Big Girls Do It Boxed Set Page 14

  He'd shown me my inner goddess.

  I did feel, in that moment, with his arms slipping around me, his body sliding against mine, his fingers exploring my body and starting the slow unwrapping of my clothes, that I was a goddess. I had power. My body, my desires, my needs...I could affect a man, hold sway over him, manipulate him or lift him up or draw his pleasure out, multiply it, deepen it. I could, for the minutes or hours I was with a man in bed, be all of his universe, the only thing that mattered in his existence, in those moments. It's not about experience or lack thereof, or what you've learned or with whom. That power comes from within a woman, and it must be understood on a blood- and bone- and soul-deep level.

  Time had vanished and reappeared, and I was naked with him, limbs tangling in a writhing twist of flesh and sweat and heat. I had no memory of removing clothes, of anything but his lips and his hands and his body against mine, and it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Only him, only me, only us together.

  There were no games, no kinks, no blindfolds or positions or bindings, just bodies mingling and merging. Lips collided and tongues mated, hands and legs and arms wrapped and touched and twined. I felt him move into me, fill me, glide with serpentine grace to merge our bodies in a manner more intimate than ever before. Walls and defenses and worries melted away, futures and pasts and choices had no meaning.

  Climax happened gradually, together. We mounted the heights of pleasure together in a timeless dance of flesh, moving and breathing until we were left motionless and breathless together.

  There was something massively important in that experience together. I couldn't look at it too carefully, not yet. I just let it permeate my being, sweep my thoughts away. His breathing and mine matched, slowed, deepened, merged until there was nothing but breath, nothing but contact of cooling flesh and drowsing mind.

  We slept then, and dreamed no dreams but each other.

  * * *

  I stood in the shadow of a curtain backstage, watching Chase and his band Six Foot Tall perform. We were in a tiny club outside Hoboken, New Jersey, and the crowd was wild, raucous, and rambunctious. They demanded hard numbers, fast beats, and constant spectacle. Chase seemed to instinctively know he couldn't try to bring the tempo down, but kept the band playing their hardest original numbers as well as some stock cover songs.

  They'd gone over an hour and a half without breaking, and I could tell they were exhausted from the intense pace of the show. Chase was dripping sweat, wiping his face with a rag between numbers and guzzling bottles of water. He spent a lot of the show at the edge of the stage, hanging off the speakers and getting as close to the crowd as possible.

  By the time two hours had passed, they were out of original material and had played all the stock hard rock covers they knew. The stage lights had been doused and the band had thanked the crowd for coming out, but the little club was being rocked by chants of "Encore, encore, encore!" As minutes passed and the band failed to reappear, the crowd became increasingly restless.

  Finally, Chase turned to me. "I don't know what to do. We're out of material except ballads and soft shit they won't want to hear."

  "Well at this point, if that's all you have left, that's what you have to do, right? They sound like they're about to riot. You guys have to play something."

  Chase stared at me, then snapped his fingers and pointed at me. "I've got it. Come on."

  He pulled me by the hand onto the stage, the lights still down. The band took their places, waiting for Chase to announce what they would play.

  He turned to me. "You still know how to sing 'Broken'?"

  I nodded, numb. "Yeah, of course, but—"

  He pointed at the guitarist. "Start it up, bro."

  The guitarist nodded, his long braided beard wagging. His fingers slid down the fretboard and he picked out the opening notes. The bassist rolled his shoulders, and then joined in, thumping the rhythm. The drummer waited another beat, then ratatatted in on the snare.

  A techie garbed in black scurried out onstage, handed me a cordless mic, and then the lights came on, bathing Chase and I in a single spotlight. I looked out at the crowd, the faces swathed in shadows, heads bobbing to the familiar song. Scattered cheers and applause met us as the band ramped up into high gear, and then music was washing through me and my rush of nerves receded.

  I had a sudden flash of the first time I'd done this song with Chase, in an appropriately-named bar called The Dive. Then, we'd sung to a karaoke track in front of maybe a hundred people. Now, the club was stuffed to the rafters, easily three hundred people packed in tight, holding clear plastic cups of pale amber beer over their heads, sloshing it over the rims as they jumped and cheered.

