Stroked long, p.20
STROKED LONG, p.20Meghan Quinn
“I have some in my nightstand. I’m also on the pill.” Her eyes seem to be smiling, shining at me, and I search her eyes. “I’m clean, Bodi, and I know you are. There is no doubt in my mind that you would be.”
Is she fucking serious right now?
I’ve never been bare with a woman, ever. The mere thought of having no shield between my Rubes and me makes my stomach flip with excitement.
“Are you sure?” I ask, hoping and praying she doesn’t change her mind.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she reaches between us, circles my cock and positions me at her entrance only to move the head through her wet pussy. Shiiiiiit.
There will be none of that, not when I’m about to explode.
I growl close to her ear and thrust inside her, unable to control my need to possess her. We both groan from the smooth joining.
“Fuck me, Ruby. You’re so goddamn tight. I’m not going to last.”
“Then don’t,” she speaks through panted breaths. “Fuck me, Bodi. Let yourself go and fuck me.”
Going slow? Moving methodically in and out of her, twisting my hips ever so slightly? That had been my intention, but not after that command, not after those two little words popped out of her mouth.
Straddling her head with my palms, I lower my mouth to hers and thrust hard. I capture her gasp with my tongue and continue my pace.
Everything feels so real, so raw, so different, that I pump even harder to feel more, to see if there are any other sensations I’ve been missing by not being with this woman sooner.
And fuck if they all don’t explode right in front of me at the same time.
Tingling . . .
“Fuck, I’m going to come,” I declare as my balls draw tight and a sharp sensation hits me full force.
Just as I’m about to blow, Ruby clings to my shoulders, digging her fingernails into my skin and screaming out my name, her pussy contracting all around my dick, milking me for all I’m worth.
“Shit,” I groan, my head plastered to the bed, my hips flying at a rapid pace until every last drop is out of me.
Euphoria surrounds me. Passion and satisfaction soar through me as my body comes back down to earth, my cock still hard as fuck inside Ruby.
Her once scratching fingers are now gracefully running along my back in feather-like motions, her lips kissing the side of my face, pulling me out of my sex-induced fog.
Rolling off her, I quickly go to her bathroom, wash up, and grab a wash cloth for her. I hand it to her, unsure if I should clean her myself, and then lie next to her when she’s done, pulling her into my chest and under the blankets. Her hand instinctively makes circles on my stomach, and if I didn’t come so fucking hard inside her, I would be positioning her on top of me.
Silence falls over us, as we lie there staring at the ceiling. I can feel myself starting to feel awkward again. What do I say? I’ve never really cuddled with anyone before. Before, it’s been sex and that’s it, but with Ruby it’s so much more.
Do I tell her good job? Give her a high five? Let her know her pussy is a fucking ten in my book?
Probably not. Does anyone ever say that sort of thing?
I start to fidget, begging my brain to come up with something to say when Ruby leans in, presses a kiss to my jaw and then sighs, resting her head back down.
And that’s when I realize. I don’t have to say anything. I can lie here with her, perfectly content in silence, listening to her breathing even out as she falls asleep.
That’s good enough for me.
Fucking perfect actually.
“Ruby, baby, wake up for a second.”
“Mmm,” she groans.
The early morning light peeks past the buildings surrounding her apartment, casting an orange glow on the woman who owned me last night. Who slept in my arms last night. My arms. All night. Rather than feeling freaked out like the last time I woke with her in my arms, today I feel . . . unbelievable.
Kissing her lips, just light enough, I murmur, “Rubes, wake up.”
She stretches her arms, making the bedding fall down her chest, exposing her glorious tits. The cool morning air puckers her nipples, and it takes everything in me not to lick them.
“What’s going on?” she mumbles, her eyes barely opening.
“I have to go to practice.”
“Practice for what?” she asks, moving some more, making her breasts sway with each movement.
“Swimming. I have early morning practice.”
