Chapter 20

It was a mistake agreeing to more television appearances.

Amelia’s appearance on The Tonight Show heightened the attention of the media. We then flew to New York for her appearance on Good Morning America and stayed two nights; Thursday evening, Friday for the show, and flew back Saturday.

Amelia was a complete natural. She was bright and magnetic and lovable; everything I always knew. The audience loved her.

On Friday, after the show, I took her sightseeing.

New York, unlike the pretentiousness of Los Angeles that gave it a veneer of artificiality, was vibrant, bustling with life, people actually walking on sidewalks, and the air full of aromas. It was real and raw, gritty. We visited Times Square, and dropped in at the Juilliard School of Music, ate pastrami sandwiches in Katz’s Delicatessen on East Houston Street, and had a quick visit at the Natural History Museum; all in one day.

I was jetlagged and tired, my nervousness for Amelia having drained me physically. Amelia, on the other hand, seemed to have endless energy. She held my hand and stared in awe at the city around us, ate less than a third of her sandwich at lunch, and suggested we move to New York when she went to Juilliard; something she was convinced she’d do. She loved New York.

By seven, I was done. With an early flight back to L.A. the next morning, I decided we’d order room service for dinner. On the bright side, as I was rinsing the city grit off me in the shower, Amelia stepped into the stall.

She smiled and took the soap, moving around behind me to wash my back. The glimpse of her naked body had the expected effect; a slight thickening below. Her hands felt wonderful washing me. Even if it’s innocent, being washed by another person is a sensual experience. I enjoyed her hands slipping over my back. I relaxed and let her wash my legs. However, when her hand glided up the inside of my leg to gently cup my balls, her washing became erotic, loving, sexy. She giggled when I clenched my buttocks as her hand probed between, then moved in close to hug me from behind. Her soapy hands reached around me to wash my chest, and lower, my stomach, and lower still. Her hands found my erection and slowly washed it, a gentle stroke that drove my arousal higher.

She knew exactly what she was doing, too. Her delicate breasts pressed against my back. She fisted me. “You’re big, Mike. How come?” If she hadn’t giggled, I might have been fooled.

Turning, I grabbed her, grinning at her and now full of energy. Amelia laughed as I moved us under the streaming water. Her hair dampened and darkened. She smiled at me. Lifting her, she wrapped her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. My erection throbbed between us. Leaning in, Amalia rubbed her nose against mine. “Eskimo kisses,” she announced with another smile, then kissed me.

Soft lips touched mine. Her eyes twinkled before closing. She tilted her head, touched my lips with her tongue and, when I responded, moaned and opened her mouth to me. That fog of desire hit. We played with each other, then slowed and caressed each other’s tongue. Amelia started rubbing my erection with her pussy. I held her succulent bottom and pressed her back against the tiled shower wall, reaching between us to grasp myself. Easing back, I guided the tip into her cleft. Amelia inhaled through her nose, her tongue probing into my mouth. Labia oozed apart, my tip burrowing in. I caught at the base of her slit, poised, and stopped. Amelia didn’t want to wait. She pushed her pussy at me, eased off, and pushed again, this time taking me in, my head oozing into a hot, velvet heaven. Slowly, very slowly, Amelia worked me deeper, her breath puffing from her nose against my cheek, our kiss slow and sensual. I felt every millimeter of her, her entrance edging down my shaft, heat encompassing me, a snug grip, heaven. When I pressed against her end, buried in her, she stopped. She ended the kiss and opened her eyes, staring at me, smoky gray, mesmerizing.

“I like this part,” she said softly. “Having you inside me. Being stretched.” And then she started singing!

It was surreal. Here I was with my erection buried inside her, in the shower, in the middle of New York City, and Amelia was singing The Who’s song to me! She was communicating with music yet again!

I stopped her with a kiss, her eyes smiling at me. “Why do you do this to me?” I asked.

“Do what?”

“You kill me, Amelia.” I kissed her again. “You kill me.”

She smiled, pleased at the genuine angst in my voice. With a gentle squeeze of her pussy, she pulled me back into a kiss. We moved. Amelia was light in my hands, her rump sexy and firm. With water pouring over us, we started making love, kissing, slowly fucking each other, her hips undulating, my cock thrusting, her pussy so tight. Amelia broke the kiss and dropped her forehead to my shoulder.

“I like feeling you inside me,” she murmured.

We fucked slowly, enjoying every sensation. I loved how her pussy tried to stop me withdrawing, almost like suction, then, reluctantly, let me return, yielding only to my urgency.

“I like feeling you going in,” she murmured.

We fucked beautifully, long strokes, long withdrawals, my tip nudging her deepest part.

“I like feeling so full, Mike.” Amelia kissed my neck, brought her mouth to my ear and whispered, “And, I love you, Michael Hope.”