Stroked long, p.24
STROKED LONG, p.24Meghan Quinn
Not even bothering for a robe and gearing my leg up for an epic blast to the crotch, I open the door fiercely.
He’s wearing black jeans, a white plain shirt, and a black A’s hat, one of those special edition ones. His face still has some stubble on it, letting me know he hasn’t shaved yet this morning, and of course, it makes him look incredibly fuckable.
God, he’s so gorgeous.
“Hey, Rubes,” he says quietly, barely looking at me.
“Bodi, what are you doing here?”
From behind his back, he brings a little pink box forward and says, “I brought you breakfast. Can I, uh, come in?”
The once confident Bodi, the one who repeatedly whispered in my ear about fucking me with this fingers, tongue, and dick is nowhere to be seen. I’m put on alert, wondering exactly what happened yesterday that made him shy and awkward around me again.
I don’t want to be mad at him. He doesn’t need a mean girlfriend right now, someone who’s going to yell at him for not calling or texting earlier. He needs someone who’s going to listen to him, who’s going to be understanding of his needs.
“Of course,” I say with a smile, trying to fix my hair.
With his head down, like a wounded puppy, he walks into my apartment, making it infinitely smaller with his broad stature. When he passes, I take in the fresh soap smell coming from him. And yeah, I’m turned on as his scent burns me with lust.
Do not jump him right now, Ruby. Clearly he wants to talk. Do not eat his dick for breakfast.
I shut the door and then without even thinking, work my way under his arm and give him a hug. Stiff at first, he gives into my touch and wraps his arm around me tightly, his cheek resting against the top of my head. I feel him sigh and my heart soars. This strong man, this broken man, is eased with a little hug from me.
“I missed you.” I look up at him and take in the thick stubble on his jaw. It’s so not like him to not shave. I hope everything is okay.
“I missed you.” His voice is rough, almost pained.
Reaching up, I kiss his jaw and then release him. “Would you like something to drink?” I walk to the kitchen, and as I turn for his answer, I catch him staring at my butt. A little thrill of feminine pride surges through me.
“Uh, water is fine.”
Should have guessed.
I’m reaching for a glass when I feel him come up behind me. My body starts to tingle as he turns me around. I wouldn’t mind a little morning sex to get my day going. I’m ready to be mauled by him when he tilts my chin up and says, “Can I just hold you for a little bit?” There is no way in hell I could ever say no to this incredible man.
The distressed look in his eyes has me following him to the couch. He sits down first and then pulls me onto his lap where I rest my head on his chest. One of his arms wraps around my back, the other drapes over my legs, and we’re so easily positioned that it feels like we’ve sat like this for years.
“Is everything okay?”
He kisses my forehead and then leans into me. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“Okay.” Don’t be nervous, Ruby. If he wants to break up with you he wouldn’t be holding and kissing you, right?
Maybe he’s just really kind and considerate during breakups. Oh God.
“Uh, would you like your breakfast first?”
“No, it’s okay.” Is he crazy? I don’t want my breakfast now. I want to know what the hell is going on. Stay calm, Ruby. He needs your strength. “I’ll eat after.”
His hand grips my thigh, and his thumb runs across my skin. It’s not a seductive move in any way, more like a comforting one for him, like he needs to touch me to get his words out, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t send a jolt of excitement straight to my core.
“I’m sorry about yesterday. I, uh, had to see my therapist.” He cringes when he says therapist. He’s ashamed. I want him to know there’s no reason to be ashamed for seeing a therapist. There is a little piece of everyone that should go to therapy, no matter how “normal” you might be. Everyone can benefit.
“That’s okay. How was your session?”
Pressing up against him, I can feel the tension in his body: the tight set of his shoulders, the strain in his chest, even his thighs are strained.
“Okay. I talked about you.”
“Yeah? Did you tell him what a great lay I am?”
He lets out a light chuckle. “No, kind of kept that private.”
