. “I couldn’t help myself anymore.  She’s kind of a bitch.”

“Yeah, that’s how she protects herself.”

“You protect yourself, too, and you’re not a bitch.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t always protect myself well.”

He nodded and I basically plowed into him, flattening him on the bed.  He let out a little, surprised noise but held onto me.  I pushed the hair behind my ear and stayed above him, balancing on my arms.

He raised his eyebrows, smirking.

I snorted.  “I suppose you think you’re gonna get lucky now, huh?”

“I’m already lucky.”

I moved a hand to cover his face.  “Ugh, Tyler, that was so fucking lame.”  I rolled off of him, crawling up to the pillow.  He followed me, lying next to me, and we were back to the positions we’d been in the night I learned about his brother.  

“You think she’s gonna be really pissed at me?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.  I don’t think so.  I think she actually likes you, but she’s just cautious, wants to make sure I’m not completely led on or something.”

He hummed thoughtfully.

We were both been lying on our backs, but I rolled to my side, playing with the pocket on his shirt.  “So, I thought this was gonna include making out.  Wasn’t that the plan?”

He craned his head down to watch me play with the pocket before his eyes slowly tracked up my arm to my face.  “It was, yeah.”

Well that’s about all it took.  I leaned down, flattening my hand on his chest before fisting it in the shirt, and he rolled to his side and then we were completely tangled together again.  I wormed a leg between his and he moaned into my mouth when I moved it high enough to rub against his cock.  I’d been thinking about what he said for the last three fucking days.  I knew exactly what I wanted, exactly what I wanted to ask him for.  I just had to figure out when and work up the nerve to do it.  

I wasn’t modest at all—I was a fucking stripper, and I’d been a whore—I didn’t worry about nudity or embarrassment or anything like that, but I also had never been with anyone who set out to make any part of sex about me.  So I really didn’t know when the right time to ask was.  

We were both busy with making sure our mouths never left the other’s, but in bed here, with me rubbing against him and his hips jerking into me, his mouth starting wandering, pressing kisses all along my jaw and neck, and holy motherfucker, I nearly bucked my whole body into him when he nibbled at my ear.  When he moved back to my neck, my mouth just happened to be right near his ear, and I couldn’t stop myself anymore.  I didn’t give a fuck if it was the right time or not.  

“Tyler.”  My voice sounded so much deeper when we did this.  

“Mmm?”  He didn’t stop anything he was doing, which made concentrating much harder.

“I know what I want to ask for.”

“Yeah?”  He slowly moved back to my mouth, his tongue pushing its way inside.  

It was actually kinda funny, I think I asked in a series of one words all mixed in with kisses.  “I—” kissing “—want—” more kissing “—your—” still more kissing “—fingers—” fucking hell kissing “—in me.” HA! Two words!

His kisses stopped abruptly and he pulled back.  I thought he was going to stop completely or something.  He looked kinda shocked, then he smirked.  “Thinking about it quite a lot, huh?”

I made a point to rub my thigh against the bulge in his jeans.  “Yeah.”

His eyes fluttered closed and he moaned, shoving back into my thigh.  

“Tyler…”

“Yeah?”

“Please?”

He groaned, his forehead pressing against mine.  He chuckled. “There you go, full throttle again.”

“What do you mean?” This was annoying.  I’d just said what I wanted, and I could feel the wetness already in my underwear.  Wasn’t that how this was supposed to go?  I told him and then it happened?

“Let’s start a little higher, ok?”

Now, I could have been extremely fucking pissed off by that suggestion, but the way he was cupping my cheek and looking at me all lazy-smile even though I think his dick was gonna break through his pants…  

“Trust me, ok?”

And I really fucking did—I had been—so I had to trust that he knew what he was doing, or knew what I needed if I didn’t.  “Will it end with your fingers in me?”

He nodded twice, just twice.  “If you want it to.”

“Ok,” I breathed out before I really processed the answer.

He shifted my leg out from between his and already I didn’t like where this was going because he sat up the next second, and what the fuck was he doing?

“I want to take your shirt off, ok?”

Oh.  

I sat up with him and watched in a sort of distant way as he started unbuttoning my shirt.  His finger moved my chin up to look at him, his eyes searching.  “This ok?”

I nodded, saying quietly, “Yeah.”

His eyebrow rose. “You sure?”

“Yes,” I said more forcefully.

He smirked, pushing the material back off of my shoulders, and something happened that I don’t think ever had before: I felt…I felt fucking exposed, and I’d only lost my shirt.  

