Big Flipping Deal Ch. 05

Whatever her mouth had done to me in the car that first day we met, whatever I'd imagined it doing in the weeks since, nothing compared to what it did to me now.

Then she broke away with a gasp and our eyes opened together, focused together.

"Oh my god, this is a terrible idea."

But no sooner had she said it than her head ducked toward mine once more, and our lips met like the sea and shore on a dark, moonless night. We kissed deep and fast now, as though the tide were quickening, until her lips escaped mine and feathered along my jaw to my ear, where she said in a voice roughed by passion:

"I want you to come home with me."

It wasn't a question, and her eyes held no question when she drew back and I looked in them. Only an intense need speaking to that same need in me.

And I thought, out of nowhere, Who am I? And the answer came just as quickly, I'm a guy who absolutely wants to go home with her.

I nodded to Lindsey then, and we got up from our chairs in the same single motion.

* * *

We made out the whole cab ride back to her place. The trip wasn't that long, but I almost came three different times from her rubbing my crotch with her hand. She made this cleft between her middle and ring fingers and used it to stroke the length of my granite-hard cock through my pants, slowly widening and narrowing the furrow she worked me with, increasing and decreasing the pressure through a range that never went too delicate or too firm. For the whipped cream and cherry on top of this treatment, she would occasionally roll the heel of her palm against my root, right where the fabric of my underwear forced the erection to take its bend. And either she had some psychic power that served as an orgasm thermometer, or she kept her head better than I did through the hot, wet, Olympian gymnastics of our lips and tongues, so that some particular tone in my gasps alerted her when I was close. Each time I got ready to blow, she backed off and put the hand on the side of my face or neck and focused solely on kissing me.

In addition to this show, the cab driver got a really good tip from her at the end of the ride. I offered to pick up the fare, but she just laughed. "We needed a cab because I knew I'd be drinking, not because I'm bringing you back here."

"Yeah, but I still, uh ..." I scratched my head as the cab drove off. "... benefited from the ride."

She gave me a narrow-eyed grin. "Then you'll have to make sure I benefit from a ride sometime in return."

My cock surged in my pants. Jesus.

Climbing the stairs to her place, I vaguely registered what a nice complex she lived in. Big, airy windows. Spacious balconies. Fancy cut-stone walls. Her key went in the lock with a slide and a click, then turned to work the latch. Everything sounded sexual to me, even the breeze sliding through the leafy branches of trees next to the stairway. Inside, she clicked on the light, and the front room of her apartment bloomed into color.

The place had hardwood floors, a little darker than the blonde laminate we were putting into Mrs. P's house. One red-brick wall held the fireplace, faced by a low, modern couch in tangerine against a light-green wall that slanted down toward us because it backed up against the stairs to a loft. The entryway, the other two walls, and the way up to the loft were all white, with accents in red, like the drapes of the big front window. Diagonally across from us, an archway showed the kitchen, which looked to be mostly yellows, chrome, and glass.

"Wow." The clean and vivid perfection of the room momentarily dialed down my sex volume so that I could almost think again. "Wow, Lindsey, this is all you, right? It's beautiful."

She closed the door behind us and turned me with a hand inside my upper arm. I noticed the green of her dress fit in perfectly with the decor. Her lips - smiling - even matched the curtains.

"Thanks," she said, and pulled me close for another kiss.

Her mouth and mine made the only noise in the room - a strange contrast to the traffic sounds we'd made out to in the taxi and the dance music we'd kissed to in the banquet hall. With her arms around me, clasping my back, moving through my hair, Lindsey guided us across the room. I kept my eyes closed and let her. My calf bumped against the sofa. We sat down, still kissing.

In the quiet, sightless ocean of that kiss, I ran one thumb along her jaw and down her throat, feeling the quick whisper of her pulse there before my hand settled to her bare shoulder and collarbone. Even with my eyes shut, everything beautiful about her seemed to penetrate my senses - the blue of her eyes, the gold of her hair, the soft texture of her flesh, the scent of her, the brilliance of her ability with color and space, the way she breathed. She traced one fingertip around my shoulder blade, down my spine, forward along my ribs. Then her palm pressed against my waist, her fingers clutched, and her nails drew a path around and down my abdomen until she turned her hand and once again embraced my straining erection with that cleft between her fingers.

"Oh my god, that feels good," I whispered.

"Mmm," she said.

In the quiet of her apartment, I could now hear the brush of her hand along the fabric that held my cock in. I felt suddenly unobserved - something I hadn't consciously thought about in the banquet hall or in the cab, but which had been there nonetheless: the presence of other eyes upon us, now vanished. My hand glided down from her shoulder to cup her breast, and she sighed and gripped my hard-on more firmly than at any point so far. I took it as approval, so I gently kneaded the soft flesh that filled my hand. In response, she worked me in her grasp, ferociously, with quick, rolling strokes. It felt incredible. But it also threw a thought into my head.

You ought to be doing more for her.

Suddenly, my hand felt awkward on her boob, which I realized might not be as sensitive as a typical woman's. But her hand didn't feel at all awkward on my crotch, and her questing, welcoming lips and tongue certainly didn't feel awkward to mine. So I trailed my fingers down the curves of her dress, easing them along her belly, moving lower, finding the hard ridge of her pubic arch, right above the valley formed by her two perfect legs within that green satin dress. She made a little noise into my mouth, tilted her hips slightly. Her grip along my rod tightened further, with another uptick in her breathing.

"Mmmm," she murmured as I walked my fingertips back and forth across her pubis, not yet in contact with anything truly sexual. Her hips moved again, yearningly. Something about her anticipation made my chest burn. Instead of continuing directly downward, I skated my hand over and along her thigh, caressing almost to her knee before beginning a slow, sweeping slalom from one leg to the other, climbing back toward the head of the valley in a series of delicate switchbacks.

I hope she doesn't think I'm procrastinating, I thought. And then, self-consciously, Am I procrastinating?

But the way she moaned into my mouth, eased her legs wider, and accelerated the delicious tugging of her hand all told me not to worry about it.

And then I was there. The ball of my thumb lodged against a swell of flesh that was stiff yet yielding - solid but not skeletal.

"Hnhh ... Nick ..."

The tone of pleasure in her voice overwhelmed any hesitation I had left. My hand descended into the fabric of her skirt to cup and explore what lay concealed there. A kind of shock ran through me, wild and high and hot. What my hand now touched, I had felt before - but had also never felt, and never expected to feel. Lindsey groaned. Her hand went motionless around my rigid length, still holding tight but without movement. Her kisses became small, her breathing tremorous.

I glided my hand up, and then down, once, along the bulge between her legs. A lifetime of shaming social pressures told me I ought to be revolted - but the way she quivered and pleaded against me with the language of her body gave me something, a strength and a confidence that all the nagging neuroses couldn't hold a candle to.

Taking hold of her, I began to pump. Without hesitation, her hips responded, thrusting her erection up in time to my movements. Her teeth scraped a path along my jaw to my ear, where she moaned.

"Aauhhhh ..."

As I kept rubbing, her hand repeatedly squeezed and released me, then returned to that glorious finger-parted stroking.

"Fuckkkk ..." she gasped. The whole thing had a kind of magical, high-school-flashback, never-done-anything-sexual electricity to it - at least, it did for me, and it certainly sounded like things were going well for her too. For a couple of minutes, we both just panted and kissed and caressed and rubbed. I could feel that glandular crescendo approaching with every glide of her fingers along my shaft - the pleasure thickening and swelling and working its way toward an inevitable jolt. At the same time, Lindsey fucked my hand hard with her hips, and went through a circling series of staccato groans and glissading sighs. Then, in between kisses, she said, "Uh ... Nick ... I'm so ... close ... ah ... are you ...?"

"Uh-huhh," I gasped.

Without warning, her fingers left my crotch, bringing my eyes open in surprise. The blue of her gaze and the heat on her face, though, steamed away any alarm I might have felt. She took hold of me by both shoulders and pushed gently.

"Lie down so I can dry-hump the shit out of you."

I slid over and relaxed to horizontal under the pressure of her hands, and in a heartbeat, she hopped up, hiked her skirt above her waist, and straddled me. In the moment of her position change, I caught just a glimpse of her panties and the un-feminine fullness within them. Then the green silky cloth swaddled both of our crotches from view and I felt her ease into place firm against me.