“You’re going to leave?” Her pout isn’t fake; it’s genuine and it’s killing me.
“Believe me, I want nothing more than to cuddle the shit out of your warm, sexy body right now, but I can’t be late.” Words I never thought I’d ever utter, let alone think.
“Mmm, okay.” She brushes her hand across my cheek and then brings my mouth to hers. Faintly, she kisses me, our lips barely touching, and just like that, my cock is hard, and all thoughts of going to practice escape me.
“Rubes,” I breathe out heavily, my control slipping.
Her fingers play with the hair on the back of my neck and her tongue parts my lips, shooting pleasure straight to my groin. I falter slightly, my will collapsing, and even though I know I’m on a strict time schedule, I can’t seem to resist the feel of Ruby’s nipples rubbing against my chest right now.
Running my hand behind her, I bring her naked body closer. Her arms wrap around my neck, and our kiss deepens, our tongues mating, begging for more. The soft feel of her skin against my palm, the way her hands explore my hair, the heat pouring off her, are all my undoing.
Lowering her to the bed, I make quick work of my jeans, kicking them off in a frenzy, and tear the bedding off the bed, exposing Ruby in all her glory. She doesn’t break away from me, her kisses don’t stop, but her legs fall open. From a quick rub of my body against hers, I can already feel how wet she is.
“Fuck, Ruby. You’re already wet.”
“Because of you,” she whispers, trailing kisses along my jaw.
“I’m going to have to be quick.”
“Then get going, Bodi, unless you want me to get myself off.” Who knew this quirky, adorable woman could be so demanding, so sassy in bed?
Growling into the curve of her neck, I say, “No fucking way.”
Everything about this woman turns me on, from her touch, to her endless questions, to her unbelievable body. I want nothing but to stay in bed with her all day.
What a fucking crazy thought. From the moment I first met her, she scared me with her touching, her incessant need to pry into my life, but now it’s different. I thrive on her text messages, on her sweet smiles, on the way her eyes light up when I’m with her, and when I enter her.
Like right now.
In her sleepy haze, I enter her, her eyes widening from my girth, from the tight fit we make, and just when I think she’s going to pass out from holding her breath, she sighs into the bed and entwines her body with mine.
Her pussy is incredible. It sheathes me with such force I never want to leave. The friction we create is consuming. The build-up between us, the throbbing darting up and down my spine, the squeeze of her thighs around my waist, her relentless tongue . . . fuck, it takes me right over the edge.
“How close?” I grunt out, not sure how much more I can hold back.
She doesn’t answer. Not with words anyway. Her head flies back, exposing her breasts. The sight is my undoing. I come. I come fucking hard. Her cries of ecstasy float in my head as I pump feverishly into her, letting go completely.
As I slow my hips down, I kiss her neck and whisper, “It’s never been this good, Rubes. It’s never been this addicting.”
“Morning sex?” she asks, still in a haze, now more from lust rather than sleep.
“No,” I answer honestly. “Sex. It’s different with you.
Her lazy smile stretches across her face as she sits up, her upper torso completely naked. I love how comfortable she is with me. She cups my face with both hands and gently kisses me on the lips. No tongue, nothing too demanding, just a sweet, adoring kiss.
Pressing her forehead against mine, she says, “Get out of here, you’re going to be late.”
She’s right about that. Disengaging myself, I quickly make use of my jeans and grab my cell phone from her nightstand. Shit, I’m ten minutes behind already. Traffic lights better be on my side.
“I’m sorry I have to bolt.”
“No worries, Bodi.” She winks and pulls the covers over her body only to flop on the bed and curl up.
Shit. I want to stay. Here. With Ruby. In bed. I’ve never felt like this before. I have commitments. I need to get to training. That’s what I do. Not spooning with extremely beautiful, just-fucked-by-me women.
I don’t have that privilege. For the first time in all my years of swimming, I wish I wasn’t a swimmer. I hear my subconscious taunting me for thinking those words, with murmurs of giving pride to my family that they deserve, but I’m on a post-sex high.
