Unconventional Read online

  “I really like this bra, Red. It seems like you chose the color just for me.”

  “I chose it for me. I like the way it makes me feel,” she corrects me, her voice low and throaty.

  “How does it make you feel?”

  “Sexy.”

  “You don’t need a bra for that. You’re sexy all on your own. Stand up, take your pants off. I want to see the rest of you.”

  She stands and starts to unbutton her pants. “If I’m getting naked, then so are you. Come on, let me see that gorgeous cock of yours.”

  I comply with her request, grabbing a condom out of my wallet before stripping off my jeans, underwear, socks, and shoes. Quinn makes quick work of her pants and heels then goes to take off her panties but I stop her.

  “Wait, I want to take those off.” I sit back down on the couch and pull her to stand in front of me. The underwear is also silky red, and I love the contrast against her pale skin. Quinn is curvy, her hips flaring out from her waist. I smooth my hands down them before reaching back to squeeze her ass. It bounces when I let go and I can’t wait to see it bounce on my cock.

  “How wet did you get watching me earlier?” I know she was aroused, but I don’t know how much.

  “Soaking wet,” she tells me.

  “I want to see.” I reach for the fabric that covers her pussy and run my fingers back and forth, testing the fabric for wetness. Sure enough, it’s soaked. “Fuck, Red. I need to taste you.”

  “So taste me.”

  I slide her panties down her legs and help her step out of them. I lean forward and nuzzle my nose right in between her legs, inhaling her musky scent, then lick her slit, grabbing her ass and pulling her forward, closer to my mouth. She holds on to my shoulders to steady herself as my tongue laps at her cunt, but I can’t quite get the right angle while she’s standing up.

  I stand, and she whimpers. “Why did you stop?”

  I look around her living room and see the ottoman in front of the couch is plush and a decent size. “Lie back on this, I need to bury my face in your pussy.”

  She shivers at my words and reclines on the ottoman, legs spread wide and leaning up on her elbows so she can watch me. Her red hair is wild, her face is flushed, and her tits are heaving out of her bra as she pants in anticipation.

  I kneel in front of her and hold her gaze as I lick her slowly, from opening to clit.

  “Fuck, that feels good. Don’t stop.”

  My licks are slow and steady, working her up, but not giving her enough friction to come. She keeps her gaze on me and I watch as she becomes more and more desperate.

  “Charlie.”

  “Hmm?” I ask, like I have all the time in the world.

  Quinn likes to be bossy too, and I like to make her beg. She hates begging, which makes me like it even more. She tips her hips up, chasing my tongue, but I move it to lick her folds instead.

  “Charlie!” she complains.

  “Did I ever tell you how much I love eating your pussy?” I ask her conversationally in between licks. I could eat her out for hours. Her red curls are neatly trimmed, framing her clit and pussy lips. I spread her wide open with my fingers and lick into her opening, pushing my tongue as deep as I can get it, then licking the walls as I come out. Her taste is addictive. Not all women taste the same—some are bitter, some more musky, some sour. Quinn’s pussy tastes divine, the right combination of musky, salty, and sweet. I lap up her juices, avoiding her clit, trying to drive her crazy enough to beg me.

  “Fuck! Charlie, I need you. Is that what you want to hear?”

  Bingo. “What do you need? More of my tongue?” I focus on her clit and she moans loudly.

  She doesn’t answer me, so I back away.

  “Charlie! Please, I need you to fuck me, okay? Please fuck me.” She glares at me, pissed that she gave in and begged me, but so turned on.

  I chuckle and reach for the condom. “My pleasure. Why didn’t you just say so?”

  MY BODY IS SO desperate to come but his tongue wasn’t enough; I need his cock, and that fucking bastard always likes to make me beg.

  He rolls the condom on and tugs on his gorgeous cock a couple of times before lining himself up with my pussy. He pulls me forward slightly, making my ass hang just a bit off the edge of the ottoman, and rubs the head of his dick up and down my folds, coating himself with my wetness. I feel his piercing, a stark contrast to the way a cock feels. The metal of the piercing is unforgiving while his penis is hard but soft at the same time. The combination makes my eyes roll back into my head and my clit throbs as I wait for him to push into me. He doesn’t though, not right away. He picks up my legs and drapes them up over his shoulders.