Her mouth came down to meet mine again, her eyes closing, hair dangling thick around both of our faces. She moved her hips up and down, sliding her length along mine, separated only by the soft cotton of her panties and the relatively thin fabric of my dress pants and underwear. If I hadn't already been at the very edge of orgasm, I'm not sure how much it would have done for me. But in my condition at that moment, she probably could have just breathed on it a while and gotten me to come.

"God, Lindsey ..."

"Mm-hmmm. Oh ... uh ..." She started panting in time to her thrusts. "Uh - uh - uh - ohhhhh -"

There's a dick dry-humping my dick, I thought. And it wasn't a bad thought, just surprise at a completely unexpected sensation - her thick, full, rigid roundness gliding back and forth past mine, then rolling across it and doing the same on the other side. Holy shit, here it comes ...

"Ah!" I gasped. "Ah, Lindsey!"

"Yessssssss," she groaned in my ear, pumping faster.

"Fuck - Lindsey - fuck - oh god, fuck me!"

"Uh-huh ... Uh! Huh!"

Heat washed up and out of my groin, and I squeezed her tight to me and exploded. The sluicing pulses of orgasm rolled through my muscles in electric waves. And somewhere in the middle of it, I felt a resonant throbbing against my blurting cock and heard in her voice that she was coming too.

"Shit, Nick! YES!"

And then we were holding each other, kissing, our groins pressed together in a slowly subsiding cascade of hot twitches and throbs, her beautiful form soft and trembling under my hands, her gentle fingers tracing along my cheeks and through my hair.

It took a long time to come down from that orgasmic high, but eventually I looked up and found her looking down at me with a warm and happy presence in her eyes.

I wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind, and after a while I stopped wanting to say anything and just enjoyed seeing her expression. Then she kissed me, once, twice, three times, and buried her face against my neck and we lay there warm and sated and at rest.

* * *

Eventually, the afterglow faded enough for me to be aware of the gloppy wetness in my boxer-briefs. And then another wet spot at what felt like the left corner of my pubic hair.

Holy crap, that's her cum. I knew none of mine could have made it up that high. It must have run down inside her panties and dripped out. This is so fucking weird.

"Hey, Lindsey," I said, rubbing her shoulder. "I could lie here until I fall right asleep, but do we need to check that we're not getting splooge all over your nice couch?"

She didn't answer immediately.

Did she already fall asleep?

"Lindsey?"

"Sorry. I was thinking." She lifted up and looked at me - not nearly the same spellbinding look as a few minutes earlier. This one had a wistful edge to it. "It's got one of those lifetime guarantee stain-guard things on it, but I guess you're right."

Rolling off of me, she stood with her skirt still hiked up - presumably to keep from dripping cum on it. Then she bent to check what was going on down there, before looking toward my crotch.

"Looks like mine all spilled on you," she said, dropping the green satin curtain of her dress so that her panties, low-hanging and damp, disappeared back into mystery. "Sorry."

I sat up and found a glistening wet spot almost as big as my palm spreading from the left side of my fly nearly to the inseam of my crotch. Man. That's a lot of cum ... and that's just what spilled out. She must spew like a horse.

"You're not freaked out, are you?"

"No, that was awesome," I said, frowning. "Are you?"

"No," she said. Then: "Maybe a little bit. I haven't had sex that good in forever. And it wasn't even sex. But ..."

"What, was it too teenagers-in-the-back-seat-with-no-idea-what-they're-doing for you? I mean, I admit, I haven't been that amazed by dry-humping since high school."

"I was going to say middle school," she said, with a smirk that quieted some of my worry.

"Middle school ... I guess you've always been two steps ahead of me at everything," I said, relieved to be able to banter, even if it was at my expense.

She laughed a little. "I'm kidding, Nick. I was the gender-confused kid in middle school, remember? I didn't even get to kiss a guy until college."

"Oh. Right." I tried to get a handle on her expression, but didn't have any luck. "So what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she said, pacing a few steps. "Not really. I just ... part of me wants to take you upstairs, Nick. Get naked with you, climb in bed. But part of me's worried about how you'll react when you see me with my clothes off. Isn't part of you worried too?"

"Sure." I shrugged as I said it, but inside I realized I wasn't as casual about the admission as I would have liked. "But I'm totally willing to give it a shot. No, I said that wrong. I really want to give it a shot, even if I've got some nerves about it."