Sprinting to my truck, I start the engine, thoughts and images of Ruby floating through my mind as I make my way through Los Angeles to the club where my coach is waiting for me.
Shit, Ruby. She needs to be safe. I call her quickly, hoping my neurosis won’t freak her out. When I get her voicemail, I cringe. “Ruby, please go and make sure the door is locked. Please.” I pretty much break every speed limit, perform a couple of California “stops,” and park like a maniac, not even caring that I’m taking up two spaces. I haven't done anything in my normal routine this morning, but strangely I don't feel too off-balance. Thankful for being obsessively organized, I drink down an energy drink with some raw nuts, easy fuel when on the run.
I sprint to the locker room and throw on my bathing suit from yesterday. Yes, I feel fucking nasty and my body itches from the thought of not being clean, but I don’t have a choice. Have I ever gone this long without a shower before? As I jog to the pool deck, I check the clock.
I’m five minutes late.
Sitting on the bleachers, clipboard in hand, whistle around his neck, and a stopwatch posed in front of him is Coach, and fuck, he doesn’t look happy.
“Bodi, how nice of you to show.”
I know what you’re thinking, five minutes, not a big deal. Oh, it is in my coach’s world. You don’t keep him waiting. I’ve never kept him waiting.
“Sorry about that.”
“Care to offer an explanation?” He stands, eying me up and down.
He nods and I turn to face the pool, lowering my goggles and adjusting my swim cap, not wanting to make eye contact with him. I’ve known him since I was a kid, and he will be able to read right through me.
“Long night?” he asks, stepping up next to me, tucking his clipboard to his side and looking straight ahead.
“No.” It was a fucking fantastic night but Coach doesn’t need to know that.
From the corner of my eye, I can see him nod his head. “I would guess otherwise.”
What is he up to? I don’t like the tone of his voice, as if he’s caught me.
“I know I was late but I wasn’t drinking if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t. I know you’re not that stupid. You treat your body like a finely oiled machine, and you wouldn’t poison it with alcohol this close to the games.” Damn right about that. Ruby might make fun of me for my kale and water consumption habits, but if I didn’t eat healthily there would be no way I could succeed at the level I’m swimming. “It’s just interesting.”
“What is?” I ask, just wanting to get started with practice.
“You were late. You’re never late. It’s out of your element. Normally you would be close to hyperventilating from not being on schedule.” Shit, he’s right. What the fuck? “And yet, here you are, normal, looking loose, almost . . . happy.” Don’t smile, Banks, don’t fucking smile. He will see right through you. “And here I am worried about my athlete.”
“I’m fine, Coach. Just misjudged my time.”
“Mm-hmm, and the deep scratches on the back of your shoulders. Care to explain those?”
Chuckling, he says, “That’s what I thought. You’ve got an extra set of two hundreds, pyramid progression, then we can get on with practice. Warm up.”
Two grueling hours later, I’m freshly showered and sitting on the locker room bench. I pull out my phone and see a text from Ruby.
Ruby: Hope you made it to practice on time.
Yeah, not so much.
Bodi: Late by five minutes. Thought I was going to get away with it until coach noticed scratches on my back . . . from you. I paid big time in extra 200s but it was worth it. Because the entire time I was able to taste you on my tongue.
It was . . . incredible. Coach was right. I’ve never been late. And if I ever deviate from my routine, I am close to hyperventilating. Yet, there wasn’t anger in his expression. In fact, there was a smile in his eyes, something I’ve seen in his eyes when I win. Pride. He’s proud of me.
Yeah, I was late, but it was so fucking worth it. She was worth it. My Rubes.
Nothing has affected me today. And I mean nothing. Not twerpy little Jimmy putting glue in my hair, not the brat Jacqueline—pronounced with a French accent of course—who thought it would be fun to use my cardigan as her own personal piece of “paper” while we cut out pictures, and definitely not the bastard—yes, I said bastard—Joel who thought painting my sacred Keds was his task today.
