3. Final Words （Ryan）
Chapter three
Final Words (Ryan)
S eeing her lying there all wet and waiting made my cock harder, I wasn’t benching it for the moment. After that delectable pleasure she’d given me with her mouth, it was time to return the favor.
I loved the smell that came as my head neared her pussy; seeing all that succulence drove me wild to the point of losing control. Somehow, patience prevailed and I edged my face closer to her vulva, relishing the scent, thinking of ways I’d ravish her.
When I kissed it, all of her wetness began running down my face. She tasted even better than she smelled, a maddening fact that made me abandon all reservations and just dive in, my tongue wedging inside her vagina while my lips sucked on her labia.
She was quick to react to this sudden barrage of pleasure. With her back arched upward and her hands grabbing fistfuls of my hair, she moaned so loudly that if this were my apartment, I’d be worried what the neighbors might think.
Was she coming already? The way her thighs were quivering and clamping around my face and the sudden gush of wetness from her pussy along with convulsions that spread throughout her body made me think that she already had her first orgasm.
It felt a little strange as I’d only just begun licking her clit.
I peeked out from under her and saw her face contorted in an expression of pure pleasure; it meant that even if she wasn’t coming yet, she was very near to it. I licked her once more, all the way to her clit, and then climbed aboard.
This time, when we kissed, I could taste myself in her mouth just as I was sure she could taste herself in mine.
Our kiss was sweeter, saltier, wetter. She had done away with her bra while I was going down on her.
Her soft, supple breasts lay atop her lopsided.
I instinctively reached out and touched them, a little hesitantly at first, but when she moaned upon my touch, I cupped them and kneaded them as I was positioned over her.
Melissa was pleasure personified. Everything she did, from the way her eyes rolled back into her head to the way she seductively bit on her lower lip as I licked her nipples, was a testament to her sexuality.
As I lowered myself on her, my cock slid gently inside, causing her to whimper.
It entered her deep, warm, and tight pussy, causing me to forget who I was for a full minute.
At that moment, as far as I was concerned, there were only two people in the entire universe: me and her.
Now we’d come together as one. I thrust myself deeper inside her.
She dug her nails into my back and dragged her fingers all the way down to my hips.
She pulled me closer and wound her legs around me.
It became very clear after the first few thrusts that this endeavor was not going to be confined to her bed. She was so light that I effortlessly lifted her with just one arm and pinned her against the wall, pushing all my weight onto her as I fucked her.
The room was dim, casting sharp shadows everywhere.
On a particular wall adjacent to the bed, I could see our reflection on the dressing table mirror and our shadow on the wall beside it.
As I thrust into her, both our shadows became one; when I pulled back, I could see both our distinct silhouettes: one pinned against the wall and the other standing tall.
As pleasurable as this was, I needed more.
I brought her back to the bed and turned her over, her ass facing me and her back stretched out in front of me.
Half her body was on the bed, the other half hanging off it.
Taking in this carnal sight before me made me even harder, although how that had happened was beyond me.
I was a solid seven and a half inches on a good day, but I was sure that the length entering her pussy from behind was no less than a full eight.
Despite all the wildness coursing through my veins, I was careful not to prod too deep or become too rough. For me to have a good time, I needed her to have a good time. So far, judging from the frequency of her high-pitched moans, I could tell that she was enjoying herself.
Just as I was.
Seeing her lying on the bed like that — her hips arched to make way for my dick, her entire back, curvy and covered in sweat, and her hair flailing as my deep thrusts moved her up and down — I could not hold myself any longer.
I grabbed her hair from the back and pulled her close, reaching around to kiss her on the mouth.
As I came, I lowered my hand between her thighs and rubbed my fingers across her clit.
This time, it was not a moan or a whimper. A well-intentioned scream of pleasure rose from deep within her, and this time, there was no mistaking it. With my cock deep inside her, she was coming.
“Oh, fuck!” Melissa moaned as she fell forward and landed face-first on the mattress, panting, grabbing the sheet, and shifting her body slowly to the side of the bed — thoughtfully making way for me.
In all my life, I had never fallen asleep so swiftly. The minute my body hit the mattress, I entered the Sandman’s realm, drowning in the crests and troughs of slumber.
I woke up to the immediate sensation of alienation. This was not my bed, I thought to myself as I looked around, further realizing that this was not my room. I was all alone here, but where was here exactly?
“I made you some breakfast.” The moment Melissa walked in, wearing my shirt that she must have picked up on her way out, everything came back in crisp 4K detail. The hooliganism going on in my office. My friends daring me to…oh, Jesus.
It wasn’t that I was too mortified by the notion that I’d played by my friends’ rules; it was just that the breakfast smelled so good and so enticing that I nearly forgot how I was going to confront Melissa about what had happened last night.
“That looks heavenly,” I said, watching her slide the tray across the bed, the tray containing a flask of black coffee, a plate with a steaming cheese omelet on it, and hot, crisp toast stacked on one side. “Where’s your breakfast?”
“I ate while I was making yours,” she explained, sitting by my side. “Let me pour you some coffee.”
“Listen, as thoughtful as this is…I gotta tell you something,” I said, trying to figure out how I was going to break it to her that I’d slept with her on a dare. How could you break something like that to someone?
“Uh oh, the talk usually comes at a later point in a relationship,” she said.
There. She had just made it very easy for me to break it to her. Relationship? What the hell was she thinking?
“This,” I said, pointing at her and myself as I got out of the bed and headed to my pile of hastily taken-off clothes. “Is not a relationship.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“No. I beg yours. At best, we had a one-night stand. How does that make you think…no, how does it even begin to qualify as a relationship?” The hangover was not helping my mood one bit, exponentiating my frustration.
I had the rule to begin with, the one that prohibited me from going out with someone too young.
“What are you saying?” Melissa whispered, her bottom lip quivering threateningly.
“I’m saying that don’t go thinking that this is something it isn’t. We fucked. We don’t have to add pomp and circumstance to it and declare it a relationship. Frankly, I don’t know all that much about you, although I’m sure that you know more about me than most people.
“So you had sex with me without it meaning anything?” Melissa asked, making things more difficult than they needed to be.
If I was going to rip off the band-aid, might as well rip it off in one go and save her prolonged pain in the long run.
I could afford to have her thinking that I was an asshole.
But I could not afford to lose any more time.
It was already nine-thirty in the morning, and I’d promised Hoffa I’d meet with him at the golf course.
“No. I had sex with you because my friends, the ostentatious bunch that you saw last night, dared me to. At any point, did I coerce you? No. If I remember correctly, you came to me first and more frequently than I ever did. So, please. Enough with the fucking delusion, already.”
“You’re horrible!” Melissa yelled, taking off my shirt and flinging it at me.
“Thanks,” I said, grabbing it mid-air, and then putting it on.
“I don’t want to see you again,” she sobbed.
“Good. I just heard back from the office. They’re sorry to inform you that you’re an unfit candidate for the secretary position. Better luck elsewhere,” I said, striding out of her room and into the lounge before she could fling anything else at me.
Before I closed the door of her apartment on my way out, I heard her issue an angry scream, followed by the crashing sound of something big and brittle hitting a wall. It must have been that godawful vase on her bedside table. Well, good riddance to bad interior décor.
Outside her house, I put on my coat, adjusted my tie, and got in my car. To add to an already shitty start of a day, half a dozen pigeons had taken turns crapping on my car’s hood.
“Christ,” I scoffed as I got in the car and drove off to the country club.
They had a nice shower room. Besides golf, flirting with the waitresses at the restaurant, and the cigar lounge, what else were country clubs good for if not high-pressured shower nozzles with a built-in steam feature?
I had heard some of the best backstories in show business.
But all of them paled in comparison to Hoffa’s tale.
Only I and a select few who were close to him called him Hoffa.
His real name was Frances O’Shaughnessy.
Back in the 80s and 90s, he was a self-made man in the Irish Mafia that ran Boston.
In those days, the name Hoffa was synonymous with terror.