Tamed(13)

After we get our breaths back, Delores gets up and disappears into the bathroom then exits a few minutes later wearing a multicolored, paisley, silk robe. I grab my pants off the floor, fish out the pack of cigarettes from my pocket, and ask her, “Do you mind?”

She opens a window, then retrieves a half-smoked joint from the wooden jewelry box on her dresser. She holds it up. “Smoke ’em if you got ’em.”

I lay my head back on one bent arm and light up. Dee slides into the bed beside me, putting an ashtray on my chest as she tokes up. Her robe falls open, exposing her magnificently pierced breast. I blow out a line of smoke and run my finger around the ring.

“What’s the story behind this?”

She inhales deeply, smoke escaping her lips as she tells me, “Remember how I told you Billy, Kate, and I grew up together?”

I nod.

“Billy’s the youngest, only by a few months. When he turned twenty-one, we all got trashed celebrating. Kate and Billy had tattoos done. I got pierced.”

I tug gently on the ring, touching and testing it out like a kid with a new toy on Christmas morning. “It’s sexy as hell. But I’m curious, why didn’t you get a tattoo?”

She snuffs out the dead bud in the ashtray. “Tattoos are too much of a commitment. I don’t like having anything on—or in—my body that I can’t get rid of.”

I put out my smoke and move the ashtray to the bedside table. Then I turn on my side to face Dee.

Her hand trails down my stomach and wraps around my cock, brushing her thumb across the foreskin. “What’s the story behind this? I thought all Catholics had to be cut?”

“I think that’s Judaism.” Then I explain, “I was a sickly newborn—nothing major, but enough for my mother to be wary of anything that might’ve caused an unnecessary complication.”

For some insane reason, my parents assumed I’d have a circumcision performed when I was a strong, healthy adult. Like I would ever—ever—let a scalpel anywhere near my dick unless my life depended on it.

And maybe not even then.

Yes, in case you’re wondering, there were a few girls in high school who were slightly . . . unsure about how to proceed with a non–cookie cutter cock. But once they took it for a test ride and realized it works the same as all the other models, it was in high demand.

She continues to stroke me until I’m hard and hot in her hand. Then she looks down and says, “I like it. It’s pretty.”

I grip Delores’s hips, roll onto my back, and lift her over me so she’s straddling my waist. “Okay, you officially suck with adjectives. Pussies are pretty, not dicks.”

Her robe falls fully open and I lick my thumb then press it to her clit to show her just how pretty I think her * is. Fucking gorgeous.

Dee starts with a giggle but ends with a breathy moan. “Enlighten me. What adjective is suitably masculine for a mighty dick?”

Her hips mimic my thumb’s movements, rotating in tight circles.

“Mighty is a good start. Scary works. Powerful, impressive are always winners.”

I rub with more pressure. Her hips move faster and in ever-widening circles. She pants. “I’ll keep those in mind for next time.” Then she bites her lip and looks me in the eyes. “I love to f*ck when I’m high.”

She rises higher on her knees, lining us up.

“I have a feeling I’m going to love it too.”



“Shit, that was awesome,” Dee exclaims into the pillow, where she’s just planted her face.

On my knees behind her, I remove condom number two with a tissue and collapse next to her. “It really f*cking was.”

Doggy style never disappoints.

She lifts her head and looks at the bedside clock. “Damn. I have to get up for work in four hours.”

Just to clarify—this is my cue to leave. It’s the nice way of saying, Thanks for the sex. Good-bye. Most of my one-night stands aren’t sleepovers. Unless I’m completely wiped out, I prefer to sleep in my own bed.

I stand up and start to get dressed. I zip my pants, but still shirtless, I tell Dee, “I had a great time tonight.”

She rolls over to her back, making no attempt to hide her naked glory. “Me too.”

My eyes trail over her lustrous, after-sex-sheen-covered skin, settling on the nipple piercing that begs for more playtime. “I want to see you again.”

Dee smirks. “You mean you want to screw me again.”

I slip my arms into the sleeves of my shirt and admit, “Baby, that goes without saying.” I pick my pack of cigarettes off the floor and put them in my pocket. “I’ll call you.”

She responds with a short bark of laughter and an eye roll. She grabs the silk robe and stands beside me.

“What?” I ask, slightly confused.

She shakes her head condescendingly. “You don’t have to do that. I’m not the kind of woman you have to make promises to, that you have no intention of keeping. It was fun, let’s just leave it at that. If I never hear from you again, that’s okay too.”

This isn’t the reaction I expect from a chick I spent the last hours giving multiple orgasms to. Most of the time, they’re asking to check my phone to make sure their digits are in my contact list. Demanding specifics—dates and times when their phone will be ringing.