Nothing gets to me and why? Because Bodi Banks thoroughly sexed me up last night . . . and this morning. Yes, Bodi Banks and I celebrated a great baseball game by partaking in the act of coitus.
Penis met vagina and orgasms happened. Break out the happy dance.
And right when I didn’t think it could get any better, he texts me about how he tasted me on his tongue all through practice. Tasted me on his tongue. I mean, how can a girl not swoon over something like that, especially when it comes from a man who would rather spend his days closed off to the world than get to know someone?
“Hey, are you just going to stare off into space, or are you actually going to clean those brushes?” Lola asks, as if she’s the boss of me.
“I’m cleaning them,” I defend, looking down at the brushes and realizing they aren’t even under running water.
“Sure. Come on, Ruby. I want to go home at some point.”
“You can go home. Everything else is clean, I just have to finish these brushes.”
“And what about the glue in your hair?” Earlier on, I recruited Lola to help me extract the Elmer’s Glue out of my hair on lunch break; I was luckily able to wash it out.
“Took care of it.”
“And your shoes?”
I shrug. “Might have to Picasso their asses and call them my art shoes.”
“Could be kind of badass, being an art instructor and all.”
“Could be. Thanks for your hard work today, apparently all the rats of the classroom decided to come in today.”
“Just another day at the club.” She wipes her hand with a paper towel and then asks, “Any movement on the foundation stuff? I would really like to help out at the gala. It would give me a great experience to put on my résumé.”
The gala. Goodness I haven’t even thought about it, not when I’ve had Bodi Banks on my mind and trying to chip away at the wall he’s erected around himself.
“We could really use the help, especially with setup.”
“Really?” Excitement beams off Lola. “That would be so awesome. What about the pictures? How are you going to get those made? Do you need help getting Bodi to paint?” She wiggles her eyebrows and instantly my hackles rise. “
Whoa, settle down, Ruby. The girl is way younger and just crushing on a famous swimmer.
Yeah, a famous swimmer who happens to belong to me.
But does he? Oh hell, I’m fighting with myself. So not healthy.
Forgetting the old angel and devil war going on in my head, I answer her, “At training camp in San Antonio, we are going to have swimmers take some time to do paint strokes against the canvas. Since they will all be there, it will be easy.”
“That’s awesome. Are you going down there to do it?”
Huh, we never really discussed those details.
“Still working things out.”
She sighs and puts her purse over her shoulder, looking at the ceiling wistfully. “It would be so cool to be there, watching all those swimmers getting in and out of the water, especially Bodi.” Leaning forward she says, “Him and Reese for sure have the biggest packages I’ve ever seen.”
And this conversation is now officially over.
“Aren’t you going to be late for something?” I ask.
Checking her phone for the time, she scrunches her nose. “Shoot, I’m going to be late for my hair appointment. I will catch you tomorrow, Ruby. Thanks for taking care of the brushes.”
“Mm-hmm.” I nod and smile at her as she exits the room.
Sheesh, when did high schoolers become so forward? When I was her age I wasn’t talking about men’s bulges. Hell, I don’t even think I knew what a bulge was. Nope, I was too busy taking cross-stitch classes at the local Michaels, along with cake decorating classes. And where has that gotten me? I can cross-stitch a cake on a canvas with a man’s bulge coming out the top. So . . . there.
Finishing the brushes, I make sure to avoid getting water in the ferrule of the brush because that can lead to mold, which affects the stroke of the brush. Even though the brushes I’m working with are from the dollar store, I still try to treat them properly, despite the abuse they take from the kids.
Maybe one day I won’t have to yell at a child during the day not to stick the entire bristle of the brush up their nose.
But I’m painting my boogies.
I don’t get paid enough for this job.
STROKED LONG by Meghan Quinn / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes