Out On a Limb

Bo’s dick is huge. I should have guessed, given the sheer height of him and the feel I got through his boxers. But I didn’t have much time to think ahead.

“Have you considered porn?” I ask, marvelling.

“Are you just going to keep looking at it?” Bo asks, voice strained.

“You had your turn to ogle. This is mine,” I argue.

“It’s a bit vulnerable.” He throws his hands out at his sides. “Just naked and lying here.”

“I could tie you up,” I offer. “That’s helped me with some of my shyness in bed before.” I look around. “I’d have to find some alternative to rope.”

“I’m not shy,” he says pointedly. “But now I’m definitely imagining you tied up.” He reaches for me with a hand on the back of my neck, but I tilt away from him, still unsure of what to do with this surprise.

“Be quiet while I try to calculate how this is going to fit.” I go onto my knees and sit next to his lap.

He sighs, placing a hand on his forehead, half covering his eyes.

“There’s just so much I haven’t done, you know?” I say.

“What?” he asks, laughing exasperatedly and running a hand through his hair.

“I wanted to travel, maybe have kids, learn how to make my own candles. I still haven’t watched all nine seasons of The Office. I thought I had more time.”

“Are you implying—”

“That this dick is going to murder me? Yes,” I interrupt.

“Oh my god,” he groans out.

“Do your hands get tired of holding it while you pee?”

“I’m gonna leave,” he mumbles. “I’m going to leave,” he says definitively when I press my forearm next to his lap for comparison.

“Sorry. Okay, sorry. Don’t leave. I’ll solve it.”

“It’s not a Rubik’s Cube; it’s my penis.”

“Can you not say penis? It’s not a particularly sexy word.”

“Right, because the rest of this conversation since I got naked has been so very sexy.”

“I see your point.”

“Thank you,” he replies, his voice indignant.

“Just… real quick… how—”

He mutters under his breath, reaching for the back of my head and tugging so hard that I immediately turn to putty in his hands. “No more questions.” He runs his thumb across my mouth until I part my lips for him. Then he moves his thumb between my lips and pushes down against my tongue, prying my jaw open. “Better,” he says on a sharp inhale.

Oh my god.

“Ready?” he asks, his eyes searching mine. I nod for him, curling my tongue around his thumb. His malevolent smile only grows fiercer before he pushes my head down onto his lap. He’s got a tight hold around my ponytail and his other hand on my cheek.

Okay, so it does fit.

And Bo is not too sweet.

And I’m possibly going to have to consider the one part of the term one-night stand.

He moans shakily as I swallow him back. “So much quieter,” he says teasingly, breathless even still. I glare up at him but, strangely, it doesn’t have the same effect while his dick is hitting the back of my throat.

I continue working him over, pressing my tongue flat against him and tracing the veins along his shaft. When I hollow out my cheeks, his whole body tenses, and he pulls my hair far too tight until I whine.

“Shit, sorry,” he says, letting my hair go nearly completely.

I release him from my mouth with a wet pop, continuing to stroke him with my hand. “Don’t be.” I grin like the devil as I lick from base to tip. “I can handle it.”

What I mean is; I’m so tired of men treating me like I’m delicate because of my hand. I’m not breakable. I’m definitely not broken. Use me. Let me drive you to the point where you’d do unspeakable things. Let me have that power over you. I’m capable of it.

Minutes go by of rhythmic push and pull. With my mouth wrapped around him, Bo seems to be in heaven—calling out my name and whispering unsparing praises, as if he’s willing to lay his life at my feet.

Bo’s hand moves from its hold around my hair to my ass, kneading and gripping my flesh. I arch my back for him, pushing my bum into the air.

“Goddamn,” he whispers, taking hold of my panties and tugging them downward. He helps me lift out of them, and once they’re long lost to the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor, Bo reaches between my legs, cupping me in a way that feels possessive and lit with desire. I thank him by humming around his dick while increasing my mouth’s speed and intensity.

He shivers on a long exhale, hissing as I come up after gagging. Bo traces a finger around my wet entrance, and instantly, I feel myself flutter in anticipation.

“Stop,” Bo says forcefully, pulling me off him with a hand on the back of my neck. He sits up, reaching toward me. “I need you.” With two hands on my waist, he picks me up and drops me onto his lap. I giggle, my chest crashing against his.

“Impatient,” I say, raising an eyebrow as I look between us to where his glistening, wet hardness is pressed against his abdomen.

“Maddening…” He laughs slowly, rolling his neck. “You are maddening.”

I bite my lip, trying not to blush or smile as I lean toward the nightstand. My breasts catch Bo’s attention while I reach into the bedside drawer. As he licks and nibbles around my nipples, I absentmindedly sweep my hand inside the box of condoms. Then I do it again. Finding… nothing.

No… No. No. No!

“Shit.” I straighten, forcing Bo off my tits as I peer into a completely empty box.

“What?” he asks, his eyes drifting between my look of disbelief and the bedside drawer.

“Do you have a condom?” I ask.

