Road Games Read online

  Did she worry? Think about that toy of hers, the small pink one that had been bought in error, that we’d discovered really suited me? I’d never enjoyed that before, but with her and the things she whispered in my ear, I’d found a woman using a toy on me very pleasing. Size matters. In my case, smaller turned out to be much, much better. She was bringing that toy with her, she’d promised. It was very new to me to count on someone else that way.

  I liked it. It scared me, but I liked it.

  I stared at the compartment overhead, pictured the various items, and my memories again stopped at the one she called the brown bomber. Oh, that brown one, how we both enjoyed it. But my jaw had dropped when I’d opened it, and I hadn’t been able to stop myself from saying, “Christ, honey, are you sure?”

  For an answer she’d slipped a tape measure around the toy, then around my wrist. “I knew you’d worry about hurting me. So don’t.”

  I’d blushed, sitting in my jammies under her Christmas tree, but not that night with that heavy cock strapped on. Sure, it felt a little silly fiddling with O-rings and buckles; if you think about it too long, sex is silly, except when you’re doing it. It had felt really powerful to wear something she had specifically picked out for me to please her with. I did like that feeling of power, I liked that a lot. But when she wrapped her legs around my thighs and pulled me in, I found her power matched my own. I was only able to feel so powerful because she could take it. What good was that toy to me if there wasn’t a woman I could drive to absolute abandon using it? It was now the biggest reason that bag weighed ten pounds. Yes, we called it mine, but without her, I mused, it was useless.

  The feverish feeling was getting worse—I was definitely in a major lust for my girl. I could hear the sound of the brown one going inside her followed by the noise she made, a kind of oh-damn-yes-that’s-exactly-it noise. Everything I did to her, especially when I told her in advance what I was going to do and then did it, made her happy. So why was I feeling so anxious?

  Maybe it was the pink toy, the one I liked. I’d never been vulnerable like that before, and it was disconcerting to find I liked it. Maybe it was the conversation we’d had the last time we were together, those three long months ago, when she’d asked me, directly, what it was I really liked in bed.

  “You,” I’d said.

  She’d snuggled close into my arms. “No, silly. I mean for yourself. I don’t care what it is. I’m more than willing to explore it with you.”

  “I’m fine, baby, really. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” It was the truth, and I didn’t know what else to say. One of the things I loved about her was that she could ask for my touch, could put her desires into words and explain to me, show me, what it was she needed. I had never been capable of that kind of vulnerability. I just didn’t have her courage. How could I tell someone my few kinky thoughts—what if they didn’t want to share that with me? And it was so much fun taking care of her.

  She’d propped herself up on one elbow to lock her gaze with mine. “Well, I’m a little self-conscious here.”

  “Why?” I was a goner. I knew that. Those blue eyes, that forthright gaze—how was I supposed to hide anything?

  “I’m the one doing all the screaming. I mean, I know you come and it feels good.” She kissed me softly. “I guess I’d like to make you crazy-wild-screaming too.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve never been that way.”

  To my surprise, she had smiled. “Good. Then we don’t know for sure that you can’t be that way, do we?”

  With a start I realized my plane was touching down. My heart twisted against my breastbone and I grinned. Her flight landed twenty minutes ahead of mine and we’d arranged to meet at my baggage claim area if all went well. Otherwise, my cell phone would ring and we’d make new plans.

  In just a few minutes I’d be holding her. Just a few minutes more until I smelled her and buried my face in her hair. I was foolish to be anxious. The fireworks would be there. Ten pounds’ worth of sex toys, plus what she was bringing for me, would make for a wonderful time together. In addition, there would be the deeply satisfying falling asleep and waking up, the flush of laughing about nothing, the shared excitement over new tech that the conference promised, and the simple pleasure of holding her hand. Every day would have something new to enjoy together, and the more time we spent together, the more every day was filled with familiarity too.

  The massive airport took time to navigate. I reached the baggage claim as quickly as I could and queued with my fellow passengers. Bags began chunking onto the carousel, and to my delight, mine was the second one down. I seized it, turned around, and there she was.

  The wool coat was sleek and long, but I scarcely took note of it as I swooped her into my arms, spun her in a circle, and set her back down on what I immediately noticed were skimpy black stilettos—the kind of shoes that put the fuck me in footwear. My brain exploded with a hundred images of her in a hundred poses, all featuring her long, smooth legs and those shoes. I had her bent over my suitcase, on top of me on the baggage carousel, me grinding into her on the hood of the taxi.

  “Shall we go?” That was all she said, in a very mild tone that was a flat-out lie compared to the way her eyes were gleaming with mirth and anticipation.

  Laughing and chattering, we found a taxi and covered a million topics on the way to the hotel. All of her seemed alight with happiness, and it took my breath away to think that being with me might be the cause.

  Fortunately, we ran into no one we knew at the hotel. By tomorrow we wouldn’t be able to cross the lobby without a dozen hellos. But for the presence of the bellman, I’d have done naughty things in the elevator as a reward for that dancing look in her eyes.

  After the obligatory tour of the small room and a parting tip for the bellman, we were finally alone. I put my carry-on up on the desk and unzipped it.

