Everything about this night was wrong. It shouldn't have been this damn cold in the spring. I shouldn't have been here, standing outside my car with my hands tucked into my jacket pockets, watching the neon sign flicker above the bar. The bottle of liquor shouldn't have been half empty. It shouldn't have sat there on my hood, tempting me to take another sip.
I shouldn't have been there to do what I was going to do.
I should have been on a plane to somewhere, God knows where. Wherever Peter was. But since I didn't know where he had gone, getting on a plane would be useless. If he had wanted me to know where he was, he would have said something other than I'll talk to you later.
I took another sip of Jim Beam. It burned in my belly. I watched the sign flicker into darkness. The hiss was gone and the sudden silence was unsettling. My ex-boyfriend would be coming outside soon, right through that door. I had no clue what I was going to say. The truth? I tested it on my tongue.
"I want to go home with you," I murmured. "I want to go home with you and fuck you until neither of us can walk."
But that wasn't the whole truth.
"I want to hurt him," I said. I took another drink. "I want to hurt him like he hurt me. I want to show him that he can't just discard me and think that it is okay. I want to have more fun than he's having."
That was almost the whole truth. What else?
"I don't want to be lonely anymore. I want to feel wanted."
Richie stepped to the door. Through the smoked glass I could see him laughing. He had been drinking, but he wasn't drunk. He shook his head and said something to the guy behind the bar. The door swung open and there he was, a little on the short side and lanky in his leather jacket. A baseball cap was pushed down to his ears, worn backward like a little kid might wear it. He squinted in the dim streetlights and flipped out his key ring. Looked around for where he had parked. That's when he saw me.
His eyes widened. I watched the reactions flitter across his face. Surprise. Confusion. Questioning. Happiness. A little of the ice around my heart melted when he smiled.
"What are you doing here?" Richie asked. "It's three in the morning..."
His eyes fell on the bottle of Jim Beam. "Oh, no."
"Yes."
"I thought you were sober." His jaw was set in a hard line. I watched the pulse in his throat, running just a little too fast.
"The wagon got a little too narrow."
I reached to take another swig. Richie grabbed my hand in mid-air. He pried the bottle from it and looked at the label, then tossed it in the general direction of the trashcan. The glass broke, a tinkling noise in the night, and a cat shot out from under a nearby car to scamper around the building.
Richie looked at me closely. "What happened?"
"I want you," I said softly.
He looked away. Looked back. "Say that again?"
I shook my head. I pulled the zipper of his jacket down. The sound was a serrated knife in the tension. His shoulders relaxed. He took a step closer.
"Why?" he asked.
"So many reasons," I said.
"Where is Peter?" he said. His voice was slow and wary.
"I have no idea," I admitted.
Richie blinked down at me. His face registered surprise before something else crept in, something much nicer than that. He brushed my hair back from my face and settled himself against me. He already had an erection. It pressed against my thigh and the heat of him was more intense than that alcohol in my belly.
"What a bad thing for him," he murmured. "What a good thing for me."
I unbuttoned my blouse. It was black and accented the red teddy I wore underneath my clothes. Those little cups didn't hide anything at all - it was lingerie meant to be worn for all of five minutes before it wound up in a heap on the floor. Richie took one look at it and groaned deep in his throat. He unbuttoned my jeans.
"Right here?" he breathed into my ear. I leaned back on the hood of my car to give him access. I wiggled the denim down my hips and kicked my shoes away. Richie unzipped his jeans and then he was right there against me, pulling the teddy until the snaps at the crotch gave way. One smooth thrust and he drove all the way home.
I thought of Peter then, wondered where he was, wondered what he was doing.
Wondered whom he was doing.
"Is this how you want it?" Richie growled. He went at me hard enough to push my ass up the hood. I remedied the problem by bracing myself with my hands and thrusting right back at him. His cock was hard and thick and touched all the right places and within minutes I was coming, coming hard, while he wrapped my hair around his hand and pulled until I gasped.
"Suck my cock," he ordered when my orgasm had faded.
The gravel bit into my knees. The grille of the car pressed hard into the back of my head as he slid his cock past my lips. I ran my hands up his thighs and felt the car keys in his pocket, the rough denim, the warmth of skin and finally, the velvet hardness as he slid in and out of my mouth.
