UnConventional Page 9

  Santiago pushes us toward the bed, ducking his head to the side every couple feet to make sure he’s on track since I’m still blocking his view. We’re both smiling; we’re both panting. Once we hit the bed, he gently shifts me off his lap onto the mattress as if I’ll break if he’s not careful. My legs are sore and a little numb from being twisted up, and when they unfold as I leave his lap, I knock his knee, and he grimaces.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. I’m still drunk—less than when I first stumbled out of the cab, enough to decide this is what I want—although I don’t think he is anymore.

  He nods it away, spreading my legs and nudging his knees between mine, leaning forward. I take his cue and meet him for the kiss, gripping the fabric of his shirt as his tongue traces the inside of my mouth. I push forward, straddling his knees, kissing him hungrily, yanking at his shirt until he laughs, pulls away, and eases it off, throwing it toward a corner. I greedily trace my fingers along his bare skin as we continue to kiss, hands roving from shoulder to arm to pec to stomach. I pull back, palms resting on his biceps, admiring him. His skin is the most delicious light olive brown, with dark, nearly black curly hair making a nest between his pecs, then breaking off and picking up again around his navel, leading down into his pants. Shirtless, I can now see the thinness of his upper arms, contrasting especially with his muscular forearms. His belly is flat, without definition. But he’s perfect.

  I hunger to touch my lips to his body, leaning forward and planting gentle kisses in a trail from his neck, down his shoulder, along his arms, chest. He groans, squeezes the bulge in his crotch before pushing me back, but I don’t have long to admire him before he’s slipped his hands under my thighs, tugging at the hem of my skirt. Together, we liberate me of my dress, and as soon as I’m free of its fabric, his hands and lips and tongue are on me, mirroring my exploration, whispering in the nape of my neck, fingers teasing nipples through the lace of my bra, kisses planted on my arms, hands, belly. Hungry yet tender, his hands rove my body, and I reach back to unhook my bra. I’ve hardly gotten it off when he’s taken a nipple in his mouth, sucking softly.

  The pleasure hits me hard and fast; I imagine this is what a junkie must feel like when the drugs finally hit their brain. He finds my other nipple, working it between thumb and forefinger as his tongue and lips and teeth tease the other for what feels like hours but I know has to be only minutes.

  His left hand strays from my breast, and I let out a little moan of complaint. He answers with a muffled laugh but continues sucking, exploring my body. I love the feel of his hands, their roughness contrasting so sharply with my soft skin. His fingers drift over my stomach, down, curving on my pelvic bump, which he pats lightly, gently rubbing my clit through the fabric, easing me into it. I’m so sensitive from arousal, even his light touch makes me shiver. I bring my right hand to my free nipple, squeezing it between my fingers.

  Without lifting his lips from my left breast, he watches me, eyes dark with lust, and sucks so hard I’m pushed to that beautiful plateau where pain transforms into ecstasy. My orgasm is so close I nearly grasp it, my breath escaping between moans as he rubs me harder, faster, with the flat part of his fingers.

  I gasp as he pulls away, my nipple feeling the sharp contrast of the cool room air after being encased in his mouth for so long. I pout, the expression becoming an audible whine, but he laughs, the amber specks in his eyes gleaming with lust.

  “I’m not finished with you yet,” he assures me, a lascivious smile tipping his lips, giving me a gentle push that sends me back on the bed, bouncing with the recoil.

  He leans in, kissing the inside of each thigh, smoothing his hands over my feet, legs. He hooks his fingers on the band of fabric at my hips, and I angle my pelvis up so he can relieve me of these too.

  Santiago bends my legs, caressing me with just his fingertips on the curve my ass, the undersides of my thighs, sending a tingle coursing through my entire body so I have to suppress a visible shiver. He urges my legs apart, but I resist. I want him, I want to give myself to him—although I know I shouldn’t—but no man has ever sat across from me like this, gazing into my pussy as if he can somehow peer into my soul.

  “I want to see you,” he says, his eyes fixed on mine as if to reassure me.

  Reluctantly, I spread them, leaving me fully exposed. I bite my lip. Will he think it’s ugly?

  He teases my clit with one of his thumbs, pressing lightly as if to test how sensitive it is. I feel him parting my lips, and for a moment, everything seems to freeze. I glance down and realize he’s looking at me. I mean me, like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

  “Riquísima,” he whispers, teasing my lips with his fingertips.

  He wraps his arms around my thighs, pulling my body closer. As he leans in, I can feel his hot breath on my clit. I tense. I’ve never had a guy go down on me before, and although I’ve fantasized about what it would feel like, now that it’s about to happen, I start to panic.

  Santiago must feel the muscles in my thighs tighten, because he lifts his head. “No one has ever done this for you?”

  I shake my head.

  He frowns, but it’s more a look of pity than distaste. He dips two fingers into my pussy, just enough to get them wet, then eases them up along my lips toward my clit, his touch so light it’s almost painful how much it makes me want more.

  “You’ll like this,” he says, leaning in just enough for me to feel him blow hot breath against me. “Trust me,” he adds, his head still between my legs but eyes lifted to meet mine.

  I allow my body to relax, letting my head sink down and spreading my legs farther, but I’m still tense. Nervous. Uncertain. I’ve given plenty of blowjobs in my life, but this is something new. Scary.

  All my tension and trepidation evaporates as soon as his tongue hits my clit, and I’m not entirely sure what happens next, because suddenly my world turns white and my consciousness shuts down. His mouth is so delightfully hot and wet as he licks and blows and sucks, and it feels so fucking good I writhe on the bed like my body doesn’t know what to do with itself.

  Just when I think it can’t get any better, he slips a finger in me, moving around until I feel a delightful pressure: unexpected, unfamiliar, and yet which pushes me even closer to my building orgasm.

  My muscles tense, Santiago licking and sucking as he moves his fingers in and out faster and faster and faster. I reach around and grab his wrist, pressing him into me with more urgency, my hips bucking against his mouth, his hand.

  He reaches up, homing in on my left nipple. He gives it a light pinch, as if to test me, then squeezes harder. It’s like he’s pressed my orgasm button. My entire body goes stiff as I scream and explode as if I were a giant firework, breaking off into pieces of brilliant light coloring the darkness. Undoubtedly the best. Orgasm. Ever.

  I feel loose, like a marionette draped over the mattress, my vision filmy, a lazy smile on my face. I hear two thuds, then the subtle creak of his chair. A gentle hand on my knee, nudging me over. I force my body to move and see Santiago’s removed his socks and shoes and has positioned his chair almost perpendicular to the bed. This wakes me from my stupor enough to prop myself up. My heart speeds its beat.

  He’s going to transfer.

  First he uses his hands to slide toward the edge of the seat; then he eases his feet off the footrest. Gripping his wheel with one hand and bracing his other on the bed, he uses his toes to help push himself onto the mattress. Seeing him move, I get that pleasant flutter in my stomach, like I’m zooming down a roller coaster. Tonight is my chance to put this “thing”—this unconventional attraction—to the test.

  I watch, transfixed, as he undoes his belt and unbuttons his jeans, unzips. Next he places one hand flat on the bed, tilting his opposite hip up and using that hand to pull his pants and boxers down. Then he repeats for the other side, leaving his jeans and underwear around his thighs. My nerve endings are firing so intensely I’m dizzy. Such a mundane movement,
one he must do at least once a day, every day, and yet the way he moves makes me want to grab him, devour him.

  Cherish him.

  My mouth dry, I’m torn between watching him and tearing his clothes off the rest of the way, because now I can see his cock, fully erect and pressed up against his stomach. And fuck, it’s just as gorgeous as the rest of him—average length, but thick, the skin a slightly darker shade of olive brown. Unlike Stephen, he’s cut, and I lick my lips, wondering what he tastes like.

  I’m so distracted I don’t realize he’s discarded the rest of his clothes until I notice him use his hands and arms to pull himself away from the edge. As his legs slide onto the mattress, I see his feet point downward—it’s subtle, but my eyes follow them, leading past his deceptively large and muscular calves, contrasting with his atrophied thighs. I renew my desire to want to touch him, kiss him everywhere.