She nodded - although slowly.

"Okay," she said. "Okay, but can we maybe just sit together for a little bit, and you can hold me, and we can take that shot some other night? Because what we just did was great, and I kind of want to hold onto it for a while before we risk spoiling it with something that might turn awkward."

I was about 90/10 disappointed/relieved at that suggestion. But I realized that if I was even ten percent relieved, that meant it was probably a suggestion I ought to take.

"I can deal with that," I said. "Actually, sitting and holding you for a while sounds really good."

Lindsey smiled, then came over and sat next to me again.

* * *

The next day was weird.

After cuddling on the couch a while and a few more kisses, Lindsey had taken me home and I'd done a little web surfing (non-porn) and then gotten to bed at a pretty reasonable hour. So waking up in time for our nine o'clock Sunday start time didn't give me any trouble.

But Lindsey didn't show up until nine-thirty.

Yeah, it was only half an hour, but she'd never been even a second late before, and if anything, she arrived early more often than on time. So half an hour made me nervous, and I was about to text her when I heard the BMW pull into the driveway. She apologized for being late, but didn't give a reason - just grabbed a paint pan and roller and started in on the guest bedroom wall opposite the one I was working on.

Painting is pretty low-brainpower work, but we still finished the whole room with virtually no conversation. All I could think of to talk about was last night, and it seemed pretty likely that last night was part of the reason for her being so quiet. Well, there was something else I wanted to talk to her about, but it didn't seem like the right topic to throw into an awkward silence.

I finally broke the ice by asking her why she didn't have any of her paintings up around her apartment, and she said kept them upstairs because she didn't want to look egotistical.

"I don't think they're bad," she explained. "I enjoy doing them, and once in a while I'm really happy with one. But if I put them up on my walls, it's like I'm announcing what an artist I am."

"But you designed your own rooms, right? Isn't that like announcing what a great designer you are?"

"Yeah," she said. "Because I'm a fucking awesome interior designer. But I'm just an okay painter, so I don't want to look like I'm full of myself about it. I mean, you don't have your music compositions playing on a loop in your house when people walk in, do you?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but my phone rang, and when I looked at it, I saw it was Sam. With a scowl, I told Lindsey to hang on a second while I answered.

"Yeah, what's up?" I asked.

"Dude, Denise said you were kissing that she-male decorator last night. She was all happy to see you hooked up with someone hot, and I didn't spill the beans, but what the heck?"

I glanced at Lindsey, who'd gone back to painting. What the hell should I say? Give him the piece of my mind I ought to have when he stuck his nose in it the first time? Make an excuse and tell him I'd talk about it later? Leave the room so Lindsey wouldn't get uncomfortable if she realized we were talking about her?

Finally, mad at Sam for being Sam, and mad at Denise for telling Sam, I said, "Look, Sam, do you really care?"

"What?"

"We see each other maybe four times a year, right? And family is family, and if one of us needs something, we know who to call. But do you really care about this, or does it just have your attention because you think it's off the wall?"

"Well dude, yeah, it's pretty fucking off the wall." He went quiet for a moment. I just waited. "Are you seeing this ... uh ... person? Does your mom know?"

"Sam, I don't even know. But maybe this is a chance for you to broaden your mind."

I didn't wait to see what he said. I just hung up. Not because I was mad - because I had no interest in making Lindsey listen while I tried to help Sam get his head around something that wasn't his business anyway.

She glanced at me, and I said, "That was my cousin Sam."

"Yeah," she said. "I heard."

And she went back to painting again.

When we got the room done, Lindsey said she wanted a salad for lunch and that she was going to a drive-through to get one. She offered to pick something up for me, but I said I was good, went home to feed Mister Whiskerdoodle, and made myself a sandwich. The afternoon was a repeat of the morning, but in the master bedroom and with a different color of paint.

By four or so, we'd finished the room and cleaned up.

We'd barely had half a conversation the whole day, and my mood was in the toilet. I'd gone to bed floating the night before, and woke up with a strange, energetic anticipation inside, and now all that pent-up positive energy seemed to have deserted me. But I wasn't ready to give up yet, and I worked up my courage to say something before she could slip away for the evening.