I stroked him and sucked the head of his cock. Richie watched me for a while, then threw his head back and looked up at the stars. His hand trembled in my hair.
"Tell me -- " he began, then cleared his throat. I slid my teeth lightly up his engorged crown and he moaned.
"Tell me...tell me what Peter does to you. What he likes most."
I stopped what I was doing for a moment and looked up at him, surprised. His eyes were closed. His hips were swaying gently with the same motion of my mouth on his cock. I licked his tip and stroked him slowly while I thought about the question.
"He likes to go down on me. But I don't like it that much. That's more for him than for me." I thought some more. "He likes to slide between my tits and make himself hot that way. He likes to come on me. My face. My chest. All over."
Richie's cock surged even harder at my words. "I want to do what he does."
"Why?" I asked, then went back to sucking him.
"Because...Fucking somebody else is vindictive as hell. Shouldn't you take it all the way? Do all the things he does? All the things he wants?"
I tongued his slit. He bucked up gently. "So come on me," I murmured. "All over me."
Richie reached down to play with my nipples. His whole body shuddered when I sucked delicately on the sensitive spot right under the crown of his cock. I traced it with my tongue and then lifted my breasts to press against his shaft. Richie gasped as he slid between the soft globes. My nipples rubbed against his balls every time he thrust upward, and I licked his head with every plunge. It wasn't long before his hands were squeezing my hair and he was fucking back and forth, completely lost in sensation.
"God...those beautiful tits...I'm going to come all over them," he growled.
I thought about Peter. I thought about Peter while Richie's pumping sped up. He gasped and moaned out loud. I thought about Peter while white cream slid down the side of my face, down my throat, down my breasts and dripped off one nipple. I took Richie's cock in my hand and aimed the last of his thick semen at my face.
"Christ," he gasped out as he watched it splash over my cheek. He moaned lightly while I jacked his cock, spreading some of his jism over the shaft to make it easier.
"Is that what you wanted?" I was panting for my own release. And he was still hard as a rock. He gently removed my hand and stepped back to look at me.
In a voice that shook, he asked me point-blank, "Is that what you wanted?"
"Take me home with you," I said. "Take me home and do everything I want you to do. Fuck me until it hurts and then fuck me some more."
And he did.
His house was just as I remembered it, neat as a pin, a shocking surprise for a man who seemed anything but put-together during his day-to-day life. His bedroom was the most orderly of the entire house. I looked at the bookcase, the novels lined up perfectly on the shelves and not a speck of dust anywhere, as he slid his cock into me again.
"Tell me what you want me to do," he said.
"I want you to come."
"Will you come with me?"
"Probably not. But that doesn't matter."
"Like hell it doesn't," he growled.
He went down on me. I watched the ceiling fan go round and round, listened to distant sirens on the city street, thought about the fact that I had never come for Peter while he did that same thing, and finally ran my fingers through Richie's hair and rocked against his tongue. He slipped his fingers into my mouth, wet with my juices, and I came when he scraped his teeth gently across my clit. The orgasm left me stunned and weak. I could hardly hold my eyes open as he hovered above me and slid his cock into me one more time.
"Is he bigger than me?" Richie asked.
"No."
"You don't have to lie."
"He's thicker, but you're longer," I admitted. "And I like it deep. Remember?"
In answer, Richie pushed harder, grinding down against me. He lifted my legs up over his shoulders and then he hit deep enough to take my breath away. It hurt and I didn't hide the moans or the cries. The depth he was hitting sent him to a fever pitch.
"Does he like to come in you? The way you like it?"
"He uses condoms," I told him, putting a vicious twist of disgust on the words.
Richie slammed me hard with that last thrust. He came with a shout that was barely muffled in my shoulder. The heat of him flooded me and I rocked hard against him, encouraging him through the pleasure.
"What else?" he said, when he could speak.
"What?"
"What else does he like to do? I want to do it."
"He likes two women."
"Don't we all. Have you done that?"
"Not with him."
Richie blinked at me, surprise written all over his face. "You've been with a woman?"
"I wanted to know what fisting was like."