  “I got searched at security,” I said as I extracted the velvet bag.

  “I didn’t, and it’s a good thing,” she said from behind me.

  Turning with the heavy leather pouch, all ten pounds of it, I started to say, “Why is that?” but the sight of her unbuttoning her long coat to reveal an exceedingly skimpy black negligee trapped the words in my throat.

  The coat slid to the floor with a whoosh. She was smiling at my slack-jawed response. “Like what you see?”

  “Hell yes.” I swallowed hard as my gaze traveled from that sultry smile to the round invitation of her breasts, then past the tight black panties, all the way down her body to the stilettos. Thinking of the bumper sticker a friend had given her, I said, “Cute shoes. Wanna fuck?”

  “Hell yes.” She lifted one hand and I finally noticed that she was holding something.

  At first I was puzzled. “I thought you were too sensitive to wear those.”

  “I am.”

  I studied the short length of chain dangling from her fingertips. At each end of the chain was a soft-tipped clamp. Then the significance of her answer sank in. My heart lunged up into my throat.

  She moved in on me like a panther, backing me up against the desk. “Put the goodies down for now.”

  Not taking my gaze from hers, I set the leather pouch on the desk. I could not control a shudder as she pulled my shirt out of my pants and unbuttoned it.

  The look in her eyes made my knees weak. It was the same proudly sensual woman who had used the purple toy with the bumps on herself to boil my blood.

  She didn’t break eye contact while she stripped off my shirt and sports bra. Still staring into my eyes she licked one of the open clamps, then took my nipple between her fingertips. Only then did she look down with a heated, sensual smile.

  I felt faint when the clamp closed over my nipple—not too tight, not enough to get me to ouch, but tight enough that I could not forget it was there. As soon as she had both nipples in the clamps, she let the chain that joined them fall against my bare stomach. She looked up at me again. “Is that okay? Adjust them�
��fix it. It needs to be okay.”

  Trembling, I loosened one and tightened the other, then swallowed and found my voice. “It’s okay. How did…I never said…”

  “Baby, your body told me last time we were together. Thing is…” She leaned in to kiss me, and the silk of her negligee brushing against my taut nipples drew a moan from me. “The thing is, I like to toy with your nipples and it obviously feels really good to you, but when you’re on top of me you do have a way of fucking me senseless and then I forget all about playing with you. This way...” She lifted one shoulder eloquently.

  I was having trouble breathing.

  She hooked one finger around the chain, gently moving it, and I couldn’t believe the way it ignited all the nerves between my legs. “Now, what would you like to do?”

  I exhaled explosively. “Fuck your brains out.”

  She grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that. For the record, these clamps are mine, because I think I’m going to love what they do to me.”

  Turning her attention to the leather pouch, she unzipped it and spread out the contents. She picked up the soft rope and brushed it lightly against my nipples.

  “Fuck.” The so-soft sensation was absolutely fantastic. My brain was narrowing in its focus and my vocabulary exited the room, because all I could find to say was, again, “Fuck.”

  “Oh, I knew you’d like wearing those.”

  I scrabbled on the desk for the harness and brown bomber. She was already undoing my trousers. Shoes and socks were flung into a corner. She fit the toy into the harness, then helped me step into it. I fumbled with the straps and told her, my voice raspy and low, “Get on the bed and spread your legs.”

  She ran one finger under the chain as an answer. “Feel good?”

  I twined my hand into the hair at the back of her head and pulled her against me for a hard, deep kiss. Her warm body pressed against my nipples, sending pulses of fire down my stomach. Only when she gasped for air did I answer her. “It feels fantastic.”

  “Hot for me now?”

  “I’ve been hot for you for weeks. I thought I’d burn up on the plane.”

  She brushed her lips against mine. “Poor baby. I think you’d better fuck me, then.”

  “Like I said”—I pushed her away from me—“get on the bed and spread your legs.”

  She did as I asked, finally, after pulling back the covers. She spilled over the sheets, abandoned and ready. I stripped the little negligee panties off her as I said, “I can’t believe you wore this on the plane.”

  “Truthfully, it was under my clothes during the flight. All I had to do after I landed was take off—oh yeah. Please, baby.”

  I pushed her thighs apart until she bent her knees and those stilettos were resting on my shoulders. Every time I moved, the chain swayed and my nipples felt as if they were going to explode. My clit was so swollen it brushed against the leather of the harness. I looked down at her open cunt, one of the most beautiful things about her, about women, and it gleamed with wet and inviting red heat.

  Usually I fell on top of her with possessive force and took her in a rush. She did like that, but the clamps made me move much more slowly this time. I stayed back on my knees as long as I could, watching the length of my cock ease inside her. I pulled back slightly, felt faint at the sight of how wet it was, and pushed in again. Her legs slipped from my shoulders and she wrapped them around my hips, reaching for me, her arms beckoning.

  I lowered myself on top of her, and at the first twisting grind of my hard nipples against her soft breasts I felt a shudder run through me like I’d never felt before. The chain was caught between us, and every time I shoved all the way in it was like her fingers pulling at my nipples, except when she started to cry and toss under me, when she started to come and throw her arms over her head to brace herself for thrust after thrust, my nipples were still being pulled.