“Now why would you do that?” I tease. “If your Rubes can make you scream girly decibels then that’s share-worthy.”
“I don’t scream girly decibels.”
“I beg to differ.” I shrug and smile at him.
Lightly, he presses a kiss on my lips and I’m about to pull him in for more when he settles his head against the back of the couch. Damn.
“I have obsessive compulsive disorder, Ruby.” Given certain tendencies I’ve noticed I had kind of figured that, but I don’t say it. I let him talk. “It’s something I’ve struggled with for quite some time. I’m used to a certain way of doing things, of following a routine, of, uh, repeating my actions sometimes. It’s not a side of me I like to show people very often and I’ve worked hard at keeping it hidden, but I can’t keep hiding it from you, especially if we continue to get serious. You need to be aware.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I know it might not be what you were expecting to hear and being with someone with OCD can be tough, quite difficult actually. I talked to Dr. Auburn yesterday, and he said if I was upfront with you about my disorder then there might be a chance that we can continue to move forward. I will tell you this . . .” He looks me in the eyes and my heart breaks. He’s so vulnerable, so openly wounded. “If you don’t think you can manage being with me after hearing this, it’s okay. I don’t want you to pity me and stay around because you think it’s the right thing to do.”
How could he even think that? This man is so clueless to his worth in this world and not just in the athletic sense. That comes second to the heart he shares with others. He has no idea how special he really is. I guess it’s my job to show him that.
Gripping his cheeks, I force him to look me in the eyes. I speak with the utmost sincerity. “Bodi, I would never be with you out of pity. I want to be with you because of your heart and how you use it. How you selfishly give it to others to help them succeed. You don’t understand how special you are. Your disorder has no weight in my decision to be with you. What does hold weight is the way you conduct yourself as a human being, how you selflessly spread yourself thin to see others succeed. That’s what’s important to me.”
The haunted look in his eyes doesn’t leave. In fact, it almost grows more intense, and I wonder if it was something I said.
I need to reassure him. “I’m in if you’re in.”
From the way his eyes search mine, I can tell he’s weighing something in his mind, but I’m not sure what it is. Does his disorder really bother him this much that he thinks I would want to leave him? He does a great job of hiding it, but how tiring that must be. I couldn’t imagine not being able to be myself, to let my true colors fly.
“Bodi . . .” I press. “Are you in?”
His fingers trace my kneecap, and he takes a breath before answering. “I’m in,” he responds softly. He doesn’t seem excited, almost dejected.
“Are you okay?” I ask, forcing him to lift his chin.
His soulful eyes connect with mine. “Yeah. Just tired.” He’s lying, I can tell. There is something else on his mind, but I’m not sure if I should push him any further. He’s fragile in that respect. He’s already withdrawn, and I don’t want him to withdraw any more than he already has.
“Okay.” Trying to shake
“I should probably get going.” He starts to get up but I pin him back down on the couch, straddling his lap, and looping my hands behind his neck. I falter slightly. Yikes, it’s not easy pinning down an Olympic athlete. Briefly his eyes scan my breasts that are poking through the thin tank top I’m wearing.
“Do you have practice?”
“Not until later.”
“Then you don’t have to get going.” Taking a risk, I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head, exposing my breasts. Immediately his eyes go from haunted to lustful. “I miss my dirty-talking Bodi, my laughing and smiling Bodi. Bring him back.” Needing to feel his skin, I quickly take his shirt off as well, letting his hat join in with the removal. His abs flex under my stare, his chest completely tight, all muscle and sinew. He’s so sexy it hurts. “Bring him back, Bodi.”
I lean forward and kiss him, waiting for him to take control, waiting for that snap of his control where all he can do is fuck me and nothing else is on his mind. His lips meet mine but they are gentle, tentative. I need to work harder. I start to move my hips, dry-humping his crotch like it’s my job while my fingers slide to his nipples. My thumbs rub over the flat nubs, perking them up only for me to grab them.
