Claire climbed into bed beside Dorian and pulled the quilt over both of them. She was so eager to feel his body pressed against hers she hadn’t bothered to wash her face, brush her teeth or even take a pee. She was worn out and just wanted him. Claire rested her head on his bare chest with her hand over his heart and inhaled his clean … always clean scent. His embrace enveloped her and soothed her worries. She exhaled and opened her eyes to an empty room void of her Dorian.


The clock on the nightstand blinked four-thirty am. She climbed out of her bed, labored to the bathroom and got on with her morning routine. There was no sense in looking cute, it wasn’t as though Dorian would be stopping by the shop. A month and a half had passed since she and Dorian spoke—she missed him dearly. Even the old man who sat in the corner of the shop noticed Dorian had gone missing. That afternoon he asked Claire to sit with him and he gave her the best advice she could never take.


“Sweetie, you need to make the first move,” the old man said. “You messed up but if you act now there still may be something there. But you have to take the first step.”


Claire frowned and said with more than a little irritation. “Thank you. But you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” She rose hastily.


“I know more than you think I know. Sit down.”


Something in his tone told Claire she should comply. She took her seat. “It’s none of your business.”


The old man smiled that knowing smile mastered only by grandparents. “You’re worried about your pride but look … you’re miserable. How do you think he’s feeling?”


“I don’t know.” Claire’s voice was almost inaudible.


“Ask him,” he said and hurried on before she could retort. “Stop acting like you’re the victim and at least talk to him.”


“He won’t talk to me. I’ve called. He doesn’t answer.”


“You’ll think of a way.” The old man stood to leave. “It’ll be tonight. When you go out remember to take your umbrella with you.” he said opening the door.


“Umbrella?!” Claire looked quizzical. “We’re not expecting rain.” She turned to the door.


He was gone.


Claire closed the shop early and trotted home for an evening of cheap takeout and channel surfing. Channel surfing, as it turned out, was overrated. Her thoughts drifted to the conversation with the old man. Maybe he was right; she needed to try again, she needed to do something bold. But what? It doesn't get any bolder than showing up on someone's doorstep. She put her pride aside, grabbed her keys and left. She would walk to Dorian’s—if, by the time she got there, she’d mustered the guts to knock on his door then she would. “Damn it!” She looked heavenward. “It’s raining!”



                                                           *****



Dorian fought the evening traffic toward the airport. Lilly’s layover had been extended to five hours rather than the regular two. His and Lilly’s relationship worked for a number of reasons none more so than Lilly’s insatiable need for long hard sex … because for a time this was Dorian’s sole reason for breathing. Lilly was the ideal woman for the modern man: She was a well rounded, intelligent, career oriented woman with a firm handle on her sexuality. She wasn’t ashamed or timid; she knew exactly what she wanted and, let’s be honest, any man would’ve given a year off his life to be able to dive between her legs and have his way with her. She was hot. She could raise the barometric pressure in any room.


Claire was never far from Dorian’s thoughts and Lilly served as the perfect, if not heaven sent, distraction. Though he wouldn’t admit it openly, Gabriel had been correct in one aspect, playing the victim was senseless. Claire made her move out of frustration. Frustration he couldn’t remedy, though, perhaps, being more vocal would’ve helped. Most frustration steams from unexpressed need, if she were that unhappy why didn’t she say so rather than going about it the way she had? They were such good friends, why did she do it?


An answer to this question eluded Dorian. And it was the only answer he desired. Sadly only Claire could provide the answer and he wasn’t certain he could or should face her.


For now, Lilly’s distraction would do. But there was no getting around the truth; he wanted Claire back in the worse way.


Lilly was waiting on the curb in front of the airport when Dorian arrived. In the car, she kissed him on both cheeks and thanked him for collecting her. Immediately, the conversation veered toward Claire. Lilly sat and listened with contempt.


They arrived at his place. He excused himself, leaving Lilly to fend for herself.


“Dorian, someone’s at the door.” Lilly called out to Dorian a while later. She waited for a reply but only heard the shower running. “Dorian!” she yelled. When he didn’t answer she hustled to the door. “Yeah?” she said swinging the door open to a stunned Claire.


Claire did a double take to make sure she’d come to the correct apartment. “Um, I’m looking for …” She looked over Lilly’s head to see Dorian coming toward them, his face registered no emotion. Claire’s heart strained. She felt the urge to flee and hug him at the same time.


“Who’s she?” Lilly asked unconvincingly as she knew this woman could be no one other than Claire. She looked up at Dorian. His eyes were fixed on Claire.


It took a moment for him to realize Lilly was speaking. “Sorry. This is Claire.”


“Claire,” Lilly grinned. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”


Silence—dead—all pervasive—silence. What was Claire supposed to say? Was it a good thing she’d been the topic of conversation? Suddenly she became acutely aware how ridiculous she looked standing there soaking wet. Her eyes fell as she formulated an exit strategy. Funny, she hadn’t thought about this on the way over. Just run!


Dorian wanted to hurl Lilly off the balcony and spend the rest of the evening with Claire making up for lost time.


“I better go.” Claire waved goodbye.


“You’re wet.” Dorian opened the door and Lilly stepped aside. “Come in, at least until the rain lets up.”


Claire looked back, thankful her rain soaked face didn’t betray her tears. She dared not speak; she shook her head and continued on. She was half way down the block when she heard someone screaming her name frantically. She turned around to see Lilly running up the sidewalk toward her.


“Wait!” Lilly shouted, her enormous umbrella seconds away from sweeping her away. “Here, take this.” She huffed out of breath. Claire nodded a thank you. “Look, why don’t you come back? It’s dark and raining.”


“I can’t.” Claire said trying to figure out why this woman had gone out of her way.


“Well, at least get a taxi.” Lilly insisted looking up and down the street. “I’ll stay with you until we find one.” She turned and examined Claire attempting to pull herself together. She stepped underneath the umbrella with Claire. “I’m Lilly, a friend. I met Dorian the night you two had your little falling out. I don’t like seeing him like this so I stopped in to see him on my way home.” She felt compelled to explain. “Dorian and I were both in bad, very bad places that night. You’re all he talked about. ” She shook her head. “Nothing happened between us,” she laughed. “Correction. Nothing has or ever will happen between us. He wants you, silly.”


“You don’t live here?” A sense of relief washed over Claire.


“Ha! No, I’m from Kuala Lumpur.”


“Malaysia?”


“Yeah.”


Claire looked in the direction of Dorian’s building. “How is he? Is he really that bad off?”


“He’s better —no chance he’ll self-harm but he’s been worse.” Lilly shrugged. “So now that we’ve established that I’m not the enemy, will you please come back with me? This is bullshit. It’s raining and your hair is doing that … ” she waved her hand above her head. “… that curly thingy he talked about.”


Claire’s eyes went back to Dorian’s building. “No. I’m going home.” She tried to step away but Lilly grabbed her hand and pressed it to the umbrella handle.


“Take it.” Lilly said searchingly. “Didn’t the old man tell you to bring your own? You don’t listen very well.”


Before Claire could reply, Lilly dashed up the sidewalk, rain drenched hair flapping in the wind behind her.



                                                           ******



It was after midnight when Claire heard a knock at her door. She wouldn’t be too surprised if the building were on fire as no one came to her door at this hour without just cause. “Who is it?” she asked without looking through the peephole.


“Dorian.”


Dorian? She swung the door open. He grabbed her by the hair on the back of her head and kissed her deeply, wantonly. No pleasantries were exchanged, no hello or greeting—just two mouths making flesh all that they felt. It had been too long and they both knew it. Dorian pushed her backward and closed the door behind him, ravishing her lips in the process. Claire moaned and heeled to his dominance. That was more like it!


“I’m sorry,” Claire all but sobbed repeatedly. “I was confused. I didn’t know where we were going. And I made a silly mistake,” she rambled uncontrollably. “I didn’t even like him. He smelled like feet … or maybe it was his feet eating through his shoes. Whatever, it was gross and ponderous simultaneously. I’ve been miserable. I’m sorry.”


