Chapter 12 Caroline #2
“It’s truth,” he deadpans, slipping the hand on my thigh around to between my legs as he edges his body down.
“You’re so wet.” Opening my legs, I give him better access.
And a better view. “My god, your pussy is perfect.” I watch as he looks between my legs with narrowed eyes.
“Literally perfect,” he says, confused. “Have you been told that before?”
I open my mouth to respond, but he shakes his head. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” He licks his lips, which causes me to fist my comforter. Instead of using his tongue, one finger traces the lips, gliding around with ease. “I feel like I would destroy you,” he admits.
I know it’s a joke, but he has no clue that it is a real possibility. “Let me see you,” I order again.
He leans his head to one side. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to be naked with you while I still have the taste of you on my tongue and that masterpiece in my presence,” he says, nodding between my legs.
“Come on. Fair is fair. Ladies’ choice,” I say, trying and failing to wiggle out of his grasp.
He raises one brow. “If you insist. But you don’t have to return the favor, Caroline. That’s not what tonight is about.”
“What if that’s what I want?”
He leans up and then stands at the foot of my bed.
He towers over me and takes up the majority of the space in my bedroom.
Leaning up on my elbows, I recognize the blood is rushing around my body in a manic manor, all concentrating at my core.
Tahoe kissed a girl and awakened a woman.
One that lusts after his sculpted body and whatever he has below the belt.
His jeans slide off and pool around his feet.
No underwear. That answers my question about boxers or briefs.
I’ve seen him in a Speedo, so I’m not violently shocked by the size of his package, but I admit it’s still stunning, cutting the air in between our bodies, standing straight out in front of him.
Before I can check my emotions, one of my hands flies to cover my mouth as I wide-eyed gape at his manhood. “Oh,” I say around my hand. “That’s big.”
Tahoe laughs. “Big, huh? You know how to stroke a man’s ego.”
I swallow once and let my hand fall. Shaking my head, I say, “I am not stroking your ego, Holiday. It’s enormous,” I exclaim. Then the horrific truth about my virtue flashes in my mind. “Is, is, that a normal size?”
Stepping out of his jeans, he walks toward me, chuckling.
“I like this game. Keep going,” he remarks.
“Tell me what you want to do with my huge dick.” I’m not sure if it’s possible, but it looks like every single muscle on his body is flexed.
The dropped pendant lights in my room shine from above, highlighting every ripple and vein on his body. He’s magnificent.
I scoot closer to the edge of the bed and look up at him. “Tell me what you want me to do with it.”
He flashes a half grin. “You wanted to touch it,” Tahoe says.
Tentatively, I reach out a hand and palm it in my hand. “I can’t even touch my fingers,” I say, surprising even myself.
“Maybe you have small hands,” he replies, holding up one of his palms. With my free hand, I press it against his big one. Mine is small compared to his, but that doesn’t say much given his size.
I stroke his shaft in front of me as he watches every move I make, though he does alternate his gaze to my naked body and my face every so often. “That feels good,” he says, closing his eyes for a beat or two.
Thank God, I think. “Should I put my mouth on it now?”
A gentle smile appears, but he keeps his eyes closed. “You never have to ask permission to put my dick in your mouth. That’s a firm rule. Consider it in the definition,” he says, sighing.
I let my hand do most of the work and use my tongue to graze the head, the tiny hole with clear liquid spilling out. It tastes salty, but it’s not really a describable flavor. I hide a grimace.
Tahoe sways on his feet. “Lay down on the bed,” I tell him, pausing my sucking.
“I want to come standing,” he replies. “It feels good this way.”
Is this something I should know? I start to panic and immediately throw myself back into the act. With my pace steady, it can’t possibly take that long. He made me orgasm in minutes. And easily. But he’s perfect, Caroline. I’m not. So I work harder, letting his hand on my head guide me.
When I feel like my mouth is about to fall off of my face, he announces he’s about to come. “Just like that. Keep doing that,” he says, the words broken in gasps.
