Page 12 of Tap My TOKTIK

OLIVIA

My heart is going a thousand miles a minute. It could be anxiety, or it could be the wine but Mr Grumpy is looking mighty sexy watching me. He’s making me warm, and fluffy on the inside, like this chocolate volcano dessert I just put in my mouth. I’m almost sure I heard him growl when I licked my spoon. Whatever pheromones his body was emitting, my body responded in kind. And suddenly, my head is filled with lurid thoughts about what I want this man to do to me. I’ve had just enough wine to overlook the fact that he’s a stranger, and go with my baser need, which is really to get laid. When I’ve licked the chocolate from around my mouth, I place my spoon on the tray, and step closer to Harlan, aware of how his breathing changes. With trembling fingers, I reach for the buttons of his wine-stained shirt, and jump when he grabs my wrists. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice rough. I look up at him from beneath my lashes, summoning all my courage, and reply, “I’m going to undress you, and then you can decide what we do next.” I don’t quite have the lady-balls to say, “And then you can fuck me,” but I’m hoping my expression will convey that I would very much like him to eat me for dessert, and hopefully, give my vibrator a run for its money. Slowly, he lets go of my wrists, and allows me to unbutton his shirt, and pull it out from his jeans. Good God, his body is insane. Defined pecs, a stack of abdominal muscles — three on each side — and a sprinkling of hair that leads to the Holy Grail of the male anatomy. He’s clearly not allergic to the gym. I swallow, my eyes locked on his as I unbutton his jeans, and lower the zipper. I’m dragging this out, purely because it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to admire a body like his, but he’s impatient. With jeans hanging open, he reaches for the hem of my dress, and squeezes my thighs before moving his hands to my ass, and pulling me towards him. I yelp, surprised by the force he uses, but when I feel his hard-on between us, heat pools low in my belly and between my legs. He’s about to find out just how wet I am. His mouth lifts on one side, and chuckles. My eyes widen. “What?”

“You’re wet for me?”

“I said that out loud.” He nods, and my cheeks flame from embarrassment. What I think will actually kill the mood, doesn’t, and Harlan tortures me by removing my dress too slowly for my liking. When I lift my arms, he sucks in a breath, and stares at my boobs. They’re covered in a black lacy demi-cup bra, and I know he can see my rather erect nipples. It’s only once he’s in nothing but his tented boxer briefs that he lowers his head, and slants his mouth over mine. I expect him to be rough, but he licks the seam of my lips, and when I open my mouth, he sucks my tongue into his mouth. He swallows my moan, I swallow his growl, and thank God, he takes more initiative. Like I weigh nothing, he lifts me up, and carries me to the bed. I revel in the feel of him on top of me, but before I can trap him between my legs, he stands, and strides to the dessert tray. He comes back with a plate of chocolate mousse, strawberry cheesecake, and whipped cream. And the most mischievous glint in his eyes. “W-what is that for?” I exhale, trying to slow my breathing. Kneeling between my legs, he lays the plate next to me, and hooks his index fingers beneath the string of my thong. “You’ll have to wait and see, Olivia,” he replies, sliding my thong down my legs. When he’s removed my bra, he spreads my legs as wide as they’ll go, and dips his finger in the chocolate mousse before making a trail of chocolate from my navel down to my, uh, pussy. Jesus, I write smut for a living, you’d think I’d be comfortable with terms like pussy, but now it’s my body I’m referring to, and it sounds strange. Not bad. Just strange. And while I’m wondering whether having chocolate dessert in your hoo-ha can give you some kind of infection, Harlan drops his head, and licks the trail he made. It makes my shiver, and when he doesn’t quite go where I want him to, I make a noise of protest.

“Patience,” he tells me. “I’m getting you ready.”

“Have you even looked at my—” My words are cut off when he brushes his knuckle over my clit.

“You were saying?” He teases me a bit more, and I’m ready to beg him by the time he’s covering my rosy nipples in cheesecake, and sucking them into his mouth, one at a time. “Hmmm,” he hums. “Sweet.”

Applying pressure to my chest with his hand, he rubs what’s left of the dessert down my torso, and licks away at the artful mess he made.