“Shh, I’m sorry.” Dorian brought her lips back to his, this time less hurried. God, he could bath in her. “You’re so beautiful when you’re being weird.” He smiled down at her. “We have to talk. Please sit.” They sat facing one another on the couch. Claire pulled her gown over her knees demurely. Dorian cleared his throat and then began. “I need to be open about my past. I’ve never been in a proper relationship. Ever. Not even close. I … how should I put this? As blunt as possible, I suppose.” He thought aloud. “I used to have a very active sex life—three, four times a day type of deal. I couldn’t live like that anymore. I sorted myself out. I couldn’t live like that anymore. It sickened me. I couldn’t feel anything, not even an inkling of what I feel for you. It’s something I’m ashamed of. It’s who I am. It’ll always be a part of me. This is why I wanted to wait, to get to know you before we make love. I didn’t want sex to cloud our judgment.” His words hung for a moment. “But, I left out that bit of information … which drove you to look elsewhere for what I wasn’t giving you.”


His candidness awed Claire. “I didn’t think you were physically attracted to me. Honestly, I thought we were slipping into the “friend” zone and I was the only one trying to steer us away from it. I was dispirited and horny as hell. I felt like I had your heart but only as a friend. But I wanted you, all of you.” She climbed into his lap, her legs astride. “If you want to talk about your past that’s fine. I’ll listen. But I know what to expect and I won’t judge you.” She smirked. “My man was a hoe.”


Dorian lifted an eyebrow and pulled her to him. “Your man?”


“My man. That is if you want the position.”


“What are the requirements?” He ran the back of his fingers down the nape of her neck.


“Always be open and honest with me,” Claire declared. “I’m yours, Dorian. If you want to make love five times a day, I’m here.” She pulled her gown over her head and dropped it to the floor. “What would you like to do to me?” She sat open to his explorations. His fingers lightly touched her back, her ribs, and her areola.


His eyes followed his roaming hands over her body as if he were a sculptor admiring his latest creation—patiently savoring every inch of her not because he could, rather he wanted to—he wanted to capture every touch, taste and sound. This moment alone could be prolonged endlessly—there was no need to rush for he and Claire were now one. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined the prelude to making love would be so indescribably sweet, so surreal. He longed to taste every inch of her. He kissed her shoulder and neck, licked along her clavicle, pulling her closer, cataloging each curve and movement of her body with agonizing thoroughness. His cock strained in the confines of his pants. Their tongues explored each others’ and his hands, again, gripped the back of her head, burying themselves in her hair. Her back arched in response, her pelvis moved slowly against his, “How do you want it?”


“Surprise me.” She gently nibbled his earlobe only because “I want you to use my body for your recreation, worship me, make me speak in tongues!” wasn’t a proper request … not yet at least.


She watched her ample breasts cupped in his hands while he licked and traced soft kisses, skillfully avoiding her nipples. Her breathing quickened with anticipation and her back arched encouraging him to suck her nipples. He etched small circles delicately around her right nipple, flicking it to a flawless pearl before it disappeared between his lips. His other hand snaked to her spine, caressingly pulling her to him. His gentle sucks and licks were more complex, more luscious than she could’ve envisioned. She studied the way their contrasting complexions intermingled—the way he sensually devoured her breasts and cherished her nipples. Her pussy began milking itself—wanting him.


“You like that?” He looked up at her longingly, unapologetically taking delight in seeing her pleased.


“I’m cumming,” she mouthed, letting the thin lace of her moistened panties lap back and forth against his erection. She moaned softly as blushing waves of orgasm overcame her. Dorian aroused her in ways she thought were unobtainable. The air in the room pricked across her skin as she quietly fell back into herself. By contrast this wasn’t the clothes ripping scene she foresaw; it was bliss—perfect as though he were reading her mind—thinking before she thought, prolonging their attachment … if not sealing it forever.


“Did you cum?” Dorian asked as his lips touched the warm flesh between her breasts.


“Yes.” The word barely stirred the air as it escaped her lips.


“I want to go down on you. Can I taste it?”


“Please.”


He lifted her gingerly and carried her to the bedroom where he placed her on the bed and began undressing before her. She inched to the foot of the bed and stopped his hand in place. “I want to undress you.”


Dorian’s hands fell to his side as Claire unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time, revealing more of his taut skin incrementally, lightly caressing his chest with each successive opening until it was free altogether. She was agonizingly careful as she disengaged his belt, his button, his zipper, and eased his pants and boxers to the floor where he kicked them aside. He stood before her, exposed, his cock practically begged to be touched and sucked. She admired his muscular torso and he gasped as her lips kissed and tongue licked his flesh. He flinched when she licked the tiny drop of pre cum from the tip of his cock.


