Tenderloined

by Valentine Bonnaire

I took one look at you and I felt my mojo rise. That’s what everybody knows about Californians isn’t it? You can’t expect any kind of tenderness from the kings and queens of the one-night stand can you? Not really.

I was going to prove them wrong. I took one look at your face and I wanted to fuck you so badly you never saw me coming. It was the look in your eye. All San Francisco hell on wheels, that’s what you were. It was the look of distant blue horizons. I knew you had sex oozing out of your pores in the kind of slow, steady drip just like I had.

“Slow down, Baby.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

It was too late. I had reached for your buttons. They made little sounds as I ripped your shirt apart. It was a dress shirt, too. The kind you saved up for special literary occasions. Pure white, with that tie you liked to wear.

“No,” I said.

Your belt was my next obstacle, but that was only a simple little click, wasn’t it? I had no idea what went through your mind when my hand unzipped you, but it happened very fast.

“You LA chicks know everything, don’t you?”

“Some things.”

My tongue was like a little serpent of flame as it slid across you.

“Slow down”

“No,” I whispered.

“I’m going to come.”

“No you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

I liked your vulnerability standing there with that San Francisco skin. I slid my hands up your back all the way to your shoulders. You were so hard against me through those pants I debated what I should do next. A blow job would be too easy. I knew you wanted one because the look in your eyes said, “Please.”

That’s when I saw the curl at the edge of your lip. You planned on turning the tables on me. Didn’t you?

You reached for my buttons, but you fingered them slowly. Each one seemed to take hours to open. Your lips at my neck made me limp. You could hear me breathing harder as each button opening made more fire in me. You wouldn’t stop until there was lava. That’s how hot. I heard the third one slip undone.

“Red,” you said. “For me?”

I nodded.

“Red hot,” you said, as your fingers traced the edges of my new bra. It was the Melrose kind.

“I think you have too much on,” you said. “Let’s take some of these things off.”

Your lips were at my ear when you whispered that. You of the tempest-filled hills. You planned to meet me half-way. On Lombard Street. At your place. You were famous for your dangerous curves by the time I met you.

“Dangerous,” I said. It was more like a swoon. You listened for the way my breath changed, one button at a time until they were all open. Until my red-cupped breasts were in your hands and you pressed them together as your lips met my curves.

“I want to fuck you right here,” you said. “Right between these two beauties.”

By then you were walking me backwards. There was a long black leather couch that was just like your coat. It was what you were made out of. Tensed like a panther in heat. Your lips suddenly at the back of my neck, as you moved behind me, and pulled me down. My shirt came off so easily in your hands.

“Drink?” you asked.

And there I was, all breasts before you. You went to fetch something. On the rocks. Your shirt was open, your pants clung to your hips. The belt made a small clinking sound as it dangled against you.

I was wet, and I wanted you and you knew it.

I could hear the cars cruise down Lombard as you picked out some music. Their headlights cut through the dusk as the fog began to soak the city in a light mist.

“Chinese later?” you said, settling into the wide chair opposite me. That’s when I knew who you were. Even on black leather you had the color of the Chinese dragons dancing at New Year. How was I going to get your pants off?

“Press those together,” you said. The ice clinked in your glass. “Absolutely fucking gorgeous.”

“My cock, right there.”

I took my hands and slid them up to my breasts in their red cups. I leaned back against the sofa and gave you my most devilish look.

“I know you want me,” you said. “But, tonight that’s on my terms.”

You pulled your cock from your pants and began to stroke it, up and down.

“Between your tits, in that beautiful red bra.”

I didn’t know what to say so I just looked at your eyes. You’d foiled me. It’s not that I hadn’t done that before. It was the way you took your time leading up to it. Other men hadn’t.

“Unbutton your jeans.”

My hands slid to my hips and began as if they had minds of their own. Your voice was all the direction I needed, especially when you told me to pull them down to my knees. I knew I was wet and getting wetter. Before the night was over, before we went down to Chinatown hand in hand, your lips were going to be all over me, and mine were going to be all over you.

“Red dragon,” you said, shifting your hips.

Your cock was so long and hard. You’d stroked it out to the maximum fullness as you watched my breasts. It took everything I had to remain sitting on your leather couch and not rush over to you. Not fuck you silly right in that chair.

“Touch yourself for me,” you said. “I like watching.”

You were such an unusual man. Everything you did took the longest time. Especially foreplay.

“I want you to kiss me again,” I said.

“I will.”

I leaned toward you, as if to bound across the distance between us. Two cool cats in the still-fogged sleepy city.

“Touch yourself.”

I slid my hand down into the silk. My eyes never left yours.

I only did that for about a minute. Suddenly you were on top of me, slipping me down on the couch, your lips on mine. The incredible hardness of you against my thigh. You pulled your own pants off. There hadn’t been underwear. There never was, was there?

“Press them together.”

Your cock slid between my breasts, in the cleavage. Back and forth you slid it, as you groaned slightly. You liked to watch as it moved, the red of the silk caressing you every now and again. The feel of the lace as you slipped by it, rock hard, each time stopping just before my chin.
“I have no plans to come yet,” you whispered. “This is going to take all night.”

I smiled a little. I knew you meant it.

“Dim sum?” you asked. “We could have lunch instead.”

Your fingers slid to the tiny clasp, under that tiny red bow.

“Tomorrow,” you said, as your lips descended.

© 2013 Valentine Bonnaire. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: : Valentine Bonnaire’s work can be found in the archives at Cleansheets.com as Adrianna de la Rosa and Valentina Bonnaire, and at ERWA in the galleries and Treasure Chest. “Flowering” will appear this year in The Mammoth Book of Quick and Dirty Erotica edited by Maxim Jakubowski. Three chapters of “Man in the Moon” appear in From Porn to Poetry 2 edited by Susannah Indigo.