Then, when I should be expecting it, he comes in my mouth. The strange salty flavor at the start stings my tongue in a mass flood I’m not sure what to do with. My gag reflex won’t let me swallow, but my pride won’t let me spit, so I hold him in my mouth, with the cum.
His hands stroke my hair softly, and he pulls my head away. I’d tell him not to if I didn’t have a wad of hot garbage in my mouth, so I suck it all in to avoid dripping anything anywhere.
Sighing, he tilts my head up to look at him. He’s wearing a sleepy, satisfied grin. “Swallow or spit?” he asks, confused.
God, is there an option? Shit. A story Shirley once told me erodes my brain, and I do what she did. I push the gelatinous load to the back of my throat and swallow it down. It’s warm sliding down my throat, and maybe I keep a disgusted look off my face, but I can’t help the shudder.
Tahoe falls on the bed, pulling me with him. “I never would have pegged you as a swallow girl,” he remarks, kissing me on the forehead.
“I’m, ah, usually not,” I tell him. “Guess I was in the moment.”
“You don’t like giving blow jobs?” he says, less of a question and more of an observation. Maybe I wasn’t as subtle as I thought I was.
I clear my throat and get a taste of the remnants. “It tastes weird, but I like it.”
He laughs. “Liar. It’s fine. I’d rather eat you out anyway. Can I do it again?”
Maybe that will take my mind off the most embarrassing blow job of all time. “I’ll never say no to that,” I quote him.
Then, he’s on me.
When I wake in the morning, Tahoe is gone—the other side of the bed faintly warm.
He left a note on my pillow using male chicken scratch.
It says three reassuring words. You are perfect.
I smile like a lunatic and hug the crumbled paper to my chest and then see words written on the back, because I know you won’t check your phone.
Back in the real world, I have a job and friends counting on me.
I grab the cell phone from my nightstand drawer and fly into the bathroom to crank on the hot water in the shower.
We slept naked last night, which was a test of my self-control, because even after the last orgasm had been wrung from my body, I wanted to mount him like a stallion and claim him completely.
It was an out-of-body experience. I didn’t feel like myself.
I feel new. He gave me a piece of myself I didn’t know I was missing.
The phone lights to life, and his text message pops up on the screen.
Last night was the best night of my life.
Another message chimes a second later.
In case you didn’t see my note…you are perfect.
My heart skips a beat. I hear I love you inside those three words, and I wonder if that’s his intent. It’s scary and exciting, and everything in my life is being tilted all at once in another direction.
I’m at the B&B this morning before I head in to work. I hired a contractor to get some of the demo finished while I’m we’re in NYC. Is that cheating?
The message pops on my screen moments before I step into the steaming shower.
I type back.
Hiring demo help isn’t cheating. I guess…because you are busy saving the world and stuff. I’ll be splitting my time between the office and the garage today. Call me if you need help.
I hit send.
I had to borrow your bicycle.
Well, I guess he would have to.
I tap back.
Don’t break it, beast.
I’m getting into the shower.
I tell him because it’s a fact. The secondary meaning to that statement rushes ahead, and I wish I could take it back.
I’m not a forward woman. Southern women are raised to be mild-mannered and well-behaved.
Telling a man I’m naked and about to wash myself is bad form.
Last night I broke about seventy-five rules for the Southern lady, so I shouldn’t get red-cheeked now.
I make a mental reminder to talk to Shirley about the art of blow jobs and get into the shower.
Memories from the night before trickle in, and the warmth spreads across my body so quickly, I’m hot before my hair is even wet. He said it was perfect, but my stomach knots when I think about his huge shaft in my mouth. How is that supposed to fit inside me?
Taking the bottle of honeysuckle-scented body wash from the shelf, I pour some into my hands and lather them together before working them over my legs, arms, my neck—washing away his kisses.
Then I let my fingers gently glide between my legs.
I’m still sore from his fingers working me over and over.
I’m still wet, more than ready, and it is doubtful that desire is going anywhere until he’s satiated me.