I knew what he was thinking before he said another word. My body hummed with a new, sudden and urgent need. His hand crept down between my legs. We could both feel the slickness, the naughty slip of his fingers through wetness that had come from both of us.
"Semen makes a good lube," he whispered in my ear.
Three fingers slipped into me and I ground against him with a moan. His hand was larger than Marisa's, the woman who had settled between my thighs and licked my clit while her slim hand pushed hard, then harder, and finally slid into me with a rush and a whimper of excitement.
"You're remembering," he said.
"Your hand is bigger," I told him, and in response he slipped in a fourth finger.
"Want me to stop?"
"No."
He pushed his hand hard against me. I spread my legs wider and in the dim light I saw him look up at my face. His hand twisted slowly, ever so slowly, pushing gently as he went. Every now and then he pulled his hand out and flicked his fingertips over my clit, made me writhe and moan and almost beg, and then he pushed his fingers in even deeper than they had been before.
I clenched the headboard. He sucked on one nipple. I gasped aloud as he pushed hard. The pressure was intense, too intense for me to handle, and I told him so.
"Too much..."
He pulled back slightly, but not enough to take away the pressure. Instead of pushing he began to twist again, and somehow his knuckles were hitting that spot that was guaranteed to drive me wild. The stretching was delicious and his breath against my throat was hot. I spread my legs wider and lifted my hips, giving him permission to give me more.
Then he was between my legs and his tongue was playing over my clit, his hand was twisting and pushing and withdrawing with the same rhythm of his tongue, and I was pushing up against him. My voice was hoarse and desperate and demanding. He rose on his knees and pushed hard, harder than I thought I could handle, but my protest was lost in the moan of surprised ecstasy as his hand stretched me until I gave, demanded until I broke. The fullness sent me hovering on the edge of pleasure, unable to fall over into the abyss.
"Did it feel like this?" he asked, his voice just as harsh as mine.
"This...this is...better," I whimpered. He twisted his hand and I cried out, feeling the bones of his wrist, the burn and sting of my skin stretching around him. He moved his fingers, experimenting and seeking and finally finding one place after another that made me beg for mercy and beg for more.
"You want me to fuck you?" he asked.
"Hard."
"Don't tell me to stop unless you really mean it," he said, and then he was pulling his hand back in preparation for the first deep thrust. When it came I held onto the headboard and squealed his name through clenched teeth. His thrusts were smooth and even and deep enough to hit bottom. The pain was pleasure and the pleasure was intense. It was on the tip of my tongue to beg him to stop, to tell him I couldn't take anything more, but I didn't say it because it wasn't the truth.
The truth was, nothing had ever felt so damn good.
I held hard onto the headboard and I might have screamed when I came - I'm not sure -- the world had become a haze of sensation. I was dimly aware of his voice in my ear, of his groan of release, of the warm spill of his own orgasm over my thigh. The only thing clear was the throbbing of my own body and the blood thundering in my ears and the struggle to breathe, deep gasps of air that seemed too heavy to slide into my lungs.
Long moments later I opened my eyes. Richie was sitting on the bed beside me, his hand running through my hair, looking more than a little concerned.
"You passed out," he said succinctly.
I stared at him for a moment, and when the fact of it registered I began to laugh. My laughter shook the bed and filled the room. My body was sore, my head hurt like hell, and my pussy was still throbbing. All the pain and anguish of the last few weeks flooded out of me with the laughter that came from deep inside, leaving me as weak and needy as a newborn kitten.
"Hold me," I said, and before the words were out of my mouth, Richie's arms were tight around me, pressing me hard to his chest. Breathing was difficult, but I didn't want to move.
"Are we having fun yet?" he whispered. I chuckled.
"We're not done, are we?"
"No possible way."
"What comes next?"
"Anything you want?"
"I don't know what I want," I admitted, and we both knew I was talking about much more than the sex.
"Do you want him?" Richie asked.
I thought about that. Did I want Peter? He had driven me insane with grief and furious with jealousy. He had literally driven me to drink. He probably didn't give a damn and if he did, he wasn't going to show it. Did I want a man who was so adamant in closing himself off from me?
"I don't want him," I said.
Richie climbed on top of me. "Good," he said, and groaned as I once again opened my mouth and sucked his cock deep inside.
Originally published August 2006 - "Sweat"