  Like his walk, I can see moving like this takes more effort than he makes it seem, his upper arms and shoulders not as strong as I would have expected. His disease obviously affects more than his legs. Soon, he’s pulled himself to the headboard so that he’s sitting against it, his legs pushed apart, looking incredibly sexy. I can hardly breathe as I realize he’s all mine. Maybe only for tonight, but I’ll take everything he’ll give me.

  I ease closer to him, climb over one leg so I’m kneeling between them. I hesitate, a hand hovering over his knee. “You can feel everything, right?” I ask, flushing.

  He chuckles. “Yes.”

  I smile, give in to temptation, and plant a kiss in the back of one knee, then the other. He squirms, and I look up, meeting his eyes, wondering if I should stop. His expression is complex, unreadable, but he nods.

  “Touch me, Di,” he says.

  I start teasingly by kissing the insides of his thighs, just below his sac but close enough that when I lean in, my nose grazes him, and he sighs—the sweetest, sexiest little sound. I move down his legs, kissing, stroking, glancing up after each peck. He’s panting, a hand on his cock, but there’s a wariness in his eyes.

  I slide my palms down over his calves, which look so muscular, and yet, when I wrap my hands around them, I can tell they aren’t. I love the way they feel. I love that he’s given me permission to touch them. I plant a few kisses on each shin, caressing them, appreciating how different they are from his thighs: soft, sexy, wonderful.

  I glance back down at his feet, which point a few degrees off neutral, but his toes are flat, almost as if he were standing on them. Entranced, I slide my palms toward his ankles. When I go to lay a hand on his foot, he jerks it, his toes flexing, startling me.

  Santiago places a hand on my head, and I look up.

  He shakes his head.

  “No?”

  “No,” he says, his face serious. His hands are now braced on either side of him, and he looks tense.

  Does he not realize how incredibly hot his feet are? Is it possible he’s more self-conscious of his body than he lets on? Or do they hurt him? I meet his eyes, take in a breath.

  “Trust me?” I say, mimicking him, hoping what I’m about to do will reassure him.

  I can see his stomach move with each nervous breath, his eyes wary, nibbling on his bottom lip. God, I could die right now from how sexy he looks, completely naked, half-hard now, the moment of decision.

  Finally, he swallows, nods.

  I smile, lean forward and lay a light kiss on the top of one foot, then the other, just barely grazing his skin. I hesitate for a moment before looking up again, worried. What I just did can only go two ways. I may be sleeping alone tonight after all.

  “Di,” he says on a sigh, and when I look up, he’s smiling, beckoning me.

  I crawl closer, accepting his hands, sitting on his thighs, my legs tucked on either side. He holds me tightly, like he did in the elevator, studying me. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but instead he pulls me into a hungry kiss.

  This kiss says more than any words could: thank you, sorry, I want you. His lips, tongue, hands devour me as I feel him grow between us, urgent pressure. I need him inside me. Now.

  I suck at the skin at the nape of his neck, grinding against him. His moan is demanding. “Condom?”

  “Wallet,” he manages to say, pointing toward his chair.

  Remembering how he fished out the key, I climb off him, to the edge of the bed. With one hand, I grab his wallet out of the pouch suspended beneath his seat, resisting the urge to touch his chair too much. It feels wrong, despite how intimate we’ve already been, like it’s a bridge I shouldn’t cross yet.

  I hand it to him, then watch as he extracts a packet and tosses the wallet on the nightstand. He spits in his palm, strokes himself a few times, and it’s so hot, I grow impatient, letting out a whimper. He chuckles, rips open the plastic, and…

  “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  He opens his palm to show me: the condom is ruined, unusable, the latex dried. There’s a reason they tell you not to keep them in your wallet.

  “You don’t have another one?”

  He balls his hand into a tight fist, then tosses the wrapper and condom across the room. “No. I didn’t think…I didn’t think we’d get this far.”

  Tonight can’t end. Not like this. And if I leave, I’ll never come back. I swallow, take his hand. “I…I’m clean. Are you?”

  “Yes… Yes,” he says, using his hands to push himself away from the wall. “Are you sure about this?” I can tell he is: fully erect, leaking precum, his eyes pleading.

