Chapter 8

Angie and I were still kissing as I rolled us quietly into my bedroom. It wasn't until we got there that she blinked open her eyes and looked around.

"You are smooth, aren't you?"

She climbed off my chair and began unbuttoning the flannel shirt she had borrowed. She took particular delight in watching me watch her, dragging out the exposure as if she were a burlesque queen. Finally, though, she had only one button left, and when she unfastened it, and the sides of my shirt fell apart, I saw the cleanly shaved skin between her legs. She slowly separated her feet, giving me a glimpse of the moist opening between her legs. Her hands drifted up to her lapels, and she teased me a little longer, showing me the inner slope of first one breast and then the other.

"If you wait any longer," she said in voice as sexy as any I had ever heard, "you're not going to be able to get your pants off, baby."

"We're long past that," I said. I tore off the long-sleeve T-shirt I was wearing, and pulled myself out of the chair with one hand on the rope. With the other I unfastened my belt and unzipped my pants. She was quite right. It took an extra effort to get my pants and shorts over my stiff cock. She seemed pleased when I was finished. Pleased enough, at any rate, to pull both sides of her shirt back at the same time, revealing two perfectly tanned breasts tipped with crinkled red nipples.

She slowly walked toward me, her hips and breasts moving in a rhythm that seemed to perfectly match my shallow breaths. I lowered myself to the bed, and she moved to sit astride my useless legs. I cringed as I watched her settle herself on her heels. But as my gaze moved up past her thighs, her belly, and her breasts, I saw the wild grin on her face. Her head moved lower, her long hair tickling my dick as her mouth came closer and closer.

I wasn't a virgin. I had had sex before the accident, and we — the girl I had been going with then — had tried it a few more times before she gave up on it. Before she gave up on me. The paralysis hadn't deprived me of feeling there, but since I couldn't move my legs, I knew it would take a different sort of woman to make it work for both of us. As I watched Angie open her mouth and extend her tongue toward me, I thought that perhaps I had found one.

She wrapped her hand around my dick, stroking it with her thumb. And then I felt her lips close around it. I had dreamed it last week, and last night. It was nothing like this. This was the wet silk of her tongue as it darted back and forth. It was the firm pressure of her lips as they slid up and down. And it was the sparkle in her eyes as she watched me, fully aware of the effect she was having and yet wanting me to know that she too was taking pleasure in the act.

And after she had fully taken my pleasure, after she had sucked it out and swallowed down with a loving lick of her lips, she climbed further atop me, holding her sex just above my mouth. She looked down at me through her heavy breasts and smiled her plea. I lifted my hands up and over her thighs, bringing the fingers down between them. My thumbs silently spread apart the lips of her sex and teased out her clit.

"Rick," she moaned. "Honey."

I twiddled my thumbs against her, a rapid up-and-down movement that had her moaning even more. I pulled her down, meeting her wetness with my lips, entering her with my tongue. I listened to her as I continued. Her breath told me where to press, where to flick, where to caress.

"Oh, God, baby. Rick, baby, take me."

I reached upward and encircled her breasts with my fingers. She put her hands atop mine, encouraging me to squeeze harder, to pinch her nipples. I could feel the muscles of her thigh twitching against my cheeks. Her body began trembling.

And I stopped. She looked down at me and I looked up at her. It was time. She slid her ass backward, a trail of her oils on my chest and stomach. Her breasts hung low, almost within reach of my lips, and her pussy met my cock and sucked it inside without any further touch.

"Rick," she whispered.

"Angie," I groaned.

I was an iron sword. She was a silk sheath. It was electric.

I reached for her hips. It was an instinct that had worked last night in my dream. I had brought Lara atop me, transfixed by those naked breasts. And to keep her there, I had used the strength of my arms to give Lara a ride that left her crying in climax.

In real life, this was the only position open to me. I began to move Angie up and down on my cock, slowly at first and then with increasing fever. Her fingernails dug into my arms as her helplessness grew. I was an animal, doing with my arms what most men did with the muscles of their legs.

Her mouth froze in a long, drawn-out vowel, an "uh" of surprise, the sound itself a vibrato that danced in rhythm with frenzied impalement. But she wasn't completely helpless. As her body began to tremble again, as the muscles in her thighs vibrated against me once more, she tightened herself.

"Angie." It was a whisper of hope, hope that I could take her where I knew that she would soon be taking me.

"Yes, Rick, yes. I want you ... Come with me."

I thrust her down upon me one final time and held her there. The spasms that overtook her claimed me as well. We fulfilled her request. We came together.

We made love again late that morning at the same time that Melissa Wickers, the best fact-checker at the Messenger, was leaving a message on my machine. She told me that the article was fully vetted and that she couldn't wait to see it printed.

"Way to go, Hando!" she said before ringing off.

"Way to go, Hando," Angie echoed. In a fit of narcissism I had played the message while I prepared us something to eat. "Allie said you wrote obituaries."

"I'm branching out," I told her. "Learning new things."

"I have to go after we eat, Rick." I saw a bittersweet smile play over her face. "I have to pack my stuff at Allie's and then there's all that security at the airport.

"You're probably thinking of LAX," I told her. "Security at Charleston takes about a half hour. But you're right. You can't miss your plane. Will I see you again?"

"You could come to California..."

I nodded toward the machine. "Too much to do. Too much to learn."

I knew better than to ask her to commit to a life in West Virginia. We didn't do much filming here. Not that many swimsuit modeling gigs, either.

"You'll probably meet Brad Pitt next week, anyway. Forget all about me."

"Right," she said with a harsh laugh. "Eat quickly, Hando. We have just enough time left for a quickie."

"A quickie?" I asked. "For our last time?"

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What Feats He Did That Day

Marsh Alien

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