“Jesus,” I sigh. “I can’t wait any longer, Harlan—” my words are cut short when he slides one, two, fingers inside me, and my back bows of the bed. He starts slow, but then takes mercy on me, and rubs my clit. “Yes, yes, yes,” I mewl. I get myself off on a regular basis with my own hand, but Harlan’s fingers are thick, and calloused, and he’s just so fucking talented. I mean, he’s making my come while reaching for a condom — don’t ask me where the fuck it came from, I don’t care — and eases me down only so he can slide it on. I wait, expecting to feel the head of his dick between my legs, but I feel his tongue first.

I hiss, and can’t decide if I want to push him away, or pull him closer. When he pulls away, his mouth makes a pop sound, and fuck me, that’s hot. I’m sticky, with remnants of sweet condiments on my nipples, my navel, and my pussy, but that doesn’t stop him from lowering his body onto mine, and kissing me at the same time he uses his hand to guide himself inside me. And he’s big. Which sounds like the worst cliche ever, but it’s true. “Ohhhh,” I sigh into his mouth. “I almost forgot what a real peen feels like.” At that he barks out a laugh, and the movement makes him slide deeper. At this rate, I’m not sure I have enough space for his dick, but I’m about to give it a good shot. Lifting my feet, I bring my knees up, and, “Fuck,” Harlan grunts. “You’re small. I don’t want to hurt you.” I blink, and cup his face, the tenderness a sharp contrast to what I can feel is going to be a gloriously rough night. “Harlan, just fuck me. Please.” My candor surprises us both, but I suspect it’s something he both appreciates, and needs. He doesn’t like gray areas, and apparently the same applies to sex.

He stares at me for a beat, and with the slightest roll of his hips, situates himself between my legs, and rests his upper body on his forearms. A beat passes, he searches my eyes for permission, and I give it to him by way of a gentle kiss. And it’s the last gentle anything because the man gives new meaning to hard fucking. I’m going to feel it tomorrow, but for right now, I devour the feel of him sliding in and out, the sound of our skin making noisy contact, and the tension that snaps in my body more than once. My boobs bounce, and he takes the chance to tease my nipples while pinning me to the mattress all at the same time. Holy hell, he’s brutal, and talented, and so much better than my vibrator. He even does that thing where he keeps his dick buried balls-deep, and rotates his hips, adding more pressure on my clit. And when he’s sure I’m about to come, he starts thrusting, hard and fast, and death by orgasm is a pretty great way to meet my maker. Harlan gives my breast a good squeeze, and I discover I like it rough. I like it when he bites, when his hands grip and squeeze, and when he makes the most guttural sound at the back of his throat. I bit my lip, that fiery sensation taking hold. Have you ever had an orgasm so powerful and overwhelming that you don’t make a sound when your body just explodes from the inside out? No? Let me tell you, very few men can achieve it, and I just had my brains fucked to oblivion by one man who has. My mouth hangs open, not a sound to be heard, and my body locks up, riding that elusive wave of ecstasy. The promised land. Harlan grips the headboard, hovering over me, and I watch, with utter fascination, as he loses himself in my body, falling over that cliff we ran towards together. When his body calms, he kisses me, and slowly rolls over, careful with his exit.

“Christ,” he mutters, his chest rising and falling with his labored breathing. I lift my head, and almost laugh at the mess we’ve made on the bed. The bedding is somewhere on the floor, I’m not sure what’s going on with the sheets, and the only pillow still on the bed is the one he stuck under my belly while he fucked me from behind. I think that was the second round, or maybe it was during the first? I don’t know. I lost count of how many ways the man innovatively stuck his dick in me.

“We should definitely order more dessert,” I tease. “We just burnt all those calories.”

His gaze snaps to mine, his smile wicked. “I haven’t eaten you yet.”

He’s right, that’s the one thing he hasn’t done, but, “No, Harlan. Don’t—”

He does. He eats me. And doesn’t even complain when I pull his hair because, well, the man knows how to fuck with his tongue and talk my clit into submission.