  “Charlie!” I bark. “Now. Fuck me now.”

  At my tortured command, he slams into me. I’m so wet, he gains entry easily, but his girth stretches me open, making me gasp at the sudden feeling of fullness.

  “Fuck. This is going to be fast.”

  Thank God.

  He leans forward, seeking purchase on the edges of the ottoman to hold on. I grab on to his forearms and he starts to thrust into me.

  “Yessss.” I love his unrelenting rhythm. His cock is big, and I feel the piercing inside, creating more friction with each movement in and out of me. It reaches all the right places and I’m on the verge of coming.

  “I need you to come, Red. Are you close?”

  “God, yes.”

  He leans down and latches on to one nipple, pulling it and biting it. Then he tends to the other nipple, and the extra stimulation pushes me over the edge. Pleasure steals my breath and my vision.

  “Fuck!” I shout, wrapping my legs around his waist so I can keep him inside me. My pussy clamps around his dick while I come and he chuckles sexily.

  “I love feeling you milk my cock. Was that good?”

  “Mmmmm,” I tell him, too far gone for words right now.

  He kisses me and stays still as I come down from my orgasm. Then he starts moving again and I realize his cock is still rock hard. “You didn’t come yet?”

  “Not yet. Can you flip over? I need to see your ass.”

  “I’m not sure I can move,” I groan. My body is always a bit paralyzed after an orgasm.

  “I’ve got you.” He pulls out of me, helps me sit up, then I turn and face plant into the ottoman. He positions me so I’m kneeling on the carpet, folded over the ottoman for support, ass sticking out at him. He palms my ass and slaps one cheek, the unexpected sting causing me to gasp.

  “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

  “Well then, give me something to stay awake for,” I retort.

  He spreads my ass cheeks apart, so wide I’m completely exposed to his view. I can’t see what he’s doing, but it seems like he’s just looking at me.

  “You see something you like?” I ask him, unnerved at his silence and stillness.

  “I wish I could take a picture of you right now, all pliant and satisfied, your pussy wet and pink from my cock fucking you,” he replies, his voice so husky. “I’d title it Satisfaction.”

  “I bet you have a collection of naughty pictures, don’t you?” He is a photographer, after all.

  He slides his cock up and down my crack, teasing me. Then he squeezes my ass cheeks together, sandwiching his dick in between them, and pumps up and down. The condom catches on my skin, not slick enough to glide smoothly, so he spits. The sound is so crass, and I feel the plop as his saliva lands on my skin, but when he starts moving again, the extra spit allows him to slide easily. Fuck, his cock is so big. It makes me squirm every time it passes over my asshole, and that piercing—it’s so unyielding.

  “You’d think I’d have naughty pictures, but I don’t. I’m not much for remembering past hookups, but fuck, I want to keep this image for my viewing pleasure.”

  “Maybe I’ll send you a picture sometime.” I’ve never taken nude photos before, too afraid they would end up online somewhere, but the thought of Charlie jerking off to images of me gets
me hot.

  “I’d like that.” He pulls back, his cockhead trailing down my crack to rub my clit. My nerve endings are still so sensitive from my orgasm that his touch is almost too much.

  “Fuck, Charlie,” I hiss, squirming away from his attention.

  Surprisingly, he heeds my complaint and finally slides into me. It’s a slow slide, inch by inch, until his pelvis is flush with my ass, then he stills. Pleasure zings through me at the way he stretches me and my recently sated body wakes up, hungry for more. I need friction, but he isn’t moving. I huff in frustration.

  “I want you to bounce that luscious ass on my cock,” he says in explanation.

  That I can do. I lift my upper body off the ottoman and brace myself. Holding on to the sides, I rock forward until I feel he’s almost completely out then I back up quickly, loving the way he fills me up.

  His hands cradle my hips and pull me back to meet him. “That’s it, Red. God, your ass is fantastic.”

  Nothing is sexier than the sounds this man makes during sex. The deep rumbles, the muttered curses, the bossy commands, even the lewd remarks about my body are all so damn hot.

  Charlie Nelson is one sexy beast.

  Soon enough, he takes control and reaches around to rub my clit. He can read my body so well, and his fingers plucking my clit while he fucks me triggers an orgasm so intense, I practically pass out. I scream my release and try to grab hold of something to keep me tethered to Earth. He pitches forward on one final thrust and shouts hoarsely along with me. His arms come around me, stilling my flailing movements and holding me close as his dick pulses inside me.

  “Fucking hell, that was amazing.” He pants into my neck.

  “Mmmm,” I agree.

  “You paralyzed?” He knows this about me—orgasms always steal my coordination and leave me in a heap of spasms and heavy limbs.

  “Mmmmhmm.”

  “Stay here, I’ll take care of you.” Those words sound so foreign coming out of Charlie’s mouth. I know he means he’ll take care of my body. Not of me. I don’t want anyone to take care of me.

  I just want orgasms.

  And Charlie is good at giving me orgasms.

  I’ll never depend on any man to take care of me ever again.

  Charlie returns moments later with a warm cloth and wipes between my legs gently. Then he lifts me easily into his arms and carries me to my bed.

  “Is it okay if I crash here? I can be out of your hair first thing in the morning,” he promises.

  I usually hate having men stay the night. If it were anyone else, I’d make them leave immediately. In fact, if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have brought them to my house at all, but Charlie is in this strange category. He isn’t some random hookup; he’s someone I see all the time in my circle of friends. I guess he’s my friend with an amazing cock who I like to have sex with on occasion, so I trust him more than a random stranger.

  That’s the only reason I tug him down into bed with me, snuggle into his side, and promptly fall asleep with the warmth of his arm wrapped around my waist.

  I’m not that kind of girl…am I?

  IMAGE 12 IS A yes. I move it to the folder titled keep and advance to the next one. Image 13 is too blurry, so I promptly delete it. I’m sitting in my office, reviewing the proofs from my most recent photo shoot when my cell rings and my mom’s face flashes across on the phone. Hoping she’s calling to congratulate me on my new account, I swipe across the phone to answer the call.

  “Hey Mom, did you get my message?” I left my parents a voicemail about my new account last week, but I never heard back from either one of them.

  “What message?” she asks.

  “I got a new account at work,” I remind her, smiling.

  “Hmm, what does that mean? I don’t understand, is that like getting a new client?” My mom is a lawyer, and so is my dad…as well as my older brother, and my younger sister.

  I am the only one in the family that didn’t get the lawyer gene, and I’m my parents’ biggest disappointment because of it. They hate that I didn’t follow in their footsteps. It would have been forgivable if I didn’t go into criminal law like them, but choosing to go into an artistic field like photography? I might as well have committed murder.

  “It means I’m getting more work in my firm, expanding my portfolio, and making myself a more valuable asset to the company,” I explain.

  “That’s nice dear,” she says, distracted and unimpressed, “Did you get my message?” My smile fades. Her message was about coming to a family dinner next Sunday at the country club they belong to. I hate going to those things. It’s all about appearances and making everyone else believe your life is better than theirs, and I hate that shit. Not only was I born without the lawyer gene, I was born without the fake gene, too. I say what I think. When I’m asked a question, I give an honest answer. I don’t see why everyone has to pretend to be something they’re not. People might balk at my bluntness, but more often than not, they appreciate my directness.

  “Yeah, I got your message. I’ll be there.” I sigh, bracing myself for her warnings.

  “Charles, this is going to be a big night for your sister. You need to make an effort to act accordingly,” she says meaningfully. Here we go. What she means is, Come, but don’t act like yourself.

  “Mom, if you don’t want me there, then don’t invite me. I’m not going to pretend to be something I’m not in front of your stuck-up friends who you actually hate.”

