Venus in Blue Jeans, page 11
Another five minutes and he’d need a napkin for the drool.
Docia unlocked her door and stepped inside. From somewhere deep in the apartment, Nico gave a questioning chirrup. She grinned. “Honey, I’m home.”
“How is he?” Cal was glad to hear his voice sounded close to normal. Or as normal as it could when he couldn’t seem to keep breathing without conscious effort. At least his blood was circulating through the rest of his body again.
“He’s good. You want to take a look?” She opened the bathroom door where Nico sat in solitary splendor on the bathmat.
A black lace bra and matching thong hung from the shower curtain rod. “Crap,” Docia muttered, grabbing them quickly.
Cal sighed. His body went back on red alert. He hadn’t been this randy since junior high.
Docia brought a bottle and a couple of glasses into her small living room while Cal took a seat on the couch across from the limestone fireplace. Swirling patterns in blue and crimson danced across the rug at his feet. Far overhead, the pressed tin ceiling disappeared into darkness.
“Nice place. I like the ceiling.”
Docia nodded. “I hate stooping. Don’t you?” She poured red wine into the glasses, handing him one.
“Aw, hell.” He shrugged. “Stooping comes with the territory. Planes are the worst.”
“Tell me about it.” Docia grinned. “Ever get stuck in a middle seat on a long haul flight?”
Cal shuddered. “Don’t remind me. Usually the person on the aisle takes one look at me and offers to trade. It’s either that or they get to share my knees for the duration of the trip.”
“And then people in front scoot their chairs back, and there you are, going, ‘Hello? Large person here’.”
Cal raised an eyebrow. “Large?”
“According to the national ideal.” Docia sighed. “The national ideal is five-foot-three-inch blond women who fit into middle seats just fine.”
Cal put down his glass, sliding his arm along the back of the couch. “Docia, no man in his right mind would want one inch less of you.”
“Good. Because not only am I not changing, I don’t want to. I like my size the way it is.” Her gaze drifted over his torso, down his legs to where his boots crossed at his ankles. “I like yours too.”
Cal pulled a sofa pillow across his suddenly straining crotch. “Woman,” he muttered, “you’re going to be the death of me.”
Docia grinned. “That was the general idea. At least in a figurative sense.”
Cal took a moment to look at her. Her copper curls floated around her face and shoulders. Her white silk blouse hung slightly open, so that he could see a sliver of peach-colored lace peeking out. Her deep green eyes met his, and her face was suddenly illuminated by their light.
His gut tightened almost as much as his groin. Oh, yeah. Nothing like a little performance anxiety to pep things up. As he watched, Docia’s lips edged up slightly, and another jolt hit his solar plexus. Whatever doubts might be assailing his mind, his body was definitely ready to go for it.
He reached for her, then slid his fingers into the silken softness of her hair, pulling her gently toward him, lowering his mouth to hers. Her lips had an echo of sweet wine. His tongue plunged deeper into her mouth, touching, exploring—teeth, tongue, warm, wet depths. She gave a small purr of pleasure as she turned her body against his, slipping her arms around his neck and pressing her soft breasts against his chest.
Cal moved his hands downward, sliding them beneath the edge of her blouse, touching, stroking. Smooth, satiny flesh. Silk warmed by Docia’s body. His hand cupped her breast so that it filled his palm like a ripe peach. He flicked his thumb across her nipple, feeling it jut hard against his fingers.
“God, Cal,” she murmured.
Her hands moved down from his neck. Then she pulled his shirt free and slid her hands underneath, brushing across his chest. One palm rested for a moment on his heart while a warm fingertip pressed against one nipple. Threads of heat flowed from where her fingers touched him.
He shifted his shoulders, pushing her back against the sofa cushions. The soft mounds of her breasts pressed against his chest again. His shaking hands fumbled at the top button of her blouse, trying to slip the small fabric-covered disk through its hole and failing. Then her cool fingers covered his, and the button slid free.
