For the first time, I’m not listening to my mind.
My heart wants another one. I speak softly. “If wishes can come true, I want to fulfill every one of hers...and I don’t want mine to end.”
When I reach the bedroom, I hear Shana in the bathroom as light seeps from under the door.
Instead of thinking about why she was really out on the fire escape crying, I concentrate on whatever she has for my surprise. Each thought returns blood to my cock, reviving the erection that has been perpetual since she arrived here Friday night. I reach for the sheet, not wanting her to think that sex is my only thought. As I do, she calls out to me.
“Trevor? Are you there?”
“I’m always here.”
Slowly the door opens. With the backlight surrounding her, she reminds me of the pictures they show you of angels. That’s what she is to me, and yet the negligee she’s wearing would probably prohibit her from entering heaven’s gates.
“Holy shit...” I mutter as I sit taller, completely unaware that the sheet I used to cover me is now lifted like a tent ready for camping.
Her cheeks rise as she comes closer, and her gaze goes from my lap to my eyes. “I guess that means you like your surprise?”
“You’re fucking gorgeous.” Forgetting my effort to cover myself I reach for her hand and stand. Lifting our hands, she slowly spins as her beauty is displayed from every angle. “I’m glad you didn’t wear that one onstage.”
“It’s only for you.”
“My favorite kind of fashion show with my absolutely favorite model.”
Letting go of my hand, she walks to the end of the bed and stops. Turning she continues around to the other side.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m giving you your own show.”
“Oh, I’ve seen enough. Come back here.”
“Are you telling me what to do?”
“I am. Are you in agreement?”
Her smile broadens as she does as I said and comes closer. Looking first at my erection and then back to me, she says, “Yes, Trevor. I’ve never been in more agreement in my life.”
“What do you want right now, my lady?”
“I want you.”
“You’ve got me. Tell me more,” I say.
As her cheeks grow pinker, she does. She tells me more.
Reaching for my cock, she runs her hand up and down my length. “This time, I want to be on top. I want to be the one who decides when you...”
“When I come?”
“Yes.”
“Under one condition.”
“What?” she asks.
“Don’t take off my surprise.”
Her blue eyes twinkle as she leads me to bed, directing my arms behind my head, I wait through the most exciting anticipation of my life. Staring at the ceiling, I expect her to climb on, to straddle and ride me until we’re both over our mountain and stars erupt.
She doesn’t.
When I lift my head, Shana is at the foot of the bed, crawling between my legs. Each movement ends with a kiss or a nip as she moves closer and closer.
Fuck! It’s agony how fucking slowly she’s moving.
“Shana.”
Her tongue laps over my thigh and then the other. “Have I told you how sexy I think your thighs are?”
Thighs.
“I-I...goddamn it.” I grip my own wrist, fighting my need to pull her up. “You said you wanted to be on top. Get on top.”
Her soft laugh sends electrical shocks straight to my dick. I look up, but all I can see is her golden hair as she’s inching closer. And then her lips take me in.
“Oh fuck.”
Her hands move in sync as she sucks and licks. My balls grow painfully tight.
“I’m fucking serious, Shana.”
“Not yet, baby,” she coos. “I want you to remember I’ve been here.”
She’s using my words. My girl is using my words, and I’ve never been so damn turned on in my life.
“Baby, it doesn’t work that way for men. You need to jump on...now.”
Rolling my balls in her grasp, she takes one more long suck. The pressure is building, and I’m doing everything I can think of not to blow.
I’m constructing bridges, doing math equations, counting from 100 backwards.
100
99
98
97...
Nothing is working and then...
Yes!
“Fucking...yes...”
Her lips pepper my neck with kisses as her tight pussy grips my penis and I’m propelled by catapult straight through the pearly gates.
“Trevor. Trevor.” Her soft hand cups my cheek. “Open your eyes.”
I don’t think my body has ever been this tight. I’m not sure I can control my eyes and cock at the same time.
“Trevor.”
Slowly, my eyes open to the most beautiful vision. Shana. Her hair is veiled over her shoulders, and her tits are covered in the white lace and right before my eyes.
“Please, move your arms and hold me tight.”
I will my arms to respond, reaching for her hips. As I do, she rolls herself forward and then back. “Baby, this is...”
“Hold me,” she says as her movements grow faster. “I think we may be in for a rough ride.”
Holy shit!
The friction is...like nothing...
My grip tightens as my fingers press against her hips. I can’t take my eyes off of her. The ecstasy of her expression as she moves, the way her hair teases my face when she leans down, and her hard nipples tenting the silk of the negligee...
“Trevor...Oh, Trevor...”
“I’ve got you.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Shana
Kimbra meets us at the door of her apartment, eyeing me up and down, her smile growing as she scans.
Looking down, I take a peek at the skirt and top I’m wearing, the ones I packed after talking to Kimbra. The skirt is long and flowing and the top is simple, yet chic. My shoes are a gladiator asymmetrical wedge, the soft straps fitting around my ankles. My hair is down with soft curls at the end and my makeup is minimal—especially compared to the day on the runway. And yet the way she’s looking at me, I feel exposed. Her grin makes me want to blush, as if she’s seeing beyond my well-thought-out outfit and knows every intimate thing Trevor and I have done since our last visit to her apartment.
Maybe that’s what friends see when they look at you. They see what your words haven’t had the chance to share. It’s why Stephen knew I was having bunny-rabbit sex without my saying a word.
As my other best friend briefly crosses my mind, I recall a few of his subtle hints that I’ve recently been too preoccupied to notice. Now that I think about it, if I didn’t know better, I’d say his sex life has improved too.
“Come on in, you two,” Kimbra says with a wave. “Beth and Christopher are here.”
Trevor’s hand warms the small of my back, giving me confidence as we move forward.
The moment we enter the living room and his parents come into view, my anxiety wanes. Trevor told me that his parents were in their early sixties. I should have known that the couple who donated their genes to Trevor and Duncan Willis wouldn’t be the epitome of grandparents in the making. No white-haired people with rocking chairs.