I lost my shirt every fucking night I was stripping—I lost more than that the nights I’d done more than stripping—but it’d never been like this.  Guys didn’t remove my clothes because they wanted to uncover anything or give me anything, it was because they wanted to come all over my tits, or hold onto them while they pounded into me.  

I actually had to resist trying to cover myself up.  I mean, what the fuck was wrong with me?  I finally got Tyler to this point and now I wanted to… I didn’t know what I wanted.  I didn’t want to stop, I just didn’t know.

“You wanna stop?”

He made this so much harder when he asked so quietly and his hand was rubbing so gently on my arm.  

I took a shaky deep breath, closing my eyes.  “No.  I don’t wanna stop.  I just…”

“It’s cool.  Whatever you wanna do is cool.”

God, why couldn’t he just be like, “Stop being a fucking baby, you’re a fucking stripper!”?  But, of course, the reason he was different was because he didn’t say shit like that.  

There was noise, like a rustle of clothing, and I still had my eyes squeezed shut trying to just figure out what the fuck was wrong with me, but the noise sounded a lot like him moving and I started to freak that he was gonna bail, and it forced my eyes open.  Just in time to see his shirt go over his head as he tossed it off the bed.  

Well.  

Couldn’t close my eyes now.  I’d felt his chest, so I mean, I knew…fuck, that his chest was amazing—defined and full without being overly muscular.  I hated guys who were all muscle, or more muscle than anything else.  Tyler was perfect; he was thin but still healthy, and more the outline of muscle there.  Whatever the fuck you wanted to call it, I liked it, and my hand jerked, immediately wanting to touch him.  He had a light dusting of hair that started just below his neck and went down the middle of his chest until it branched, oddly reminding me of a cross—maybe I was trying to have some sort of religious experience.  I liked where the hair circled his bellybutton and then kept going—a happy fucking trail for sure.  

Dark and black and standing out against his skin was Michael’s name, simple black lettering right over his heart.  I wanted to trace them, but I couldn’t even make my fingers move.  

He was being so fucking… Ugh, just everything, like usual, trying to even the field and be just as exposed as I was and the fucking stripper couldn’t even lift a hand to touch him.  

I was such a freak.  

As usual, he did it for me—took one of my hands and laid it flat against his chest, right in the middle.  I couldn’t meet his eyes—his chest was easier—I could handle looking there right now; I didn’t want to watch the question in his eyes, or see the patience there while I overcame some strange hang up I hadn’t even known I had.  I still couldn’t move my hand.  His skin was warm, his breathing slow, and my hand moved up and down with the pace of it.  

My hand slipped off his chest when he tipped sideways, lying on his side, and I didn’t know what was happening now.  Was he giving up?  I finally tore my eyes to his.  

I think this was worse.  

While he was lying there, I was still sitting there like a complete and total fucking moron, having a really difficult time not losing my shit sitting there with him in my bra.  

His eyes had the same warmth and patience I knew would be there when I met them.  I think he was giving me space.  “Do you want to take it off?” he asked all calm and shit.

I nodded.  

“Take it off and lie down with me.”

Honestly, this was easier with directions.  And it wasn’t like when I’d been ordered to do something before, because Tyler always asked.  I popped the clasp on the bra and basically paid as little attention to him as I could while I tossed it off the bed and lay down so our heads were close on the pillow.  

One hand snuck underneath my neck and the other he left resting near him.  “C’mere.”

That’s all it took before I was in his arms, my breasts pressed against him, our stomachs flush, and I tangled my legs with his.  Warmth spread all over as his hand moved to cup the back of my head, holding me to him, his head under mine, my chin resting on his shoulder.  

“I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with me,” I said before I really meant it to come out.  

“Nothing is wrong with you.”

I chuckled, but it really wasn’t funny.  “Yeah, Tyler, there is.  I’m a fucking stripper.  I’m on display every fucking night I work.  This should be the easiest thing in the world for me.  I take my clothes off for a living.”

He was quiet for a while and I started to wonder if maybe he was going to agree with me.  

“This isn’t the same, Allison.  You’re not performing for me.  That’s an act, this is just us.”

I pulled back, rubbing a hand roughly over my face. “But that doesn’t make any sense.  Why would I feel embarrassed or whatever with you?  You’ve seen me strip!  It’s not like I don’t know that you know I have tits or something.”

“You’re confusing two different kinds of bare.”

I sighed heavily. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“When you go out on stage, what do you think about?”