Tentatively, I slip one fingertip into my slick entrance.
“There’s no way it’s going to fit. No way,” I say out loud.
Water and soapy bubbles cascade down my body as I try to perform fuzzy math.
His dick is too big. Shaking my head, I resolve to talk to Shirley about that, too.
While one of my other friends, Malena perhaps, might have more delicate sex advice, Shirley is the only person I want knowing about my extracurricular activities.
It’s my only fair chance of keeping my business off the town radar while still getting the knowledge I need.
Once I’m downstairs in the office sorting through paperwork and returning emails, the land line rings. I recognize her number right away.
“What took you so long to call me back?” I ask. “What if I was in trouble?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Ease off the volume button, girl. I, ah, just got my phone back. I left it somewhere last night.”
Rolling my eyes, I wind the coiled cord around my finger. “Whose house was it last night, Shirl?”
“Caleb,” she says, sighing.
“Again? That’s the third time in one week. What’s going on between you two? I thought you weren’t interested in him in that way?”
“What way?”
“More than sex,” I reply.
She grunts. “It’s good sex, so it’s nice when I forget my phone.
I can wake up and get a little action. Speaking of,” she says, her sentence trailing off.
“You mentioned in the voicemail you needed some advice. The only reason you’d want my advice is if it was something you don’t know about.
Let’s face it. You know everything. Except for one area of inexperience. Did. You. Fuck. That. Beautiful. Man?”
Cringing, I debate talking to someone else, but she is right. She knows things I don’t. Things I need to know. “No!” I exclaim, cradling the phone between my ear and neck so I can pick up my chiming cell phone. “Maybe we should talk about this in person. We had dinner with my parents last night.”
“And what happened after?” She goes straight for the jugular. It’s exhausting.
“He invited me to go to New York City with him before his mission.”
“You bitch. I hate you,” Shirley crows. “When?”
I tell her the details I’m sure of and explain how my parents now approve of him.
It kind of spills out, and I know this is how rumors start, how the amazing things in one’s life turn into something awful and callous because they don’t exist in someone else’s, but I can’t help myself.
Shirley eats up every single word. She asks about the Homer property, and I tell her about the plans he has finalized and the work that’s being done as we speak.
“It seems everything is perfect for you, Caroline.” She emphasizes the word perfect because I told her what he said about me.
For the most part she does seem happy for me, though I know what will happen next even if she is my best friend.
Whatever Tahoe and I have won’t be ours anymore. It will belong to Bronze Bay.
I clear my throat. “Please don’t tell anyone, Shirl. We are taking things slow.”
Her eye roll can be heard through the phone line. “What did you have to ask me?”
Tahoe texts me again, and I thumb a button to clear the screen.
“Tell me how to give a proper blow job, Shirley. Don’t leave out any details.
I mean, I think I did it right because he…
came, but what are the rules? Are there rules?
Swallow, spit? Standing, sitting, lying down?
These are the things I need you to tell me, and so help me God, Shirley, you better not make fun of me.
I called you because I knew you would give it to me straight. No bullshit.”
Shirley’s laughter overshadows another small ping on my cell phone. I hit another button to try to clear the screen but it seems to have sent a message instead.
“Shirley,” I croak, reality setting in.
She pauses long enough to ask what else I want to know. “I just sent him a voice message.”
Her laughter rings out again, louder this time. “Everything I just said. Can I delete it before he opens it?” As I say it I notice the message says Read underneath it. “Oh my gosh! This is worse than me asking for blow job advice to begin with. Now he knows I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Honey, chances are last night he knew you didn’t know what you were doing,” she replies. “Are you ready? I’m going to give you the rundown. Get a notepad and some paper, I have a shift in an hour.”
My cheeks redden, and my stomach flips as I wait for his reply. “Ha ha. Don’t make jokes. Just tell me,” I say. No reply comes.
I’d never admit it to Shirley, but I do jot down notes as she rambles on about the finer nuances of sucking the male cock.
I don’t want to forget.