And the next and the next.
Cal looked down at peach-colored lace and silk outlined against the shimmering paleness of her skin underneath. His breath caught in his throat. “Docia, you’re so beautiful.”
Even as he said it, he knew how miserably inadequate the words were. You’re exquisite. At this moment, you’re everything I’ve ever desired in a woman. I’ve never touched anyone like you before. Please God, don’t ask me to stop.
When she spoke, her voice was a hoarse whisper against his ear. “Cal, we can’t do this here.”
For a moment, he was lost, trying to find his feet again. Had she suddenly developed second thoughts? And if so, why right now, in the name of heaven!
“What?” he murmured. “Why not?”
Docia giggled, a quick throaty sound against his chest. “We can’t both fit on this couch. Not two people our size. Gravity alone is going to do us in before we get much further.”
“I’m glad one of us thinks this is funny,” Cal muttered and then snickered. In another moment, they were both chuckling breathlessly, their foreheads pressed together.
Docia pushed against his shoulders. “Come with me, Doc. I have the greatest oversized bed you’ve ever seen. I promise we’ll both fit into it with plenty of room left over.”
The bed was big enough for the two of them, plus three or four other average-sized citizens of Konigsburg. Not that Cal was eager for a sextet at that particular moment. A stack of red and blue pillows covered one end of the bed. Tall posts supported some kind of white canopy overhead.
Cal wasn’t really noticing the details right then—he had too much he needed to do, like breathe.
And he couldn’t seem to stop touching her.
Even as he reached for the remaining buttons on her blouse, he couldn’t help grazing his fingers along the smooth white skin of her collarbone, his thumb sinking into the small indentation at the base of her throat.
Docia laughed softly, emerald eyes shimmering in the semi-dark, then pulled the blouse from her shoulders and dropped it behind her. “Your turn.”
He took hold of the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head, wishing he’d worn something with buttons too, so that he could have taken it more slowly, let her see a little bit of him at a time. Clothes made him look more normal. Without them, she’d see him the way he really was.
One of his girlfriends in Kansas City—Karen, was it? Maybe Janice—had referred to him as her “great, hairy beast”. She’d meant it affectionately. Cal hadn’t felt the love. But the image had always stuck in his mind after that.
King Kong was about to enter the bedroom.
Docia caught her breath as he dropped his shirt to the floor beside her blouse.
She’d never seen a chest that broad before. His pectorals curved down to his flat stomach muscles. A thick pelt of dark hair covered the surface, arrowing down to the waistband of his pants. He looked primal, like a warrior, like someone who’d lurched out of the forest seeking a mate.
Not that he’d have to do much seeking from what she could see. He could probably just crook his finger and a dozen potential mates would come tripping through the woods without further ado.
She forced herself to breathe in and out while she sorted through appropriate adjectives. Magnificent. Glorious. Spectacular.
Oh, very good, Docia. Four years of college English and that’s the best you can do?
Cal raised his eyebrows, questioning.
Docia couldn’t stop herself. She reached toward his chest, burying her
His eyes looked slightly glazed. “Now you,” he gasped.
Docia’s fingers dropped to the button at the waistband of her pants, and suddenly her shoulders stiffened. Right then, she could remember every one of Allie’s scones she’d consumed over the last month, not to mention all those plates of tapas Lee had fed her, laden with cheese and olive oil. And then, of course, she also remembered Donnie’s cracks about her love handles.
Oh well, maybe some men like doughy hips. And she couldn’t do much about spot reducing at the moment. She was who she was, after all. She’d learned that much over the last couple of years.
Docia pushed her pants down to the floor and stepped out of them defiantly. At least she had on some of her better underwear.
Cal watched her for a heartbeat or two, his eyes hooded. Then he stepped toward her, raising his hands to cup her breasts. Docia closed her eyes, feeling the warmth spread outward as the rough calluses of his palms rubbed across her skin. Heat stretched over her body and down to her thighs. His fingers moved and the catch at the front of her bra opened. Her breasts slipped loose as he pushed the straps from her shoulders.