“I don’t think about anything.”

“Because…”

“Because that’s not really me.”

He nodded.  “Ok, and here, what were you thinking about?”

“You.  Me.  Us.”

His eyebrows lifted slowly. “And?”

And he left me to work it out again.  “And I’m a fucking freak.”

He scowled at me. “You detach when you strip.  You’re right here with me.  There’s nowhere else to go.  Showing me and showing them are two completely different things.  You’re physically bare when you strip, but they can’t have anything else.  You’re physically bare here, but you’re putting yourself out there for me here, too.  It’s emotional just as much as it is physical.  You can’t separate the two here.”

He was always so fucking logical, like he had that worked out an hour before we even started.  

It was kind of annoying.  

“It’s really kind of fucking annoying how you just throw that shit out like it’s so fucking obvious.”

He smiled gently. “Would you like me to stop?”

I sighed. “No,” I said angrily.

“Am I wrong?”

“Just fucking shut up already and touch me.”

He chuckled but his gaze was harder. “You first.”

Christ.  

Ok.  This wasn’t hard.  ‘Cause he was right there and I was practically in touch with every part of his skin that was available.  I just had to reach out.  

My hands had been pressed against his chest, just resting there, so I slowly started moving them out away from each other until I reached his arms.  I trailed them back and let my hand drop so my thumb traced over the letters there.  I wondered how many people had seen this permanent mark on his skin…and I think maybe that made me realize what he was talking about.  By showing me, he was giving me more than just another area to touch.  It was something no one else saw.  Something he kept covered up just for him.  

My hands dipped lower, thumbs dragging over his nipples and over his pecs.  I followed the trail of hair until it separated around his bellybutton and disappeared under his jeans.  

I loved his skin.  It was rougher than mine, the hair made it rougher, different feel to the surface of it than mine.  I loved the way his stomach muscles jumped when I ran my fingers over them, the way his breathing picked up and he shifted closer or ducked away.  My fingers were doing that.  I made it all the way back to his upper chest and became completely mesmerized by his collarbone.  

“Allison—” he was all breathy and I met his eyes “—can I touch you?”

I pressed my lips to his, nodding.  “Yeah.”  

And I meant it.  I was less…whatever.  I wasn’t afraid or really embarrassed anymore, and his hands started moving immediately, pulling at my sides and getting me closer, which I thought was really gonna fuck up his exploring, but whatever.  

I flat out chuckled when he went straight for my tits.  He was a guy, after all, and he kissed me quickly while he smiled.  

I suppose that was the easiest way for me to adapt, for him to just kinda go for it after I was comfortable enough.  

I paid attention to my nipples when I masturbated, I knew how sensitive they could be, but it wasn’t something I really dwelled on when other things felt better.  His hands, though? Fucking hell, his hands were amazing.  They felt huge on my body, rougher, the pads of his fingers were rougher, and it was just the idea of his hands being the ones doing this, the feeling of him kneading and caressing.  I pushed my whole upper body into his hands and found his mouth, my much smaller fingers scrambling over his back to get him closer, to feel more of him, to press our stomachs closer together, to feel the coarser hairs on his body skim against mine.  

I couldn’t help the noise that left me when he rolled my nipples between his fingers.  My hips bucked up into him, and there was probably some really pathetic desperation there, but it was like it was almost too much.  His mouth moved away from mine and down my jaw, quick, nipping kisses and open-mouthed ones that were wet and hot and left me shivering against him.  He was moving before I really realized, and I didn’t stop him.  He sucked right at my pulse point on my neck and then lapped after it, and my hands threaded in his hair and started scraping over his scalp.  

I can’t even begin to explain the sounds that were coming out of me, but I’d never heard them before, and I hadn’t even realized they were mine at first.  His head kept moving lower, licking over my collarbone and tracing it that way while his hands rolled and kneaded my breasts before doing the same thing at my sides.  His kisses got really gentle as he moved down the middle of my chest, stopping right in between my breasts.  I could feel his chin rest there for a minute and I looked down—I’d somehow gotten on my back, and his hair was a complete disaster and it was all my fault and I couldn’t really give a shit at all.  He was looking up at me and I knew it was for permission—permission he didn’t need—and I knew exactly where his mouth was going next and…

…absolutely fucking nothing could have prepared me for it.  

He got whatever permission he asked for in my eyes, and after a last flash of his that I saw, his mouth covered my nipple and I totally fucking screamed—the totally fucking good kind of screaming, but a scream anyway.  