His groan is swallowed by me, and the evidence that my seduction is working is pressing against the zipper of his pants.
“I want you to ride me, Ruby,” he says in between kisses. “I want you to ride me until you come all over my cock.”
And there he is, the man I crave. The man who’s confident in what he says, in how he feels, in the way he touches me.
With some fancy maneuvering, I take off my shorts and start to unbuckle Bodi’s pants. The strength in his thighs lifts us both up as he shimmies his pants down, freeing his cock which is hard as ever, lying against his stomach.
He fists himself and starts to pump. My mouth goes dry as I watch in fascination, his strong hand squeezing himself as he stares at my breasts. A little shot of pre-cum forms at the tip of his head, and my mouth begins to water. He’s getting close.
“Sit up on your knees and take me, Ruby,” he commands. “All of me.”
One to follow directions, I do as I’m told. The tip of his cock rests at my entrance, stabilized by Bodi’s hand. His thumb momentarily connects with my clit and applies pressure, sending a wave of heat and tingles throughout my body.
“Oh God,” I moan, loving the sensation of his cock playing with my entrance and his thumb applying exactly the right pressure.
Taking the head of his cock, he moves it in a circle at the tip of my entrance, teasing me with his thumb and his dick in the most delicious way possible. I hold on to his shoulders as my body starts to quake.
“Are you going to come, Ruby?”
I bite on my bottom lip and nod my head.
“Didn’t I tell you I wanted you to come all over my cock?” His domineering words drip with a sexy undertone, sending my mind into a haze.
“Yes,” I breathlessly answer.
“Then fuck my cock, Ruby. Ride me, baby.”
Removing his hand from his dick and his thumb from my clit, he holds on to my hips and pushes me down, filling me completely. This is the first time in this position. It’s incredible. I’ve never felt this full, this consumed by one man. My legs slide farther apart, taking in a little more until my ass is resting on his thighs.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he says into my ear, his lips nibbling on my lobe. “Everything about you, Ruby. Just perfect.” His voice. So deep. Like velvet. Smooth and soft, yet strong.
Encouraging me to move, his hands start to rock my hips until I take over, setting the pace. When he’s happy with my movement, he starts to work his way up to my breasts where he uses his dexterous fingers to pluck at my nipples.
“I love when you tell me what you want.” He then proceeds to roll my nipples between his index finger and thumb, pulling at the same time, teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure.
I steady myself on his shoulders as my impending orgasm creeps up my spine. Every nerve ending focuses on our connection, a slow burn building inside me, waiting for Bodi to take it.
“Touch me,” I say, out of breath.
“I am. Be more specific, Ruby. What do you want?”
“Press on my clit, Bodi.”
“That’s my girl.”
That’s all I ever want to be. His.
The second he presses on my clit, I fall over as white-hot pleasure rips through me. My head falls back, a moan escaping me, my walls contracting around him. Bodi is pumping vigorously into me, his hands on my hips now holding me steady until I hear him groan.
“Fuck. So fucking good.” His hips continue to move but slow down as he comes down from his orgasm with me.
For some reason I want to cry.
I want to throw my arms around him and sob into his shoulder from the euphoria and torment coursing through me. How can I feel both at the same time? This man consumes me. I thought I’d lost him. And no matter what he might think of himself, he’s the one who’s perfect. He’s the one who is perfectly broken in all the right ways.
A heart of gold and a firm sense of loyalty, I never want to go a day without hearing his voice.
And then it hits me: he leaves soon for at least three weeks. What am I going to do?
The tears I was holding back start to flood my eyes. Trying to hide them, I rest my head on his chest and will myself to stop the stinging, to hold them in until he leaves.
But there is no use. I hiccup and the tears fall, hitting Bodi’s bare chest.