  I lost control and fucked her, fucked her, my clit bumping against the leather of the harness in a tantalizing rhythm, making me desperate to come. She climaxed again and again under me, making those sounds of absolute abandon, little screams, her hands on my back, at her own nipples, clutching the sheets over her head. I couldn’t stop fucking her and she didn’t want me to stop. Every time I went all the way in I felt closer until finally my clit convulsed and I ground into her hard while she sobbed into my shoulder.

  I felt unleashed, growling with pleasure and conquest, like something I’d always wanted was finally mine.

  *

  Trembling in her arms after she helped ease the clamps off, she asked again if it was okay. Weakly, I mumbled, “What do you think?”

  “I think it was more than okay.”

  I managed enough strength to take in her expression. “You’re smirking.”

  “Who, me?”

  I laughed, then said, seriously, “I’ve never done that before.”

  She grazed one of my still-hard nipples with a fingertip. I couldn’t believe the powerful throb of response from my clit. “Come while fucking someone?”

  “Yeah,” I said, though it wasn’t quite what I meant. I nearly let it go, then added, “I mean…gotten off by fucking someone. Fucking someone until I was done, not until she was.” And I couldn’t have had that if she hadn’t been willing to explore it—to give that experience to me. No lover had ever thought so carefully about what might make me scream.

  “It was the same thing right then, wasn’t it? You did fuck me until I was done.”

  I thought about that while she kept lightly playing with my nipple. Though the clamps were off, the pressure and sensation was eased but still very present. Other parts of me were getting wet and swollen all over again. “That’s never been true before.”

  She leaned into me until she could touch her own hard nipple to mine. I moaned. “For me neither. But I’ve always wanted to please my lover that way, to be what she needs, to take until she’s done. It felt wonderful to me, it really did.”

  “There’s no one else I would have let put those on me.”

  “No one’s ever given me that kind of power before,” she whispered. “Thank you. It felt amazing to me. To know you were letting me inside like that. To be as lost in sex with me as I am with you, every time I’m with you.” She looked away.

  “Is that what it’s about?” I really hadn’t considered it before, that she might be feeling like the one who was always more vulnerable because she got to a place where she had to come and couldn’t stop. She’d gotten me to that place too and I wanted to be there again, in her arms. “Getting lost in it?”

  “Getting lost together.”

  How did she manage to know so much, and how had I ever gotten so lucky as to be the one who held her? “What I just felt, is that what it’s always like for you?”

  “Since I met you, yes. Like that.”

  I had strutted over how good she felt. Smirked and skited, and yet I’d not understood, not really, that I wasn’t taking from her, she was giving.

  And I thought I knew all about sex.

  I kissed her softly. “I guess I thought the point of really great sex was to be done. That it would be so good you’d be satisfied.”

  She snuggled against me. “And now? What’s the point of really great sex?”

  “Having more. What I just felt, coming like that, it makes me want more. It makes me never want to be done at all.” I drew her hand between my legs. “Baby, please.”

  “After all that fucking,” she whispered against my lips, “you want to fuck some more?”

  “No, honey.”

  “Then what?” Her fingers found my clit and I twitched in response.

  “I’m tired of living in two places.”

  She circled my clit with her fingers, then teased lower. “I want to talk about that too. Later. Are you sure you don’t want to fuck some more?”

  “No, honey.”

  She raised her head with an inquiring look, her lips parted as her breathing quickened, her hair a mess and
a light in her eyes that warmed me in places I never wanted to be cold again. “If you don’t want to fuck, then what do you want to do?”

  I pulled her mouth to mine and arched into her touch. “I want to make love.”

  The Twenty-Minute Rule

  Alison Tyler

  Of all the lies I heard when I moved to Los Angeles:

  You’re so pretty.

  Of course you’re a good actress!

  Yes, I’ll call you in the morning.

  …none was quite so blatantly false as “the twenty-minute rule.” This insidious little lie claims that you can get anywhere you want in Los Angeles—anywhere at all—in twenty minutes or less. Say you’re at UCLA, but you have tickets for the Hollywood Bowl. No need to cut your last class short. You’ll make it in twenty minutes, easy. Or maybe you’re working at the Westside Pavilion Mall, but you want to catch a friend’s new play in a warehouse downtown. Not to worry if your boss keeps you late. You can get there in twenty minutes.

  Who on earth came up with this insane concept? Some sadistic demon with no geographical understanding of the sprawling region that is LA? Or maybe the LAPD, hoping to generate more income from speeding tickets. It’s an evil little falsehood because you can’t help but think that the rule works for other people. Why else would you hear the phrase so often?

  I’ll admit that I tried my best at first. For two years, I believed the lies that Los Angeles tells on a daily basis.

  I believed those women who promised they’d call after our naughty nights between the sheets. I went on audition after miserable audition. I gave myself twenty minutes to get to any appointment.

  And then I got beaten down.

  The one woman I truly wanted—a key grip in the movies—found my roommate more interesting than me. The one coveted role I honestly thought I’d landed went to someone else. Ultimately, the person I saw in the mirror no longer reflected the compliments I received.