22. Taking One for the Team
22
TAKING ONE FOR THE TEAM
ARCHER
I was alone in the tent when I woke up. No O’Connor. No Charlotte.
I stumbled to the tent flap and braced myself against the cold air. O’Connor, in her purple jacket, was almost to the entrance gate with Charlotte on her fifteen-foot leash. Taking my dog for the sniff-and-poop. That was nice of her.
I took my time waking up. Had a long shower in the empty bathhouse. Thought about skipping the shave but took the time just in case O’Connor wanted to practice kissing again.
The tent was still empty when I got back. O’Connor was getting her exercise, and it would do Char some good too. I collapsed on my mattress to wait for them and thought about nothing and everything.
Was “Freedom” really about me and not the BFT?
Would O’Connor want to do some more kissing?
Was she the kind of woman who waxed? Or would some lucky man—not saying who, not wishing who—discover that the curls at her crotch were dark red, copper, blonde . . . what? A guy could kind of lose his mind wondering.
I heard them return before I saw them because Charlotte pulled a trick I knew all too well. She didn’t want to go back into the tent. Without looking, I knew my Great Dane was down on her back, rolling in the mulch of the campsite. All four long feet were pawing at the sky while she scratched her spine in absurd bliss, her long tongue hanging out of her mouth.
“All right,” O’Connor tried. “That’s enough. Come on, Charlotte. You’re getting all—no, really. Come on, girl. Charlotte, come on!”
Grinning, I called out from my mattress. “Is she lying in the sun?”
O’Connor opened the tent flap and I could see her head, her neck stretched to peer in without dropping the leash. “She won’t get up!”
“Tie her to the bumper. She’s having a sunbath.”
“It’s cold out here. She’s not a cold-weather dog.”
“She won’t come in. Trust me. Loop the leash around the bumper and tie it.”
I heard her tell Charlotte that the dog was ridiculous, which was true. Then O’Connor joined me, zipping the tent shut again and sighing with pleasure at the warmth of the heater.
“Are you sure?” she said. “She’s a short-haired dog. It’s not too cold out there for her?”
“She’ll bark when she gets bored. You could drag her in here—well, you probably couldn’t, but I could. And I have. She just whines at the door until she can get back outside.”
O’Connor raised her eyebrows in surrender. She shucked her jacket and knelt at the foot of her mattress, looking at me.
I stopped admiring the color of those brows—surely that was the leading indicator?—and paid attention to the frown she wore. “What? What’s got you fussed up? ”
Her nose wrinkled when she made a face, and her hands flipped nervously in the air. “I don’t like myself very much.”
I huffed out a breath. Whatever was happening here, I was now in a minefield. Surprise. That was fast.
“You don’t?” I said neutrally. Her exhale had a touch of grunt in it, but she said nothing. How unhelpful of her. What was the key to being interested again? Follow-up questions? “Why not?”
She bit her two lips together, hiding that soft pinkness from view. Her hand flapped confusingly between us. “I’ve always—” she started. Then she tried again. “The relationships I’ve had, they’ve—well, I always thought they were or were going to be, um, relationships.”
She seemed to think she’d explained something. I wish I agreed. “And that’s bad?” I tried.
“Not bad, no. It’s just that, well, you seem to be—I mean, you can’t always believe what you read on social media—” Oh. This was heading in an ugly direction for me. “But from what I’ve seen, I mean, you just, sort of, I guess . . . you know?”
I took a moment to scratch at a nonexistent itch under my eye. “Can you expand on that any, O’Connor? I’m a little confused here.”
She winced again and ran her hand through her ponytail. “Okay. You’re a one-night-stand kind of guy, Archer.” I opened my mouth, not sure what I was going to say, and she rushed to fill the silence. “Or a three-night stand. You know. Whatever. I mean, you’re not looking for—I’m not, you see—I’m not, like, it’s not like I think we’re getting married or something.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline. “What are you?—”
“It’s just,” she went on, “I think I’m going to be using you. Like, now. Because I’m thinking a one-night stand, even though I’m a relationship type and you’re not—and I don’t know, I really liked kissing you, but I don’t like that I’m going to be using you. If . . . you know. ”
The clouds parted. O’Connor did want to do some more kissing. And maybe more than that.
Thank you, benevolent god in whom I did not believe.
“Well,” I said, trying to dial back the grin that threatened to overwhelm me. “O’Connor, I hereby give you permission to use me. However you might like.”
She shook her head, still frowning. “You don’t mean that.”
“I absolutely mean it. Use me. I’m asking you to use me.” The sound that came out of her sounded suspiciously like a whimper. How could I reassure her? “You know, I’m not exactly used to this either.”
Was that comment so funny that she had to laugh at me? A burst of amusement bubbled up through her tension, and she scoffed at me. “Right. I’m so sure.”