“Hey,” his deep voice rings through me, “why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?” Worry laces his voice. Of course he would think he did something wrong. He’s always thinking he screwed up something.
“No.” I shake my head, sending more tears down my face and onto his skin.
“What is it, Rubes? Talk to me. I don’t want to see you sad.”
“I’m going to miss you when you leave.”
The tension in his body from my tears dissipates. His arms instinctively wrap around me, and his lips kiss the side of my head.
“Rubes, I’m going to miss you so damn much. But I promise I’m going to FaceTime with you and text.”
“You’re not going to forget me, are you?”
He sighs into me, his arms gripping a little tighter. “That’s not even fucking possible. You’re on my mind 24/7, even when I’m swimming. You’ve branded yourself on my brain, Rubes. You’re unforgettable.”
That’s all I needed to hear. I spend the next few minutes snuggled into his chest, taking in his fresh soap smell, the way his chest rises and falls with his breathing, and the feel of this skin against mine.
I want to soak in as much of him as possible before he has to leave.
“I must admit when I heard I had to hire an herbaceous perennial that, let’s be honest, should never be combined into a pie with strawberries, I wasn’t sure what I was going to get, but you’ve impressed me.”
Is that supposed to be a compliment? Honestly, I have no idea. The woman standing before me, holding a white schnauzer who she calls Pope Francis, wearing a luxurious red velvet robe and cheetah-print high heels, has done nothing but insult me the entire time I’m here, calling me Rhubarb, asking what box of crayons threw up on my outfit today, and asking on multiple occasions if Ben Franklin designed my glasses.
Bellini Chambers is a self-righteous reality star bitch who needs a good punch to the throat. Maybe a kick to the cooter, or a little hot sauce on her privates. No, not hot sauce to the privates, Icy Hot to the armpits. I got Icy Hot in my armpit once and it was the most excruciating pain I’ve ever experienced. Yes, I hope Bellini Chambers gets a gallon vat of Icy Hot slapped on her armpit. Oh the joy that would bring me.
“Thank you.” I accep
Scanning over a Roman surplice in a neon shade of green with gold stitching—her choices, not mine—she yanks on the seams to make sure they are secure. “This is highly more suitable than the rubbish that crusty old fart tried to pass off as doggy religious wear.”
I don’t even want to know who she’s talking about. From beyond the small room under a closet she stuffed me in, I can see her little minion—Pocket, I believe that’s what Bellini calls her—poking her head in and out from behind the curve of the wall. If you want to talk about a total creep, it’s her. There is some kind of strange passion she has for Bellini. I don’t think it’s sexual just seems like . . . Pocket needs Bellini to breathe. You know how the minions need a villain to thrive? I feel like that’s Pocket, but instead of wearing overalls and giant goggles, she’s decked out in designer clothing. Weird.
What I’m truly curious about is how on earth Reese decided to date this woman and continues to do so. There is no way he likes her. Does he? He can’t. I respect the man way too much to think of him as someone attached to this woman. What on earth would they even talk about? Throughout the entire time I’ve been sewing, I’ve heard her mouth off to her assistant—Mauve, also another name I don’t think is correct—about how the “man-fish” is ruining her production schedule. Man-fish I’m assuming is Reese. If not, I would really like to see a man and fish combined together. Would that be a merman? Hopefully with a body like King Triton. That man is jacked. Leave it to Disney to have me lusting after an older dude.
“You’re hired, effective immediately,” she states after finishing her perusal of my work. “You will need to be here every day working. I’m behind in my production and will not tolerate anything less from you.”
Okay, that’s not going to happen. I could really use the extra money, but I won’t work every day, not under these conditions.
“I’m sorry, Bellini, but I can’t be here every day; I have another job.”
Fury beats down on me and for a second, I truly am scared the devil will pop out of her mouth and bitch-slap me with his horny tail.
“Then I retract my statement, you’re not hired.”
STROKED LONG by Meghan Quinn / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes