I LOOKED AT MY REFLECTION in the mirror, trying to look objectively. When I was a kid, especially in those charming early-teen years, I used to see myself very differently. I saw dishwater-blond hair and pale, uninteresting skin. I saw flat green eyes and knobby knees that bisected skinny, bird-like legs. I saw a slightly upturned nose and a bottom lip that looked like I might trip over it if I wasn’t too careful.
When I was fifteen, one afternoon my grandmother told me she thought the pink dress I was wearing looked nice against my skin. I scoffed and immediately disagreed with her. “Thanks, Grandma, but I got about three hours of sleep last night, and the last thing I look today is nice. Tired and pale, but not nice.”
I rolled my eyes in that way teenage girls do, and she reached for my hand.
“Always take a compliment, Caroline. Always take it for the way it was intended. You girls are always so quick to twist what others say. Simply say thank you and move on.” She smiled in that quiet and wise way she had.
“Thanks.” I smiled back, busying myself with the spaghetti sauce and turning my face so she couldn’t see my blush.
“It breaks my heart the way young girls pick themselves over, never thinking they’re good enough. You make sure you always remember, you’re exactly the way you’re supposed to be. Exactly. And anyone who says otherwise, well, poppycock.” She giggled, her voice lowering a bit at that last word, the closest she would ever come to swearing. Grandma had a list of bad words and really bad words, and poppycock came close to approaching the latter.
The next day at school I mentioned to a friend that I thought her hair looked great, and her answer was to run her hands through it with disgust.
“Are you kidding? I barely even had time to wash it today.”
Even though it did look fantastic.
Later on after gym class, I was changing in the locker room when I observed another friend touching up her lip gloss. “That’s pretty. What’s the name of that color?” I asked as she pursed her lips in the mirror.
“Apple Tartlet, but it looks terrible on me. God, I have no tan left over from summer!”
Grandma was right. Girls really didn’t take compliments well. Now, I’m not gonna lie and say after that day I magically had no more bad hair days or never picked the wrong lipstick again. But I did make a conscious effort to see the good before the bad and really look at myself in a more clear way. Objectively. Kindly. And as my body continued to change, I became more and more aware of features I could look at positively instead of negatively. I never thought of myself as lethally gorgeous, but I did clean up well.
And so now, as I stared into the mirror in the bathroom, knowing Simon was waiting for me, I took the time to take a little inventory.
The dishwater-blond hair? Not so much dishwater. It was shiny and golden, a little wavy and curly from the saltwater it had been cooking in all week. The pale skin? Nicely browned up and, dare I say, a little glowy? I winked at myself, holding back a maniacal giggle. My mouth had that slightly pouty lower lip, just full enough to trap me some Simon and not let him go. And the legs I saw peeking from below the lace just covering my thighs? Well, not so bird-like anymore. In fact, I think they were going to look pretty spectacular wrapping around Simon’s…whatever I felt like wrapping them around.
And so, as I smoothed my hair once more and mentally ran through all my internal checklists, I was wildly excited about the night ahead. We’d raced back to the house, practically disrobed each other in the entryway, and after begging a few moments of girl time, I was now ready to go out and claim my Simon. Because who was kidding who? I wanted this man. Wanted him for my own, and did not, would not, share him with anyone else.
Brain for once was finally in agreement with LC. Especially since she’d crawled up Backbone and slapped Brain right in the stem, telling her in that special way only she could that we needed this. We deserved this, and we were ready. Nerves, well, they continued to circle in my tummy, but that was to be expected, right? I mean, it had been a long, long time, and a little bit of nerves was normal, I expect. Had I been stalling all week? Maybe.
Kind of.
A little.
Simon had been more than patient, content to take things slow, at my pace, but for crying out loud, he was only human.
I was adamant that Nerves not be allowed to turn another Spanish night into the land of cuddle and coo. I turned in the mirror, trying to see myself as Simon might see me. I smiled in what I thought was a seductive way, flipped off the light, took one more deep breath, and opened the door.
The bedroom had been transformed into something from a fairy tale. Candles flickered on the dresser and nightstands, bathing the room in a warm glow. The windows were open, as well as the door to the little balcony overlooking the sea, and I could hear the waves crashing, romance-novel style. And there he stood: hair tousled, body strong, eyes blazing.
I watched as he took me in, dragging his gaze down my body and back, a smile spreading across his face as he appraised my outfit of choice.
“Mmm, there’s my Pink Nightie Girl,” he sighed, holding out his hand. And when I stalled for just the tiniest second, Backbone picked up my hand and gave it to him.
We stood in the darkened room, a few feet apart but connected by our woven fingers. I could feel the rough texture of his thumb as he traced circles on the inside of my hand, the same circles he’d traced weeks and weeks before when I began to fall under his spell. Our eyes full of each other, he took a deep breath.
“It’s criminal how good you look in that,” he said, drawing me toward him and giving me a little spin so he could better see the pink baby doll nightie. As he spun me, the lacey edges flipped up just a little, showing off the accompanying ruffled panties. A low noise sounded in his throat, and if I wasn’t mistaken, it was a growl? Damn…
He spun me back closer, grasping my hips and pressing me against him, my breasts crushing into his chest. He placed a tiny kiss below my ear, letting me feel just the tip of his tongue.
“So there are some things I need you to understand,” he murmured, nuzzling with his nose, his hands brushing up under my nightie to fluff my ruffles and grab a handful of backside, catching me by surprise. I gasped.
“You listening? Don’t get distracted on me now,” he whispered again, flattening out his tongue and dragging it up the side of my neck.
“It’s kind of hard to focus with your distraction poking me in the thigh,” I groaned, letting him bend me backward just enough so that my entire lower body was pressed against him, his hard places perfectly content to mold my soft places around them. He chuckled against my neck, now dotting my collarbone with his trademarked baby kisses.
“Here’s what you need to know. One, you’re amazing,” he said, his hands now traveling up to the small of my back, fingers and thumbs massaging and manipulating. “Two, you’re amazingly sexy,” he breathed.
My hands now hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it back off his shoulders as our pace began to transition from slow and easy to fast and frantic. Now his hands were sneaking around front, his nails lightly scraping along my tummy, lifting my nightie so we were skin to skin, nothing left between us. I ran my hands up and down his back, my nails much more aggressive, digging in and anchoring him against me.
“And three, as amazingly sexy as this pink nightie is, the only thing I want to see for the rest of this night is my Sweet Caroline, and I need to see you.” He panted in my ear as he picked me up, straight up, and my right leg went around his waist on its own.
Once again, the Universal Law of Wallbanger dictated that legs went around hips when they were offered.
He walked me backward to the bed and set me down gently. Leaning over, he pushed me backward on to my elbows. Shirt hanging down off his shoulders, he winked at me, nodding at his state of undress. I reached forward, crooked one finger behind the button on his khakis, and snapped it open. Seeing no peek of boxers, I gently nudged his zipper down just an inch or so, exposing the happy trail that led down, down, down to where all good things were found. Sweet mother of pearl. Commando.
“You got something against underpants?” I whispered, raising one knee and forcing him between my hips. Forcing. Right.
“I’m against your underpants, and isn’t it a shame they’re still there?” He smirked, pushing his hips into me, letting me feel everything.
I dropped my head back, silently pushing down Nerves when she threatened to bubble up just a smidge. Piss off, Nerves. This was happening.
“No shame. I have a feeling they won’t be on for long.” I sighed, laying back to stretch my arms over my head, lengthening my body against his and encouraging his lips to further dance along the hollow at the base of my collarbone. I could feel him licking and sucking between my breasts. I arched into him, anxious to feel more. I needed more. He began peeling the straps of my nightie down, baring me and allowing him the access he needed to make me orbit the planet.
Feeling his mouth on me, on my breasts, hot and wet, tickling and sloppy, was unreal. So I told him so.
“That feels unreal,” I moaned in to the top of his head as the scruff from his light beard roughed my skin pleasantly. His lips closed around my right nipple, and my hips went off on a tangent of their own, bucking wildly beneath him, both of my legs now wrapped firmly around his waist. Lips and tongue and teeth now lavished across my cleavage, which spilled out over the edge of the nightie as he alternated between breasts, loving them equally. I was surrounded by Simon, and even his scent was turning me on, equal parts peppery spice and thick Spanish brandy.
Nonsensical words poured from my mouth. I was aware of a few “Simons,” and one or two, “Yes, that’s good,” but mostly what I overheard from myself were things like “Mmph,” and “Erghh,” and a rather loud “Hyyyyaeahhh,” for which, frankly, there is not a correct spelling.
Simon sighed over and over again in to my skin, his actual breath a turn on as I felt it wash over me. My hands had been left free to roam in the wonderland that was his hair, and as I swept it back from his face I was rewarded with the amazing sight of his mouth on me, his eyes closed in clear worship. He bit down lightly, closing his teeth around my sensitive skin, and my hands almost tore the hair from his head. It felt phenomenal.
His other hand was running up and down my leg, encouraging me to grasp him tighter between my thighs as his wondrous fingers began to come ever closer to the edge of the lace. It was the last boundary we had yet to cross: the lace frontier.
I felt my breathing still as he went on final approach, his fingers brushing just under the edge of my panties, barely brushing. His breathing slowed as well, and as he continued to touch me gently, his face came back up to mine, and we had this moment, this quiet moment, where we just…stared. Awe—it’s the only way I can describe the feeling of his hand ghosting over me, delicately, reverently. Our eyes locked as he eased his hand further underneath the lace and then, with achingly perfect precision, he touched me.
My eyes fluttered shut, my entire body awash with so many sensations. My breathing started back up again, the intense pressure that had been circling all around and inside and out was now like a low-level hum, just beneath the surface of my skin. I moved with him, feeling his fingers begin to explore me, and I let out the tiniest moan. It was all I could let out. The feelings were so intense and the energy—oh my goodness, the energy that surrounded us in that moment.
I was sure Simon was unaware of the entirety of the emotion that flew around behind my closed eyelids. The poor man was just finally getting a little touch. But as his fingers became more deft and sure of themselves, something incredible began to happen. That teeny tiny little bundle of nerves, which had been dormant for centuries, began to spark to life. My eyes flew open as a very specific warmth began to move through me, starting at the center of my being and working its way out.
Simon was most certainly enjoying this. His eyes were hazy and crowded with lust as I writhed underneath him. I knew he could feel me tense and come alive.
“God, Caroline, you’re so…you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes now crowding with something a bit more than lust, and I felt tiny pinpricks behind my eyeballs.
I threw my arms around his neck and held him close, tearing at his shirt to get it off, get it off him so I could feel everything. He lifted himself from me for only seconds, ripping off his shirt in an exaggerated way that made me giggle but yearn for him even more.
Lowering himself back on to me, he slipped further down, his lips tracing a path down to my belly button. Circling it with his tongue, he laughed into my tummy.
“What are you laughing at, mister?” I giggled, squeezing his ear. He was below the nightie now, his face hidden from me. Poking his head back out, he let loose a slow grin that made my toes point.
“If your belly button tastes this good—fuck, Caroline. I can’t wait to taste your pussy.”
There are certain things a woman needs to hear at different times in her life:
You got the job.
Your ass looks great in that skirt.
I would love to meet your mother.
And when used in the just the right context, in just the right setting, sometimes, a woman needs to hear the P-word.
This could be better than Clooney.
The moan that came out of my mouth when he said that word, well, let’s just say it was loud enough to wake the dead. He let his tongue trace a path from my belly button down to the edge of my ruffles, and then with loving precision, he hooked his thumbs underneath the lace and dragged them down my legs.
There I was, spread out on top of PillowTown with a pink nightie bunched up around my midriff, all pertinent parts on display, and damn happy about it. He pulled my hips just to the edge of the bed and dropped to his knees. Sweet Jesus.
As he ran his hands up and down the tops of my legs, I lifted up on my elbows so I could watch, needing to see this wonderful man tending to me, taking care of me. Kneeling between my thighs, with his khakis unbuckled and halfway unzipped, hair at atomic heights, he was stunning. And on the move.
Once again letting his tongue lead, he planted open-mouth kisses along the insides of my thighs, one side and then the other, with each pass getting closer and closer to where I needed him most. Carefully lifting my left leg, he hitched it over his shoulder as I arched my back, my entire body now aching to feel him.
He gazed at me for a moment longer, maybe even just a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. “Beautiful,” he breathed one more time, and then he pressed his mouth to me.
No quick licks, no tiny kisses, just incredible pressure as he surrounded me with his lips. It was enough to make me drop back on the bed, unable to support myself any longer. The feel, the exquisite feel of him was all-consuming, and I could barely breathe. He worked me slow and low, bringing one hand up to open me further to him, letting his mouth and fingers and perfect tongue gently and methodically coax me into the stratosphere, rising up, filling me with the sense of awe and amazement I had been missing for so long.
I allowed one hand to drift down to him and tangle in his hair, running my fingers through it with as much feeling as I could. The other hand? Useless. It was fisting the sheets into some kind of ball.
He lifted his head from me once, just once, to press another kiss against my thigh. “Perfect. Jesus, just perfect,” he whispered, so quietly I could barely hear him over my own sighs and whimpers. He returned to me almost immediately, an urgency now to his movements, his lips and tongue twisting and pressing as he groaned into me, the vibration riding straight through.
I opened my eyes for a second, just a second, and the room was glowing, almost incandescent. All of my senses came alive, and I could hear the crashing of the surf, see the candlelight flickering on our bodies. I could feel my skin break into gooseflesh, the very air caressing me and announcing what I had been missing for months, years even.
This man could very possibly love me. And he was about to bring back the O.
Snapping my eyes closed again, I could almost see myself, standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down into the raging ocean below. Pressure, enormous pressure was building behind me, nudging me toward the edge where I could fall, fall freely into what was waiting for me. I took one step, then another, closer and closer as I could feel Simon grasping my hips. But wait. If the O was coming for me, I wanted Simon inside. I needed him inside me.
Tugging on his shoulders, I pulled him up my body, feet kicking at his khakis until they lay defenseless on the floor.
“Simon, I need, please, inside, now,” I panted, almost incoherent with lust. Simon, schooled in Caroline shorthand, understood this completely and was poised between my legs, hips nuzzled up into mine within seconds. He leaned down, kissing me wantonly, the taste of me all over him. And I loved it.
“Inside, inside, inside,” I kept chanting, my back and hips alternately arching, desperately trying to find what I needed, what I had to have, to push me off that cliff. He left me for only seconds to fumble in his khakis, which I had kicked halfway across the room. The telltale crinkle let me know that I was safe, that we were safe.
Finally I felt him, exactly where he was meant to be. He barely nudged inside, but just the feeling of him entering me was monumental. My own needs quieted for the moment, and I watched as he began to push into me for the first time. His eyes bore into mine as I cradled his face in my hands. He looked as though he wanted to say something. What words would we speak, what wonderfully loving things would we say to commemorate this moment?
“Hi,” he whispered, smiling as though his life depended on it.
I couldn’t help but smile back. “Hi,” I answered, loving the feel of him, the weight of him, above me.
He slipped gently into me, and at first my body resisted. It had been a long time, but the little pain I felt was welcome. It was that good kind of pain, a pain that let you know something more was coming. I relaxed a bit, allowing my legs to wrap around his waist, and as he pressed farther into me, his smile became infinitely more sexy. He bit down on his lower lip and tiny frown lines appeared on his forehead. I breathed in, inhaling his scent as I watched him pull back just the smallest bit, only to thrust once more. Now fully inside, I welcomed him the only way I could. I gave him that little internal hug, which made his eyes flash open and peer down at me.
“There’s my girl,” he murmured, raising one rakish eyebrow and thrusting into me again, with more conviction this time. My breath caught in my throat and I gasped, unwittingly rocking my hips into his with a motion as old as the waves crashing down below.
Slowly he began to move within me, sliding against me with a fantastic pressure, each new angle and sensation giving way to more of that warm tingly feeling working its way out to the tips of each finger and toe. The feeling of having Simon inside me, inside my body, was more than I can articulate. I groaned, and he grunted. He moaned, and I mewed. Together. His hips pushed me higher on to the bed, up toward the headboard. Our bodies were slick with sweat, crashing and smashing into each other. I threaded my hands deeply into his hair, tugging and writhing beneath him.
“Caroline, so beautiful,” he sighed between kisses across my forehead and nose.
I closed my eyes and could see myself, once again, on the edge of that cliff, ready to jump, needing to jump. Again, that pressure began to build, that crackle of energy spinning itself wild and frantic, pulsing with every thrust, every slip and dip of his hips into mine, driving him, unrelentingly, in and out of my body.
I took one final step, one foot now dangling off the edge of the cliff, and then! I saw her…O. She was in the water down below, her hair like fire dancing along the waves. She waved and I waved and just like that, Simon brought one hand down between our bodies, just above where we were joined, and he began to trace his little circles.
Little circles from a perfect hand, and I jumped. I jumped free and clear and loud and proud, announcing my approval with a lusty “Yes!” as I rushed toward that certain high.
And I fell.
And fell.
And fell.
And crashed. Crashed and smacked into the unforgiving surface of the water, and I didn’t come up. I fell for what seemed like an age, but instead of O meeting me at the bottom with open arms, I floundered, alone and wet. Every muscle in my body, every cell was concentrated on the return of the O, as if I could will her back. I strained, body tight and taut as I caught sight of her, just the very tips of her hair, like fire under the water, slipping away from me. She was so close, so very close, but no. No.
I scrambled after her, trying with sheer will to make her reappear, but nothing. She was gone, and I was left underwater. With the most beautiful man in the world inside me.
I opened my eyes and saw Simon above me, saw his beautiful face as he made love to me, and that is what this was. This wasn’t sex. This was love, and I still couldn’t offer him all that I had. I saw his eyes heavy and thick and half closed in passion. I saw a bead of sweat running down his nose and watched as it splashed lazily on to my breasts. I saw as he bit down hard on his lower lip, the strain on his face as he delayed his own well-deserved climax.
He was everything I had hoped he would be. He was a generous lover, and I could feel my heart beat to within bursting out of my chest to be nearer to him, to love him. He was everything.
I lifted his hand from between us and kissed his fingertips, then wrapped my legs tighter around his waist and anchored my hands on his back. He was waiting for me. Of course he was. I adored him. I closed my eyes once more, steeling myself for all I was able to give him.
“Simon, it’s so good,” I panted, and I meant every word of it. I bucked my hips. I clenched in all the right places, and I called his name, over and over again.
“Caroline, look at me, please,” he begged, his voice rife with pleasure. I allowed my eyes to open again, feeling one tear spill down my cheek. A strange look stole over his features for only a second as his eyes searched mine, and then? He came. No thunder, no lightning, no fanfare. But it was stunning.
He collapsed onto me, and I took his weight. I took it all as I cradled him to my chest and kissed him over and over again, my hands soothing his back, my legs hugging him as tightly as I could. I whispered his name as he nuzzled into the space between my neck and my breast, simple touches and caresses.
Heart sat to the side and quietly sighed. Nerves? You motherfucker. Don’t even think about showing your face here.
We lay for a while, listening to the ocean in our own little haven, this romantic fairy tale that could have, should have been enough. When his breathing returned to normal, he lifted his head and kissed me very softly.
“Sweet Caroline,” he smiled, and I smiled back, my heart full.
Sex could be amazing, even without the O.
“I’ll be right back,” he said disentangling from me and walking to the bathroom, naked backside a sight to behold. I watched him retreat, and then sat up quickly, pulling the straps of my nightie back up around my shoulders. I rolled on to my side, away from the bathroom, and curled around my pillow. This had been the single best sexual experience of my life. Every i had been dotted, every t had been crossed. And yet, I was still no-go for O. What the hell was wrong with me?
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
Even though he’d only been gone from the bed a few minutes, when he came back, I panicked and pretended to be asleep. Childish? Yep. Totally childish.
I felt the bed dip as he climbed back in, and then his warm and still very naked body was up against me, spooning. Arms wrapped around my middle, and then his mouth was at my ear, whispering.
“Mmm, Nightie Girl back in her nightie.”
I waited, not speaking, just breathing. I felt him shake me a little bit and let out a little chuckle.
“Hey, hey you, are you sleeping?”
Should I snore? Whenever people faked sleep on sitcoms, they snored. I let out a tiny one. He kissed my neck, my traitor skin pebbling in the wake of his mouth. I sighed in my “sleep,” snuggling closer to Simon, hoping he would let me pull this off. The fates were kind tonight, as he simply hugged me tighter to his chest and kissed me once more.
“’Night, Caroline,” he whispered, and the night settled around us. I fake snored for a few more minutes until his actual snoring took over, and then I sighed heavily.
Confused and numb, I was awake until dawn.