“I’m serious.” I rose on an elbow to make my point. “See, in my world, there are people I talk to and people who I, um—” This wasn’t making me look any more attractive.
She finished my thought. “People you hook up with.”
“Right.”
“Do you really not talk to any of them?”
“Well.” I sat all the way up, feeling a little defensive. “I mean, I talk. We talk. It’s not like I’m mute or something. But you know . . .” I shrugged. Now I’d wandered into a minefield of my own creation, and just when it looked like I’d gotten through hers.
“So in the Venn diagram of life”—she smiled—“the overlap between talking and screwing is . . .”
“Pretty fucking small,” I admitted. “Like a pinpoint.”
“And I’m in the pinpoint?”
“So far, you’re the only pinpoint.”
Her eyebrows flickered up, and she bit back a smile. “I’m so flattered.”
“My point,” I said, hoping to push past the issue of my slutty past, “is that I’ve never really, um, well.” She looked her pointed question at me, and I gave up to the inevitability of having to say it out loud. “I’ve done a lot of fucking, but not a lot of making?—”
“—love,” she finished. She read the panic on my face. “I get it. I understand.”
“Anyway, what I want to say is, if you have any thoughts on my technique, I’d really appreciate you telling me in real time so I can correct things. I’d take it as a kindness if I didn’t learn what I did wrong later in a post shared with twenty-four million of your closest friends.”
She chuckled. “I hear you.”
“Good. Thanks.” I ran out of things to say. So did she. There we sat, miles of space between us and not a clue how to change that. Astonished, I heard myself utter a very unmanly giggle. She looked at me, and I explained. “I have to hand it to you, O’Connor. Really, congratulations are in order. I don’t think this situation could possibly be more awkward.” I’d surprised a startled giggle out of her to match mine, and the tension eased just enough for me to move to hands and knees. “You said you liked the kissing part. So . . . maybe I could practice that a little.”
“Okay,” she breathed.
“I’ll come to you.” Shifting my weight to her air mattress made her kneeling pose just unsteady enough to get another smile out of her. I matched her pose, my knees touching hers, and sat back on my heels. “If I recall, I’m aiming for kind.”
“And sexy,” she added, watching my mouth.
“Yeah.” I touched her neck and watched her stretch into the caress. Gorgeous. The line, the warmth, the anticipation.
I curled my hand around her neck to steady her as I moved us closer together. Ensuring my lips were soft and strong, I kissed her. Slow and soft and fresh.
She sighed against my mouth, and her hand slid along my cheek to the angle of my jaw. One of us—maybe both of us—deepened the kiss, and her tongue slid along mine .
God. The speed of my arousal left me almost dizzy. I thought I wanted her before that kiss, but I hadn’t realized how powerful my sudden hit of adrenaline would be. It wasn’t just that my cock was unbearably cramped in my jeans or that my balls were full and tender and sensitive. No, I felt that woman in my biceps. In my hips. I felt her in the ridges of my back. I was so filled with strength that, without a single thought, I’d slid an arm around her waist, pivoted on one knee, and had her under me, stretched across the mattress.
There. Now I could take my time. But was I too rough? “Did I get you with my teeth? I’m?—”
I was going to apologize, but she pulled me down again, sealing her mouth to mine and stopping anything I was going to say.
The lady wanted more. I could oblige.
I settled on my hip, relaxing into the embrace. Her hands stroked my hair as I stroked her tongue with mine. And then, not able to contain the smile she had to have felt, I licked lightly along her teeth.
She giggled against me. “Oh,” she sighed. “Dentistry.”
Then, the little devil, she nibbled at my lip and I pulled back from her long enough to say, “No biting. Don’t you know?”
Her smile was languid. It made my pulse beat to the very tip of my cock. “ Some teeth is okay,” she said.
“Oh, you horrible, horrible woman—” To punish her, I nibbled down the tendons of her neck. She gasped and clutched at me, pulling my head closer. I used my chin and hand to turn her head under mine, so I could make my way up the other side until I reached the delicate lobe of her ear.
I was savoring the salty, clean taste of that delicate, tender skin when she murmured, “You surprise me.”
“Mm?”
“Everything I’ve read—oh, that’s nice—I thought—Archer?— ”
I pulled back, curious to hear what she’d thought. “What?”
Her eyes cleared, focusing on mine. “Well, there’s a woman on Reddit. Or maybe Instagram, I don’t remember. She said she met you, fucked you in some stadium locker room, got a photo with you, and you were gone. All in twenty minutes.”
I grunted, unhappy to have that behavior examined at this moment. “Was I about to go onstage?”
“She didn’t say. Anyway, I thought you’d move faster.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to go faster?”
One long finger touched my mouth lightly. “No, no, this is perfect. I’m just surprised, is all.”
