Naughty Follies: Short Stories

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Shady Grove Ch. 10

Gerald didn’t resist when Quinn pulled away. He stood patiently, as if he could read her mind, and his eyes didn’t change when she undid the top button of his plaid shirt. Once all the buttons were undone, Quinn’s hands glided lightly over Gerald’s hard pecs as if she were performing a healing ritual. His fingers slowly arrived at the straps of her dress, inching them sideways until they fell from her shoulders. Before they broke from their next kiss, Quinn’s breasts were no longer captive—to her bra, her own touch, her apartment.

Groping in darkness, Quinn couldn’t see Gerald’s face, firmly buried in her neck. In the darkness of the grove, there were no rules, no predetermined order in which events should unfold. They stood naked, invisible to each other and the world, perhaps with the exception of owls.

Quinn, feeling very much out of practice, was surprised by her desire to please Gerald, not just his loins, but all of him. For reasons she couldn’t understand, she wanted to treat him right, whatever that meant. And just as she was about to kneel on a bed of pine needles, Gerald was once step ahead, breathing on her belly. His coarse fingertips combed her back, gradually following her curves, and finally pulled her towards him. Quinn’s knees buckled so hard she nearly lost her balance, but fortunately Gerald’s shoulders weren’t hard to find.

Quinn had had a few average lovers and a couple of highly skilled ones, but even they, she discovered, treated oral sex only as a box needing to be checked off. It was a courtesy pit-stop on the way to the other places these men wanted to go. So it was almost too much—what Gerald was doing to her now—for Quinn to accept.

Torn between wanting this moment to last forever and wanting the blistering pleasure that awaited, it was Quinn who felt impatience creeping in. She gripped Gerald’s hair tightly, as if to say, You’ve done enough…now take me there, but he didn’t immediately follow her prompt. By the time his tongue travelled north, Quinn wondered how this man knew her erogenous zones better than she.

With mixed emotions, Quinn soon learned that this, too, was only another man’s pit-stop. Even if it was a far more luxurious one than she’d ever experienced before, he wasn’t going to take her there; not now anyway. Moving like a ghost, Gerald cradled Quinn with his arms behind her back and knees, and laid her down on a bed of hemlock needles. No sooner did she grasp his cock did it slip away, leaving her with only a sense of it—not unusually big or small, but unmistakably powerful.

Hovering over her, he whispered, “May I love you now?” The question sounded odd to Quinn, strangely vague and old-fashioned.

“You already are,” she said, “but you can love me more.” Quinn didn’t have time to make sense of her own odd-sounding words before Gerald loved her more…way more.

Sex had always made Quinn nervous in the way public speaking made others: she was tentative and first, but once it got underway, she relaxed, and eventually took charge. She liked to show off her athleticism with her partners—her flexibility, her stamina. And because she loved to dance, when making love, that desire came forth in the form of smooth, sensual gyrations. That relaxation had now arrived, but the hunger for acrobatics and dancing remained dormant. Usually when with a man for the first time, Quinn knew what sort of lover she had by this point. Selfish or generous, rough or gentle, creative or routine, passionate or detached. She didn’t necessarily prefer any one combination over another, but sought whatever chemistry was right for a given moment; it was either there or it wasn’t. But at this moment, Gerald remained a complete mystery.

Quinn released her tight grip on Gerald’s back and let her arms fall straight to the side. She reciprocated his kisses when they came, but soaked in his nuzzling of her neck, breasts and everywhere else his lips travelled. She felt like she was skydiving, propelled not by gravity but by Gerald’s steady thrusts, as if she were falling and flying upward at the same time.

And while Quinn could be a high-energy lover, she was usually a quiet one. She didn’t vocalize pleasure or pain, but expressed it through movement. So she was surprised when a sudden groan bubbled from her throat, especially because missionary sex had never been her favorite. She didn’t like feeling smothered, preferring a bit of space, where body contact was only partial and ever-changing, as arms and legs tangled and released, and hands and feet and cheeks continually drifted away and returned somewhere else. But here she was with Gerald’s dense, compact body pressing her back and ass into the warm forest floor, as another loud moan involuntarily escaped her lips.

Quinn sensed that Gerald wasn’t an imaginative lover, or even a passionate one; he was the stationary sort, fucking powerfully without having to use force. It was effortless power, and with it, Gerald could make Quinn moan at will. And she did. Faster thrusts brought about shorter moans, and slower ones produced longer ones, as if she were a violin. Even deep within the woods, Quinn was suddenly self-conscious about her voice, but she couldn’t quiet it. Biting her lip didn’t help; biting Gerald’s didn’t either. Sinking her teeth into his shoulder didn’t muffle her cries of ecstasy at all. She felt effervescence between her legs, like champagne bubbles inside a corked bottle.

When it popped, her wail sent winged creatures flapping away to distant trees. She was skydiving with a hole in her chute, then soaring like a seagull. Traveling upward or downward she couldn’t tell, and didn’t care.

She lay with her heart pounding against Gerald’s steadier one and wrapped her arms and legs around his back, sharing the bliss of simultaneous orgasms with a virtual stranger, only to realize he hadn’t shared in her ecstasy. She used her hands and hips and words to convey how much she wanted him to, but Gerald lay still and silent.

Quinn glimpsed his contented face as he rolled onto his back, pulling her away from the bed of needles and onto his chest. As unfathomable as this moment was—laying on the forest floor with Gerald—even more disorienting for Quinn was having been ravaged by a man who seemed unconcerned about his own desires going unfulfilled. She shivered as her sweat evaporated, and as Gerald pulled her closer, Quinn was surprised when thoughts of Abigail arose in her mind. She had an uneasy feeling. And then it all became clear: Abby didn’t crack the case…I did.

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