  “You can goof off when you’re with your friends. Would it kill you to tone it down a notch when we’re in polite company? I know Tabitha is looking forward to seeing you.”

  That’s how she gets me—I have a soft spot for my baby sister. “No worries, Mom. I’ll be there, and I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

  “Please bring an appropriate date this time,” she adds.

  “I’m not bringing a date. I’ll be there by myself.” Last time a plus one was required, I brought my flavor of the week. Suffice it to say, she did not meet my mother’s standards. Also, it gives the wrong impression when you introduce a hookup to your family. She thought it meant she was important to me, and despite my blunt honesty about simply needing a date for a family function, she started looking at me with hearts in her eyes.

  I don’t do hearts.

  “You must bring someone—I’ve already put the reservation in and marked you down with a plus one,” she insists.

  “Well, can’t you call them and tell them to subtract my plus one? I don’t have anyone to bring.”

  “If we change our headcount then we can’t sit at the center table, and I want to sit at the center table,” she whines.

  The center table. I hate this shit. God forbid I’m the reason we can’t sit at the table that affords everyone else the best view of the Nelsons.

  I grit my teeth. “Fine, Mom. I’ll be there with a plus one.” Maybe I’ll bring Max with me.

  “Thank you, dear. Five o’clock sharp, don’t be late.”

  “See you then.”

  I hang up and sigh. It’s such a chore to deal with my family lately. When we were kids, my brother, Domenic, and my sister, Tabitha, and I were close. Dom and I used to wrestle around and joke all the time, and we totally ganged up on any guys that approached Tabby—she hated every second of it. Then they went to law school and I didn’t. I wish I could say we remained close in adulthood, but they’re off doing lawyerly things. I miss their camaraderie, and it’s probably my fault as I try to avoid family functions as much as possible because of my parents, which means I don’t get to see them as much, either. I decide to start a group text with them.

  Me: Just got orders from Mom to be at Green Briars Sunday at 5pm.

  Dom: You coming?

  Tabby: Please say you’re coming! I miss you!

  Me: I’ll be there. She’s making me bring a date—how pissed do you think she’ll be if I bring Max or Logan?

  Dom: Don’t tell me you can’t find anyone to com
e with you.

  Me: Who are you bringing, D?

  Dom: Friend from work.

  Tabby: Don’t you have a female friend you can bring?

  Me: Maybe.

  Tabby: I hope your date wears leopard print again. Do you remember Mom’s face last time?

  Me: Ugh. How could I forget?

  Tabby: LOL

  Dom: Have a meeting in five, see you Sunday

  Me: I’ll be the one at the bar.

  Tabby: We’ll join you. See you then!

  Female friend…I don’t have many of those. Quinn is the closest thing I have to a female friend, but I’m not sure I can convince her to go to this with me. Maybe I can bribe her with orgasms—surely she’ll agree to put up with my family for a couple of hours in exchange for sex.

  THIS EVENING FINDS ME wearing comfortable sweats with my most favorite throw blanket over my lap and a bowl of pistachio ice cream covered with hot fudge in my hand. I take a bite and moan in delight as the combination of sweet and salty melts in my mouth.

  “So what’s up with you and Charlie?” Monica asks me as she takes a bite of her own ice cream. The question is not a new one.

  I give her the same answer I always give her. “Nothing, we just like to fuck. He has an amazing cock.”

  “And you have no romantic notions about him at all?” Her hazel eyes study me as if trying to catch me in a lie. This is her standard follow-up question to my standard answer. We might as well just record the conversation and play it back every so often.

  “I don’t want a relationship, Monica. You know this. Why is it so hard for you to believe that Charlie and I are just fuck buddies?”

  “Well, I guess it’s because I don’t understand it. You guys have been sleeping together for what, almost seven months now?”

  I stop to think back. Has it been that long? “If you’re counting from the first night you introduced us, then yes, though we’ve only had sex a handful of times. It’s not like we’re exclusive either. I’ve been with other people and so has he. We just like to have fun,” I insist.