I kissed her finger and nudged her hand aside to brush touches with my lips along her eyelids, down her nose, and at last to her mouth. “I’m still not sure,” I murmured between sips of her beauty, “that you’re entirely committed to the full deal.”
The hand in my hair had become a fist; the sting was pepper in my nose. The ache for her grew more intense. “I am fully committed,” she breathed. “I want to know you. Know all of you. It’s just?—”
Wait. Pull back. The woman had a question. “Just what?”
“I’m not, I mean . . .” She was blushing. I could see the red bloom on her cheek as I could feel the heat against my face.
“Oh, baby. Whatever it is, tell me. We can stop.”
“No!” She grabbed me back when I tried to sit up. “No, it’s that I’m not like those women. The groupies.”
This was confusing. “What do you mean, O’Connor?”
“I’m not . . .” Her eyes flicked down. “I’m so skinny.”
Oh, hey. “No. No, darling, don’t you think it. You’re perfect. You’re worried about these?” I ran my hand up her rib cage until I could cup one perfect breast. “You must have very high standards.” I kissed the pebbled tip through her sweater. “I’ve been dreaming of these since I met you.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah.” It sounded like a line I’d feed any woman, but in fact, it was the truth. O’Connor had small breasts, but they were perfect. I’d been wanting to feel their weight, their curve since our first disastrous date in California. “In fact, if you don’t object, I’d like to make a further inspection . . .”
I tugged up her sweater, and she lifted obligingly so I could get to the white bra she wore.
“Damn,” she sighed, her hands holding my head as I kissed her through the cloth. “I packed nice lingerie too. Why didn’t I wear it?”
That made me smile. “You packed nice stuff?” The thought gave me the courage to slip one finger into the cup and tug the fabric down until one pink nipple popped out. So pretty.
“I—I did. Maybe I was thinking of this even then . . . oh, Archer.”
I prided myself on my familiarity with the clasps of a bra, so I moved with confidence to reach under her. The bra gave way to my dexterity, and I had full access at last.
“God, you’re so pretty. Your skin is like silk. I have to taste. To lick.”
“Wait, hang on.” She fought to pull the sweater and the remains of her bra over her head. Oh yeah. I helped. When her hands came back down, she pulled at the back of my shirt. “You too. I want to feel you against me.”
Laughing, we worked together to strip my shirt off too. Then I took a moment to admire her. Flushed, eyes sparkling, skin pinking under my gaze. I slid the flat of my hand against the tips of her breasts, reaching from one to the other to watch her shiver under my touch. “Give me just a few minutes with these, please.”
“No teeth,” she gasped. “They’re so sensitive right now.”
“Yeah?” Naturally that made me want to nibble on her, but I restrained myself. Still, after I’d licked and then suckled, I held her firmly in one cupped hand and grazed my teeth up the slope to the tip. She gasped and writhed under me. “I won’t bite,” I crooned. “I’d like to, but I’m not going to.”
“I don’t know if I’m happy or—or sad about that.” Her voice was breathy. I looked up to find her with her arm over her eyes. She was feeling instead of thinking, and I had to back up far enough to kiss those lips. The lips that were making me feel like I was two perfect drinks into a fantastic alcoholic buzz. If I could maintain this high forever, I wouldn’t need the crowds. But I’d tarried too long. Her hips were restless beneath mine, and one hand was plucking at the waistband of my jeans. “Archer,” she breathed. “Tell me you have a condom.”
A rush of pure satisfaction stroked down every nerve ending. “No doubts at all left, huh? That’s good. And I’m a musician—of course I have condoms. But we are not to that point yet.” I ran my hand down her belly to the fleecy leggings she wore. Stretchy . . . nice. I slipped from hip to hip, and she curled up a little off the mattress.
“We aren’t?”
“Not yet,” I said, enjoying her responses. “Don’t rush me.”
I slipped my fingers under the band and she sucked in her stomach, which made me smile. Still a little body conscious, then. I grazed against the edge of a pair of panties—no lace, no satin. Probably plain cotton to match the bra. The fact that they weren’t seduction lingerie gave me a rush of excitement. Overcome with passion, not premeditated. Yes.
One of her hands cradled my head as I licked at her breasts; the other fell to my reaching shoulder. Was she trying to keep control of my wandering fingers?
“Archer,” she asked, “hasn’t it been a month since you got laid?” Girl had a wickedly good memory. “Don’t you want to—I mean?—”
“What makes you think I’m not exactly where I want to be?” I shifted, moving away from her hands to slide down her body. I kissed her belly and folded back the edge of the leggings to continue my progress south.
“I don’t—you don’t have to—I don’t need?—”
“Shh,” I whispered. O’Connor’s reluctance told me a lot. Have a hard time coming, do you? Your past dates have been assholes, then. “This is for me, then. Just relax.”
“Relax,” she repeated.
Waxed. Too bad. The color of her curls would remain a mystery, unless I persuaded her to give it up.