He rubs his right shoulder with the opposite hand, making his bicep tense in front of his chest, which is not helping my focus whatsoever. “No. Shit, sorry. I, uh, didn’t exactly see this happening.”

“Damn it,” I whine, going to my knees next to him on the bed. I can’t think properly while I’m on his lap.

I could throw on some clothes and run across the hallway to Sarah and Caleb’s room—but I vowed to never go back into their drawer after the traumatic sex toy collection discovery of 2019. I bite the small nail on my right thumb nervously, assessing our next best option.

With Bo’s eyes held on me in concern, he does the unexpected. He brings my small hand away from my teeth and to his lips. Then he kisses each of my little fingers, one by one.

No one has ever done that.

I’ve never bothered to imagine that anyone would touch me there so intimately.

The whirling in my chest tells me I’m unsure of whether this level of vulnerability is okay. I don’t stop him, though. I don’t want to. I just stare in equal parts awe and confusion.

Bo grazes his teeth along my palm, then plants a few delicate kisses onto my wrist, his eyes holding mine the entire time. I’m a little stunned. And conscious of how my heart’s rhythm has quickened and swelled into a forgotten affection I haven’t felt in years. Possibly ever.

“Do we need to stop?” he asks, his voice low.

No, everything in me answers.

“I’m on the pill,” I choke out.

He nods thoughtfully. “I’ve been tested since my last time. All clear,” Bo says with an unmistakable desperation in his voice.

“Me too.” I nuzzle against his neck as he winds his hands around my waist and pulls me back onto his lap. “I don’t want to stop,” I say as he places kisses across my collarbone.

“Neither do I,” he answers.

Lulled with such adoring kisses, I eventually lower myself onto him completely bare. At first, we both remain perfectly still as I adjust to the stretch of him inside me. I feel him deeper than I thought possible, and while it’s not exactly uncomfortable, it steals my breath away and causes a shudder to pass through me. A throbbing ache needing to be satiated.

We do something between fucking and making love. Something new and a little bewildering, unlike any casual sex I’ve ever experienced. It’s not gentle, but it’s not entirely hedonistic either.

We fit together perfectly. Me, with my legs wrapped around his back. Him, a pillar of strength sitting at the centre of the bed. Bo’s hands travel up and down my spine, gripping the flesh of my hips, my ass, and my neck. My hands feast in his hair, trace his jaw, grip his shoulders.

We continue passionately kissing throughout. Biting when it’s all too much—lips and shoulders and jaws. Breathless gasps and moans exchanged, breathed into the other’s flushed skin and hair.

Eventually, we finish together, with his thumb on my clit and his teeth harsh against my jaw telling me—demanding me—to come. It’s incredible.

And yet, when I come back from cleaning myself up in the bathroom, Bo is half dressed and searching in the dark for his carelessly discarded belongings.

“Here,” I say, handing him one of the rings he so casually threw to the floor at the end of the bed.

“Thanks,” he says, smiling shyly at the ground between us as he slips it on.

It’s not that I expected him to stay afterward. We were both clear about what we were looking for. I, even more so. Nothing serious or permanent. Nothing long term. And I still feel that way.

But… I can’t help the sinking feeling that starts in my chest and creeps its way down my spine at the thought of sleeping alone after sharing such a vulnerable time together. I can’t help but wonder if it wasn’t nearly as unique for him to experience such great sex. If I wasn’t as good for him as he was for me.

I cover myself with a bed sheet and watch as he effortlessly buttons his shirt back up.

Once dressed, he stills. He pats his pants for phone, or keys, or wallet, and nods to himself. Eventually, he looks at me with hesitancy heavy across his features.

“Thank you,” he says, reaching for my left hand. He bends over to kiss it, his eyes looking up at me. “I can’t entirely explain what this meant to me,” he swallows thickly, “but thank you, Win…”

I nod, unsure of what to say. Nervous that the word stay might escape my lips if I answer him. I lower to sit on the mattress as he grabs one last thing off the chair in the far corner of the room and walks toward the door without looking back.

After shutting off the lights, I fall against the pillows and begin convincing myself that this is definitely for the best. The last time I felt this sort of immediate connection with someone, the effortless back and forth, the rush of excitement followed by great sex, I landed myself in a horrible place.

Jack had been kind at first too. Sweet. Funny. Generous in bed. If he was entirely horrible, I wouldn’t have given him the chance to crush me like he did. That’s how men get you. A false sense of comfort, and then boom—ten months later you’re telling people you have allergies to avoid explaining your red-rimmed eyes again.

And, like my mother, I’m far too soft hearted. Often too eager to see the best in people. Too attached to leave when I should. Too scared of being alone.

And I do struggle with the idea of being alone forever. But that’s even more reason to keep it that way, I think. What’s worse than a woman who can’t enjoy her own company? Independence is a virtue, and one that is best learned without too many hard lessons.

My logic will always have to reconcile against my foolish, helpless heart. And I think logic will win in the end. I can make sure of that.

So I shut my eyes and will myself to sleep well. Determined to not lose sleep over any man. No matter how wonderful he may seem.