And she stood in front of him, wearing only a scrap of peach-colored silk at her crotch.
Cal stared, his pulse racketing in his ears. There she was again—Botticelli’s Venus with her wild red curls drifting around her face and shoulders. Perfect breasts, high and full. Waist narrowing to a gently rounded stomach. Long, creamy thighs stretching to muscular calves.
Oh God, oh God, oh God. If he was dreaming, this was when he’d wake up, hard and aching.
“Your turn,” she whispered.
He came down to earth with a thump. This was it. The point at which some of his past sexual encounters had come to an abrupt halt. The time when he’d need to get enough blood back into his brain to soothe, to reassure, to explain that, after all, size was relative and bodies did adapt to each other.
But he might as well get it over with.
He unzipped, pushing his slacks and underwear down together, feeling himself spring free. No point in delaying the moment—he wouldn’t get any smaller.
At least he profoundly hoped he wouldn’t.
Docia’s gaze was riveted on his groin. She stared at his cock, as he’d known she would. His throat was dry with wanting her. Somehow he had to figure out how to say all the things he needed to say to get past this moment. All the encouragement and reminders about how well they’d fit. How they were made to fit together. How if she lost her nerve now he’d probably go jump off a cliff somewhere.
She reached for him suddenly, before he realized what she was doing. Cool fingers wrapped around his shaft, measuring him, sliding lightly down the length of him.
“You’re very big.” Her voice sounded husky.
Cal swallowed, nodding. Even if he tried to speak, he figured his voice wouldn’t be more than a croak. And he wasn’t sure he could speak at all as long as her hand stayed where it was currently.
And then she grinned, eyes sparkling. “Fortunately, so am I.”
Only when they were finally in her bed, Cal leaning over her, propped on his elbows and sheathed in a condom, did Docia realize she was still wearing her thong.
She reached down to pull it off, but he caught her hand, pushing it back. His fingers probed against the silk that covered her folds. The very wet silk.
His finger moved up, rubbing lightly against her clit.
Fabric rasped against her folds as his mouth closed on one breast, his tongue chafing against the tip, circling the areole. His teeth grazed her nipple and Docia arched off the bed, rubbing herself urgently against his hand.
“Please,” she gasped. “Please, now.”
Cal’s voice rumbled against her ear. “Not yet.”
He pulled down on the elastic waistband of her thong and she helped him, moving her legs and kicking the scrap of silk from her ankles. His fingers were back, moving against her curls, sliding into the cleft.
One finger sank deep inside her, plunging in and out quickly. Then another finger. When he brushed his thumb across her clit, and Docia came off the bed again with a cry.
Cal’s mouth fastened on hers, his tongue probing in the same rhythm as his fingers thrust. In and out now, slowly. Too slowly. Oh, God, far, far too slowly! She moved with his hand, her hips jolting against him.
Pressure built deep inside her, mounting, unbearable. Her heels dug into the sheets, bracing as she climbed up, up toward the summit.
Until his hand moved away.
Docia’s breath came out in a whoosh. Every muscle in her body was clenched. Her cleft throbbed with need. She looked up to see him watching, eyes dark, his mouth edging up in a faint masculine smile.
Teasing her, was he? How could he? She’d show him teasing!
Cal felt her lips first, then her tongue, moving across his chest. Butterfly flicks against his nipple. A hint of teeth.
He wondered if he could possibly get any harder. Whatever control he still had crumbled like a day-old bagel.
Docia pushed him to his side now, her mouth at his stomach. Her tongue circled his navel, dipping in once, twice.
Her lips were at his abdomen, and her fingers… Oh, dear Lord in heaven.
Her fingers circled his cock, sliding once, twice, three times from the base to the head, squeezing lightly as her thumb rubbed across the tip.