* * *

“Jesus,” I groan. What is that? Something vibrates in the mess of tangled sheets and messy dessert. I just about jump out the damn bed but stop mid-air because I’m very naked. Like bum-wiggling, boob-jiggling nekid. The vibration keeps going — it’s loud, not even my vibrator makes that much noise — so I start feeling around for it. Harlan is fast asleep, undeterred by and unaware of the buzzing in the bed. We had such a wild night, if it weren’t for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, I’d check if he’s still alive. Can you die from good sex? Apparently not, but we sure gave it our best shot. At least I won’t have to goggle it, Lord knows my search history is already a giant red flag to the FBI. The next vibration I find his phone under my bare ass, tangled in the sheets that were somehow pulled off the mattress.

Bird - We had a date last night and you flaked. Asshole.

Bird - You’re late you said you’d make it up to me with breakfast.

Missed Call - Bird

Bird - You are really hurting me feelings now. I’m wounded.

Bird - Who is more important than me? You owe me this time together, I hardly see you because you’re always working.

Bird - I made your favorite treat for breakfast because I love you! Hurry up.

Missed Call - Bird

Missed Call - Bird

Oh. My. Fucking. God. He has a person. A girlfriend or a wife, or a someone. I slept with a guy who’s taken, and now I’m the other woman. Hell fucking no, this is not my idea of fun. I’m not someone’s dirty little secret, I know how that story ends because I’ve written it. A few times. What a fucking asshole. I scratch around for my dress, trying to be as quiet as possible, and pull it over my head, finding my shoes and my purse next. I don’t need anything else. I execute the perfect escape before cheater-cheater-pumkin-eater wakes up, and do a quick-walk to my suite. He might be sexy, in a grumpy sort of way, but I’m not about to get entangled, and be the reason a couple splits up. In my books, different story, but in real life? No thank you. I take the elevator up to my room which is a palace compared to his matchbox room. Had I known his room was so average I would’ve suggested we go to mine instead. Though, given the current circumstances, I’m glad I didn’t. I can make an escape without him knowing which room is mine.

Imagine the awkward “I’m sorry but, no, you can go have breakfast with your Bird, please leave.” Oh, God, I would’ve died. This isn’t great but it’s better than that scenario.

No one has to know — ever. At least some of the tension and pent-up sexual frustration I was wrestling with is taken care of. Now it’s just vomit-inducing guilt.

I need a shower, I have chocolate mousse in my ass crack and I think it’s sago pudding or tapioca in my hair. Or it could even be sperm, I don’t know. They’re all sticky. I turn on the hot water, and strip out of the dress that will absolutely be left here with the request that be tossed out with yesterday’s garbage. I’m not entirely sure I’ll want to remember last night. Well, the earth-shattering sex part I’ll keep, for my own spank bank, obviously, and for my book. The fact that he’s not single part? Huh. There’s a dilemma. I can keep it for my next asshole-ish character, but totally keep it fictional. It never happened to me. Not ever. Nope. Nuh-uh.

Funny thing is, once I’ve showered, and changed into some clean clothes, eaten my usual breakfast and had some coffee, the writer’s cloud of doom that was hanging over me has lifted, and the words pour out of me for the next twenty-four hours. With a few pee breaks in-between.

It’s that sweet twilight, right before the sun rises, when I close my laptop, smiling at the witty, sexy story I’ve managed to come up with. Maybe I was just sexually blocked the hell up, and if that’s the case, I should make a plan to get laid every now and then, especially if it’s good for my job. My agent doesn’t need the gritty details, but she’ll be thrilled that I’m done. The rest of it, though, makes me jumpy. Men — with all their needs and issues and shit. No. I need a real-life man happy to fulfill the services of my favorite vibrator then disappear until I need him again. Dick-on-demand. I wonder if there’s an app for that? Fuck feelings, they give me hives. But, every now and again a grown woman needs to be fucked — Mr Waters certainly knew how to do that. He fucked the inspiration right back into me. I climb into the big bed wearing the pajamas I wore to work in all day — clothing is optional in my job — and when I close my tired eyes, all I can imagine is Mr Grumpy-Ass realizing I did a runner this morning.