In truth, I didn’t often go down on women. Who had the time? But O’Connor’s shy reluctance and the shivers that followed my fingers had fired my curiosity. My determination. Would she enjoy this as much as I was going to?
I tugged down on the leggings, and she raised up so I could strip her naked. I threw her clothes onto the next mattress. “Are you too cold?”
“No.” Her voice . . . was that nerves? Hesitation? Regret?
I looked up. “Do you want me to stop?”
She thought about it for an impossible moment. Then her hand reached to cradle my cheek. “No.”
Okay. Good. I inhaled the scent of her, the most complex scent. It was fresh and dirty at the same time. Sexy as hell and tenderly innocent. Luscious and?—
Kind. Welcoming.
My god. We were back to how to kiss well. Kind and sexy. I was determined to tell her when I next had the ability to speak.
I kissed down that plucked, smooth flesh until I reached the secret seam at her center. The rush of energy through me made my muscles bulge, made my cock hard. I swung over her thigh to lie between her legs and slid my hands behind each knee.
I lifted her legs over my shoulders, and she let me. She was spread before me, mine for the savoring. I looked up her body; she was hiding behind that forearm again, but that was okay. It just meant she was feeling everything .
I got her legs settled, rearranged my cock in my jeans so the girth was at least tolerable, then parted her with gentle fingers.
Blush pink fading to dark slickness. The perfume was stronger, maddening. Magnetic.
I started at the top of the seam and kissed gently, but my good intentions were derailed when the taste of her slickness met my mouth. After that, the kisses were a distant dream. I explored the contours, the folds, the intricate depths of her with my tongue.
She sighed, and one hand fell on my head. Yes. Direct me. Show me what feels good.
I was stroking lightly at her clitoris when I wondered about the deepest part of her. What would it feel like inside her? Was it hot? Slippery? Shell pink or reaching into crimson? Would she hold me tightly? Would her grip feel as good to her as it would to me?
I sent a finger to rim the opening, stroking as gently as my tongue, a bare inch above.
“I’ve never?—”
“Shh.”
“No, but you don’t have to?—”
“Hush, O’Connor. You don’t have to come. Let me be a little selfish, okay?” I’d stop if she actually protested, but her hand was still holding my head to her. She hadn’t said no. “You can steer if you want.” As soon as I said it, she tried to pull her hand from my head, but I found it and put it back. “Tell me. Go right. Go left. Go up or down. Use your hands on my head. Okay? Don’t leave me to wonder.”
I rewarded her with a long, heavy swipe of my tongue, and her fingers formed into fists. Yes, woman. Get a good grip.
I returned to my explorations and was pleased when she nudged my head upward. Okay. When she sighed, I stopped going up and settled in .
Her breathing picked up. Her hips tilted. I slid my curious finger inward, barely entering, and she moaned.
This was like music. We could do this together. She was song, and I was lyrics. We built it together, and when she pushed my head against her, I increased the strength of my tongue. When I felt a tiny tremor in the legs down my back, I slid my finger in further.
But her breathing . . . was it too fast? “Relax,” I murmured against her. “Don’t try. There’s no goal here. Just feel good.”
“Yeah?” The muscles of her stomach eased, but her ankles crossed at my back. Her body didn’t want to relax, even if her brain liked the slowdown.
But the brain had to come along, so I slowed my caress. Lightened the pressure. Slipped the finger out of her. And since I was slowing the tempo, I took the opportunity to slide my finger into my mouth so I could taste her honey.
She gasped, and I looked up. She was watching me. “You taste so good,” I said.
O’Connor’s eyes went wide, and she pressed my face into her crotch with a moan. The stomach muscles leaped back into iron. Her heels dug into my back.
Well, so much for slowing down.
This time, I put two fingers into her and landed on her clit with a firm tongue. She hissed in her breath in staggered pants, and I reached for the bundle of nerves inside her—the ones attached to the clit I laved with my tongue.
“Oh! Oh god . . .” O’Connor’s hand pressed me into her. Her thighs clenched around my head.
With a whimper, O’Connor gave up and had her orgasm.
I nearly came in my jeans from the experience. When she released me at last and I could look up, her face was still frozen in surprise: eyebrows up, eyes staring at nothing, mouth open in a silent scream .
Hmm. We could work on that. I wanted to hear her come as well as feel it.
I slid her legs from my shoulders and moved up her body, lying on my side and gathering her to my chest. She rolled into me bonelessly but whimpered when her long legs came together.
Oversensitive clit. Got it. We’d lie here until she wanted to move.
“Fuck, Archer,” she finally said into my throat.
I chuckled. “I did okay?”
She pulled back far enough to look at me. “I’ve never come from being eaten. I just don’t. I’m not sure how you did that.”
I preened. “Still think I’m too vain?”