Again and again and…
And he pushed her flat, hips to hips, his chest crushing her breasts against him. His hands moved to her inner thighs, spreading them wide. Her knees bent against his sides, and then he pushed himself inside her.
He had enough wit left—barely—to hold back a little. Moving slowly to open her to him gradually.
Until Docia wrapped her legs around his waist and brought her hips up sharply, burying him deep within her heat.
Docia’s eyes popped wide open and she caught her breath. Maybe she’d overplayed her hand this time. He really was very big. The biggest man she’d ever been with, bar none. Above her, Cal stared down, his eyes the color of blackstrap molasses. Every muscle in his body went taut, as if he were bench-pressing several hundred pounds.
And then he began to move.
Each thrust was slow, deep, filling and emptying her so thoroughly that her body shook with it. Somewhere, many miles away, a tiny part of her brain continued to work, but no coherent thought came out of it.
Nothing she had ever done had felt like this before. Nothing. All her experience had been wiped out in a few heartbeats.
Docia dug her nails into his broad shoulders, not to hurt him but to hang on. She needed an anchor, as if she’d fly off into space without it.
Her hips began moving now, thudding against him, taking him in further, deeper. Even though deeper didn’t really seem possible at that moment. Deeper, wider, in, out…
And then he touched something far inside her that set off a nuclear explosion.
Her hips jerked convulsively. Waves of pleasure washed across her, so intense that sparks of light danced before her eyes. She heard a voice screaming something, and the ache in her throat told her it was her own.
Cal’s mouth covered hers, drinking in the sounds she couldn’t stop making. His tongue rasped against hers and she was off again, a rolling series of small explosions blistering through her body.
She came down slowly, aware again bit by bit of the feel of the wrinkled sheets against her back, the rasp of his chest hair against her nipples. Until she realized he was holding taut inside her. Still hard, still unsatisfied.
That would never do.
Cal stared down at her face, watching the faint orgasmic flush fade along her throat. Her eyes opened slowly, fathomless green depth
Her quick pulsing around his shaft destroyed him by inches. He began to move again, slowly, trying not to rush her. But she had other ideas.
Docia slid her knees up to rest against the sides of his waist, her heels touching his buttocks. Then she pushed him deeper, lightly, her thighs clenching. Into her warm, moist center that sheathed him completely.
He lost his rhythm, his thrusts becoming a series of sharp, erratic plunges. His breath came in gasps.
Once. Twice. Oh God!
The climax came from the soles of his feet, burning through his body like a missile. Thrusting faster now, he lost his last bit of control, warmth spilling through him, out of him, taking him with it.
“Docia! Oh, Christ, Docia!”
He was lost in her, drowning in her, letting the waves pour over him and take him down.
Docia wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight against her, murmuring something soft and sweet and unintelligible in his ear.
Of course, nothing would have been intelligible to him right then. He lay still for a blank gap in time, gasping, coming back down to earth again. Small tremors shook him now and then, like aftershocks from a particularly violent earthquake.
Finally, he rolled over onto his back, pulling her with him. Her head was tucked into the hollow beneath his chin, as his body turned to boneless pleasure beside her. A sigh of complete contentment built in his chest. “Best. Dessert. Ever,” he mumbled.
“My pleasure.” Docia’s chuckle was the last thing he heard as he drifted off to sleep.
In the morning, Docia woke with the distinct feeling that something wasn’t normal.
Then she looked down at the tanned hand dusted with dark hair that rested on her breast.
Cal slept beside her, one arm draped across her body. Against the white of the sheet, his skin looked golden, his hair a dark tangle against the pillow.
Okay, so “normal” didn’t necessarily mean much in the present circumstances. In fact, normal had nothing to do with great or terrific or soul-shatteringly wonderful.
Other author's books:
- Fearless LoveLove in the MorningBe My Baby: Konigsburg, Texas, Book 3Wedding Bell BluesBrand New MeSaison for Love (Brewing Love)Happy Medium: (Intermix)Hungry Heart: Konigsburg, Texas, Book 8
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