Dorian reached down and took her face in his hands and brought her mouth to his. Instantly Claire felt wetness pool between her legs. Dorian’s kisses could bring her to orgasm. He found kissing far more intimate than the act of sex itself. Now she knew why. She broke their attachment and arranged herself sacrificially like a virgin atop a holy altar just waiting to be consumed by the flames of fornication. Dorian pulled her legs over the edge of the bed and knelt down between them. He stopped.


“I can’t …”


“No!!! Don’t stop!” Her octave was higher than she heard in her head. “Yes, you can!”


Dorian gave her a half-cocked smile. “I was going to say I can’t work around these.” He snapped the elastic of her panties. “I’ll have to remove them if you want us to go any further.”


You whore! Claire inched her butt off the bed and Dorian took his time removing her article of shame and lowered his mouth to her mound. His first lick came so gently it registered as exquisite torture. “Oh my God, Dorian!” It wasn't a cry of passion. Her body tensed up.


“What’s wrong,” Dorian asked innocently, smoothly kissing her legs apart. Instinctively he knew she’d never cum orally and it became his mission to get her off—partly because he wanted to make her cum, and partly because it fed his ego, either way Claire was in for the ride of her life. Sex with random women wasn’t nearly was fulfilling as hearing the sweet whimpers of the woman he cared for. She was his, only his. And he was hers, only hers. The fact that Claire opened and willingly opened her self up to him, gifting her trust, her body to his care and devotion left him speechless. He’d found the woman of his dreams.


“I’m cumming,” Claire whispered beguilingly.


“I know. I can taste it,” Dorian’s long flat tongue dragged over her lips and clit and alternated sucking while his fingers caressed her g-spot ever so lightly. Claire sat up and looked down at him before throwing herself back on the mattress. “Damn, baby. You’re cumming again.” He continued feasting.


None of her fantasies captured the essence of what this man’s probing tongue was doing to her. She lay helpless while Dorian worked his magic between her legs—his gentle sucking sounds added a vivid dream-like quality to her arousal. “Faster.” she panted. Dorian complied, a little stunned by her insistent tone. He gathered their pace would be leisurely; Claire, it seemed, had other things in mind. Her walls clinched and sucked … she panted and panted before she took him forcefully by the hair and came in his mouth.


Dorian held on for dear life. Claire was exactly the woman he’d been looking for, intelligent and blunt. After retrieving a condom from his pants and placing it on the nightstand, he carefully aligned himself with Claire’s trembling body. He held her close and kissed her neck, her face, and her lips and whispered sweet affectionate words until her orgasm abated. One hand caressed her breast, her belly, and slid down to the cleft between her thighs—her chest rose and fell rapidly. Dorian calmed her with his lips on her. “Soon.” His finger dipped inside of her and she arched toward him … his delay made her pleasure that much more complex. Colorful. Richer even.


He sheaved himself and moved her beneath him. She gasped and withered as he pushed inside of her for the first time. Steadily, gradually she gave way to him—stretching to accommodate his girth. His rhythm increased and there was a moment of absolute brilliance—that moment of acceptance where they both knew he’d entered her wholly and completely.


It was nothing Dorian had experienced before. His Claire, his beautiful darling Claire, was giving herself to him and it pierced him to the heart. He palmed her ass pulling her hips open and up to meet his thrusts.


Sensory deprivation was an understatement. Claire had never experienced so much pleasure, such searing sweet bliss, concentrated between her legs—so intense she wanted to scream or faint … whichever came first. When she thought she’d reached the apex of stimulation, Dorian captured her nipple with his mouth and teased it insatiably. Her legs locked around him bidding him deeper. “Shhhiittt!!” she screamed, and then dissolved into garbled muddled cries.


If Dorian had learned nothing from their foreplay it was Claire’s breasts had a direct link to her pussy and if he played his cards right he could make her scale the walls. He did, oh he did! He hushed penetrating cries with his lips—they devoured one another. Claire bit gently on his lower lip, triggering an instantaneous eruption from Dorian.


“Fuucck!” he shouted, blind-sided by his orgasm. Her pussy had utter control over him and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He didn’t care; it was hers for the taking.


They kissed softly and touched each other tenderly as they caught their breaths. Finally they were happy.


“How did you do that?” Dorian asked, nuzzling Claire’s upturned nose.


“I have magic.”



                                                                   THE END!