  Chase started the first verse, and then my voice lifted and wove around his, finding the harmony as if we'd practiced a dozen times. The natural onstage chemistry Chase and I shared kicked in, sparks buzzing between us, and then everything faded away but the driving guitars and the chugging base and the pounding drums and Chase's blazing brown eyes locked on mine.

  We bridged from the chorus to the second verse, and the crowd was wilder than ever. Chase took my hand as we finished the song, and I felt a brief, sharp pang of sharp emotion burn through me, mixed up feelings of awe for Chase's natural ability to play the crowd, adrenaline at the experience of performing on an actual stage with his band, and something awfully like deep affection for Chase.

  The song ended, the lights went down, and the crowd continued to cheer. Chase pulled me off the stage, as elated with post-performance adrenaline as I was. The band was behind us, chattering and clapping each other on the back.

  Chase ignored the band and the still cheering crowd, pulling me toward the red and white exit sign. He pushed open the door and led me out into the warm summer night. The alley behind the bar was dark and silent, lit only by the ambient city lights and the half moon.

  The alley was filled by the cargo van the band used to transport their equipment, and Chase led me to a patch of darker shadows between the wall of the club and the white metal of the van. He pushed me back up against the wall and crushed his lips to mine, heat billowing off of him, sweat from his upper lip mingling with my own, his mouth cold from the water he'd slammed on the way out to the alley. His body pressed against me, pinning me to the wall, and his hands moved from cupping my face as he kissed me, smoothing down my body to the heavy curve of my breasts, and farther, to the hem of my skirt just above my knees.

  His erection was a hard rod between us, and the furious fire of his kiss lit the boiling fuel of my desire, turned into a white-hot blaze by the rush of adrenaline. I reached between us and opened his leather pants, pushed them down, curled greedy fingers around the silky steel of his shaft. He dragged my thong down and I stepped out of the panties as they dropped to the ground between us.

  His fingers delved into me, already wet and aching for him, not needing any priming. I lifted my leg and wrapped it around his waist, and he held it in place with one hand. I gripped him in my hand and guided him to my quivering entrance, bit his lower lip as he penetrated into me. He lifted up on his toes to drive himself inside me to the hilt, holding me aloft with one hand around my leg and the other around my ass, pulling me tight against him.

  Our lips met, crushed together but not kissing, breath merging as Chase drove up into me, rocking his body upward, spearing me until my breath caught. I buried my face in his neck, nipped his skin, muffled a gasp against the salt of his flesh, holding on to his shoulders and whimpering.

  Within a dozen thrusts I was reaching climax, the leg supporting me buckling under the pressure of the ecstasy driving through me.

  "Oh god, Chase, I'm coming," I gasped, clinging to him, breathing the words in his ear.

  Hearing me say that spurred Chase to move even harder, lifting up on his toes, pushing me back into the wall with every thrust inside me. I came on an up-thrust, biting his shoulder to muffle a shriek, biting hard enough to draw a grunt of pain from Chase, which turned int
o a drawn-out groan as he came. He plowed into me, harder and harder, his mouth huffing loud moaning breaths into my hair as he shot his seed into me, a flood of heat washing against my walls.

  My inner muscles locked around him as I came, my body trembling and quivering and shaking, every nerve on fire, my arms and legs shaking from a mixture of pleasure and exhaustion.

  Chase finished, slowed his thrusting and pulled out of me, letting my leg down. We both back against the cold metal of the van just as Chase's band-mates came out into the alley looking for us. I tugged my skirt down mere seconds before they shoved the door open, but our out-of-breath panting and just-fucked hair gave away what we'd been doing. They just grinned and shook their heads as they lit cigarettes, which drove Chase and I—both non-smokers—back inside to look for drinks.