  “Yes.” It might be wrong, but I’ve never felt so certain about anything. Somehow this feels right.

  He lies back, breathing heavily. I know he wants me as much as I want him, and that makes my hunger burn even fiercer. “Climb on top of me,” he says, his voice low and deep.

  I do, and though my skin is flushed with desire, I’m nervous. I tried being on top once with Stephen; he didn’t like it, so we never did it again. “I’m not very good at this,” I blurt; apparently the alcohol’s effect hasn’t completely left me.

  “It’s okay,” he says, a hand stroking my thigh. “I’ll help you.”

  He grips my hips, shifting my body, forcing me to rub against his cock. The sensation is wonderful, and I rock my pelvis, craving him. I push up, then sink down. As soon as I feel that satisfying fullness, I moan. So does he.

  “Oh fuck, Di. Feel so fucking good,” he says, pressing me to him. I agree, leaning forward with a hand on his chest. It’s like we were two puzzle pieces, jumbled in the box, lost, and have now been reunited. He drops one hand from my waist, palming my ass. I’m surprised to find I like it.

  I smile; he smiles, his arms pushing and pulling me on and off him faster and faster. Gripping his shoulders, I press toward him, urging him deeper, and oh, fuck, I didn’t know sex could feel this fantastic. We’re both panting, moaning, and suddenly, like a door unlocking, he slides even deeper. We gasp together. Beam.

  Our movements grow more frantic, and I’m poised to come again. He’s shut his eyes, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead and nose, his lips just barely parted. God, he’s beautiful. I want to make him come. I want to see his face when he does.

  Seconds later, it hits me hard, taking my breath away, fingers curling on his shoulders. This orgasm is different, but equally good, my muscles contracting, body jerking. This seems to push him over the edge. He lets out a loud grunt, shoving me onto him so hard it’s almost painful. I focus, squeezing him. He moans, grinning, before his smile fades to concentration. He pumps me hard against him twice, and I suddenly feel his heat inside me, his stomach jumping as he comes, his smile returning.

  At last he goes still, breathing heavily, peeking an eye open to look at me. I roll off, then snuggle up against him, enjoying his warmth, the smell of sex heavy in the air. The chill of sweat clings to our bodies. He yanks the edge of the blanket, throwing it over us in a makeshift cover, then takes me in his arm in a comforting embrace.

  I touch his
calf with my toe, brushing my foot over his leg, making sure to stop before his ankle. I want to cherish this moment, this feeling—bliss—but I’m spent, and he is too.

  “Best opening day of a convention, ever,” he says with a faint chuckle, his voice heavy with sleep.

  “Ditto.” My eyes slide shut. Surrounded by him—his scent, his touch, his soft breathing—I slip into sleep, knowing my “thing” isn’t just fantasy. It’s real, my body coming alive as it never has before. If this was a dream, I think, may I never wake up.

  Chapter Nine

  When I open my eyes, I feel refreshed like I haven’t in years, surprised I have only a faint headache rather than a full-blown hangover. I stretch without getting up, rolling over to check the clock. No wonder. It’s almost eight, a good four hours past the time I normally wake up. But it’s okay. Because the dream I just had was the kind you don’t want interrupted by your circadian rhythm. I smile, remembering it, wondering if Santiago really looks that hot naked. If he really thinks I’m sexy.

  Probably not, I think, pushing myself up, my bladder screaming for relief. Last night’s a bit hazy. I remember the cab ride, playing pool, getting pretty drunk with Santiago, and the rest…

  I can hear the shower running in the room next door. My head’s throbbing as I crawl out of bed toward the bathroom. I’ll have to text Stephen, explain I slept in, but first…

  As I draw closer to the bathroom, the shower noises grow louder, and I can hear someone singing faintly, off-key. Man, the walls in this hotel are even thinner than I thought they were. I shrug. My eyes are still a little bleary from sleep as I push the door open.

  I’m immediately hit by the heat and steam. It wakes me up. The shower, the voice—not next door. A red wheelchair, draped in towels, sits parked and empty near the shower curtain. My hand flies to my face, and I have to brace myself against the wall to keep from collapsing. Oh God. It wasn’t a dream. It really happened.