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to pull on his hair or push him closer, and he didn’t seem to care either way.  I totally lost track of his tongue as it started to swirl and he sucked at the same goddamn time and it was like a blowjob for my nipples.  That’s basically the only thing I could compare it to, and then I only knew the blowjob from my side.  It didn’t fucking matter, though, and I didn’t even care, I just wanted his mouth to stay there and keep sucking and swirling.  He seemed to be able to do like fourteen things at once and all I could do was scream and pant and push more of myself into his mouth and swear and yank on his hair and try not to kick him off the bed.  

He was so fucking good at this.  

Once one nipple was tingling so badly it was making my vision get all spotty like I wanted to pass out, he just switched to the other one and started up there, pinching the other nipple that was so fucking sensitive that I didn’t know if I wanted more attention to it or not.  I could feel him straining against his jeans and I kept lifting my hips because the sucking on my nipples was just making the throbbing between my legs worse, and then he started moaning around them, too, and I totally fucking lost it.  

I didn’t even know it was possible to come from that alone.  

God, if he could do that to my tits, what the fuck could he do with the rest of my body?

I was panting like I ran a fucking marathon or something, and it wasn’t at all like it usually was when I came.  Normally, I was tired, and it was just a nice way to break the tension or relax.  This had the completely opposite effect.  My nipples felt like they were on fire but tingled like I wanted him to keep doing it.  I started squirming under him, wanting the same relief for my clit and the heat between my legs.  

I mean I think I was fairly obvious what I wanted, but like always, he still asked.  “Do you wanna stop?  We can stop for now.”

I shook my head. “I want it.  I wanna feel your fingers.”  

I was gonna fucking climb on his hand if he didn’t get there soon.  I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet and all he did was play with my tits.  I could feel the wetness between my thighs, well past soaking my underwear.  

“You’re sure?”

“Please, Tyler.”  

I nodded dumbly for, like, ten minutes, as long as it was gonna take to get him to do it.  

My hands darted down to undo the button on my jeans as he took care of the zipper, and I started to wiggle out of them, but I didn’t even need to because he got into them anyway, and I didn’t care at all as long as his fingers got there.  

He didn’t go as slow this time; he didn’t fucking need to.  The pads of his fingers ran over the strip of hair there and then his middle finger found my clit and I came again right then.  My legs were possessed or something—I had absolutely no control and they were jerking and kicking in all directions.  

He waited until all the random spasms seemed to stop and then his finger was at it again, circling and rubbing, and how did he know just how to touch me?  His finger moved lower, pushing between my folds—and I think he was panting just as much as I was—my wetness soaking his hand right away.  His finger was gentle and tentative, but once he knew how wet I was, he didn’t wait and pushed two fingers inside of me.  His thumb put pressure on my clit and this was like the ride that didn’t end—I came for the third time in, like, ten fucking minutes, and I hadn’t even really gotten to enjoy his fingers inside of me.  

It was a good thing he was bigger than me, what with all the goddamn thrashing around the bed I was doing, because he just kept holding me down so I didn’t do some sort of damage, and he kept his fingers inside until I stopped clenching around him and basically collapsed back into the pillow—I’m not sure you can collapse when you’re already on a fucking bed.  

I had enough sense to realize that I came three times and he hadn’t at all, and that he was licking me off of his fingers.  I yanked hard on his hair and he chuckled and moved up to me, pressing his forehead against mine and trying to slow his breathing.  I tried to do the same while running my hand down his belly and reaching for his jeans, but he moved my hand away.

I looked up at him, his eyes cloudy but he was smiling broadly.  “I’m good.”

“You didn’t come,” I pointed out completely uselessly.  I think he got that part.  

“I’m good,” he insisted.  

“Tyler.”

“This wasn’t about me.”

I was going to say something else, but he pressed his lips to mine, and fucking hell, he tasted like me.  I moaned into his mouth as my tongue slid along his and could this get any better?  

This got even better, right?  

I wasn’t sure I was gonna survive anything better.  

All thought sort of cut off after that and I totally fell asleep but didn’t really mean to.  I mean, I came three times, so I was happily satisfied, but…I hadn’t planned on conking out on him while he was still hard and everything.  

I’d have to remember to fix that for him when I was less boneless and more awake. 








One (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) |   Two   |  Three  |  Four  |  Five  |  Six  |  Seven  |  Eight  |  Nine  |  Ten  |  Eleven  |  Twelve  |  Thirteen  |  Fourteen  |