  I visited the bathroom to clean up and then met Chase at the bar, where he had a Jameson and ginger ale waiting for me. I sat next to him, realizing I'd left my panties on the ground in the alley. We drank with the rest of the band until the bar closed, fans surrounding us, everyone wanting to party with the band. The other guys continued on to an after-party, but this time Chase took me back to his place.

  We rode each other again, this time more slowly, our moans of united climax rising in harmony.

  It was nearly dawn before we finally fell asleep.

  * * *

  For the first time since arriving in New York, I found myself alone for several hours. Chase's band had to rehearse their set for that night's show, and since I was going to see it later anyway, Chase suggested I "do some shopping or whatever."

  I decided to do the tourist thing. I'd been to New York a few times before, but I'd never really just explored, I'd always been with friends or family with a set itinerary. This time, I went to the Statue of Liberty, explored the area around Times Square on foot, ate at a hole-in-the-wall pizzeria, took the subway in a circle around the boroughs, just wasting time and seeing the every-day-life parts of the city.

  I made it back to Chase's apartment with enough time to take a nap, shower, and change. Well, that was the idea, at least. I got the nap in, exhausted from a long day on foot, but the shower didn't exactly happen as planned.

  Chase came back from rehearsal, amped up and adrenalized. The hot, leisurely shower I'd anticipated turned into Chase pinning me under the stream of water, one of my legs around his hip as he drove up into me. There was no romance or technique to it, this time. Chase often spent an inordinate amount of time giving me pleasure before he let himself go; this time, the focus was on him, and I liked it that way, in that moment. I tangled my arms around his neck and held tight as he drilled into me, grunting, plunging. He was primal, raw power. He came with a shudder and a growl of teeth in my shoulder.

  We finished cleaning up and toweled off, and by that time, Chase was ready again. He didn't make any overt moves to take me again, but I could tell he wanted it.

  I waited until he had gotten his boxers on before I made my move. He was pulling his shirt over his head and momentarily blind. I knelt in front of him, jerked his boxers around his knees, and wrapped my lips around his head, letting my teeth lightly graze him, enough to shock. He gasped and flinched.

  "God...what are you doing?" Chase tugged the shirt and looked down at me as I stroked his base. "We just went...and I have to be at the club in a few minutes..."

  I licked him from root to tip before answering. "If you don't have time, then I guess..." I backed away slowly, giving him time to consider.

  "Well, we might have a few minutes," he said.

  "I thought so. I mean, I wouldn't want you to perform...frustrated." I used both hands then, pumping him slowly, just the very tip in my mouth, sucking gently.

  Chase tried to answer, but could only gasp as I slid him deeper into my throat, moving my hands down his length as I did so. His fingers tangled in my damp hair and he fluttered his hips, restraining himself from thrusting. I went slow for a moment, stroking, sucking, and massaging, until he was limp-kneed and gasping. He was slick and hard in my hands, veins throbbing and sack taut, ready to burst. I moved a fist on him, quickly now, a finger massaging the muscles of his taint, lips locked around his engorged head. He threw his head back, groaning, tightened his fingers in my hair, and then he couldn't help his thrusting hips. I took him deep, not quite gagging as he brushed the back of my throat. Harder, faster, until he was dipping at the knees and rocking his hips to the rhythm of my bobbing.

  "God, goddamn...I'm coming..."

  I hadn't needed the warning. I could feel him tense, feel his balls contract and release in my palm. He came hard, shooting a jet of hot, thick, salty come down my throat, and then again, and a third time. I kept moving, kept sucking, until he was curled down over his belly and rumbling, jerking. He lifted me up to my feet and held me in a hug, breathing hard.

  "Wow, what was that for?" Chase asked.

  I shrugged. "I wanted to. I like making you feel good, especially before your show. If you guys kill it like you did the other day, I might even do it again."

  Chase chuckled. "Well then, we'll have to kill it, won't we?"

  They opened for one of New York's biggest up-and-coming local bands, and they killed it. They started their set with one of their hardest numbers, a thrash piece that had the crowd moshing within minutes. That set the pace for the rest of the show, each song harder than the last, and the crowd ate it up. Chase was in rare form, climbing up on a stack of speakers for an entire number, getting the crowd participating in chant-back choruses, jumping off the stage and working through the crowd, even singing from on top of the bar at one point.

  By the time their set was over, the crowd was in a frenzy, and actually demanding an encore. After approving it with the stage manager, Chase and the band went back out and did a cover of the Ramones' "Blitzkrieg Bop".

  I had watched from the bar, wanting to experience the show from a different angle. When they finished their set, I made my to the backstage entrance. Chase had introduced me to the stage staff before the show. I saw the other guys from the band near the door to the alley, and I made my way to them.

  "Hey, Anna!" Gage, the bassist, greeted me with an effusive hug.

  "Great show, guys!" I said.

  I congratulated all of them, then looked around for Chase, but didn't see him.

  "Where's Chase?" I asked.

  Gage shifted from one foot to the other, not meeting my eyes, glancing at the back door to the alley and then away. "He's...in the bathroom."

  My stomach dropped. I suddenly knew what I'd find if I opened the alley door, but I didn't want to believe it.

  I'd spent the show amazed at Chase's talent, wondering again what my hold-up was with him. I'd come backstage with the intent of telling him I was planning to stay in New York for awhile longer, maybe even having the relationship discussion tomorrow.

  "The bathroom?" I narrowed my eyes at Gage, fist clenched. "Don't bullshit me, Gage. Where is he?"

  Gage shifted again, biting at his lip ring. "Just give him a minute, Anna."

  I shoved Gage out of the way, and wrenched the door open. The metal knob was cold in my fist, squeaking as I turned it. The door was heavy, solid and rusted. I put my shoulder to it and pushed. It burst free, sending me stumbling into the alley.

  I heard Chase's voice. "Wait, girls, not here, not now, just wait...I don't want Anna to find me—"

  My heart clenched and my eyes burned. Chase was backed up against the alley wall, the same two girls from the bathroom at the last show pawing at him. One of them was kneeling in front of him, stopped in the act of opening his pants. The other had his hand in hers against her breast, which was bared, her camisole pulled down.

  "Too late," I said, barely above a whisper.

  "Anna, wait, please! It's not like you think!" Chase pushed the girls away and stumbled toward me.

  I shook my head, spun on my heel and stomped out of the alley toward the main street. My eyes burned and blurred, and my chest see
med to be clutched in a vise. I heard Chase behind me, calling my name, begging me to wait, trying to explain.

  I saw a cab trundle past, lit up. I ran toward it, whistling with two fingers. The cab stopped and let me in. I managed get "airport" out before shattering into sobs. I heard a palm slap the window, saw Chase through tear-blurred eyes, running after the cab, panic on his face.

  "Want me to stop for him, lady?" The cabbie asked.

  "No. Keep going."

  "None of my business, but he looks awful shook up. Sure you don't wanna give him a chance?" I saw the cabbie's pale brown eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.

  "Just fucking drive, goddamn it."

  The cabbie shrugged and kept silent the rest of the way to the airport. I didn't have my suitcase, but there was nothing vital in it anyway. He could keep it. I had my purse, my phone, my charger, and my ticket. My phone buzzed and rang nonstop, text after text, voicemail after voicemail. Eventually I turned it off and tried not to have a panic attack.

  By some miracle, I made the next flight home.

  I cried all the way back to Detroit, soft, silent tears dripping down my chin.

  Big Girls Do It On Top

  I'm not the crying type. I've been through too much in my life to go bawling every time something shitty happens. I cried when my dad died a few years ago, and I cried when my dog died when I was thirteen. Not much else in between, mainly because everything else in my life just kept coming, one thing after another, and if I started crying, I'd never have stopped.

  I sobbed all the way from New York to Detroit. I did it quietly, face to the window. My seat mate, an older woman with salt and pepper hair and a ridiculously adorable button nose, asked me what was wrong, but I just shrugged and kept my face to the window, watching the clouds pass by. She sighed and muttered something rude, then went back to her issue of People.