2) Look Up. One of the reasons guys love blowjobs is it’s fun to watch. We are visual creatures, and your mouth on his dick is the best movie he’s ever seen. It’s his favorite, in fact, and he can’t watch it enough times. And when you, the beautiful star, look up and make eye contact with him, he feels like a million fucking dollars. Sometimes Cinnamon Buns looked up at me with this innocence in her eyes, as though she couldn’t believe how big I was, how hard I was, how deep I was. Other times, the look in her eye was pure salacious delight, and she’d moan or laugh or sigh, like the pleasure was all hers.
3) Use Your Hands on Him. Yes, it’s mostly about his dick, and no man will complain if that’s all you want to focus on. But while you are merrily sucking him into oblivion, don’t be shy about touching him other places. Balls. Nipples. Ass. (Cinnamon Buns was not shy.) If he doesn’t like it, he’ll let you know, but I’m gonna venture a guess he does.
4) Use Your Hands On Yourself Too. At one point, Cinnamon Buns got so turned on by what she was doing, that she touched her body the way I would have if I hadn’t been so paralyzed with joy by the sight of her doing it. In fact, I nearly fired the canon before I could properly warn her, which a gentleman should never do. (Are you listening, gentlemen?)
5) Swallow. You don’t have to pretend it’s the nectar of the gods, but it sure makes us feel good when you do. I don’t actually recall the expression on Cinnamon Buns’s face when she swallowed because I was too blinded by rapture, but when I recovered the use of my eyes, she looked delighted. Sated. Pleased with herself and with me.
I was pleased as well.
And I showed her by returning the favor before she even caught her breath.
Sound good?
You know what to do.
(Guys? That goes for you too.)
Oh my God.
I finished the article and read it again three more times. My mind whirled, my heart beat crazily, and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. Not only because the me he’d described was so hot and alluring or because he was so cute and funny or because his words brought back the memory of last night in breath-stealing detail, but because of three little words he’d said about me…
She’s just magic.
I wasn’t magic, but we were.
I felt it too.
Why was she so quiet? Did she hate it? As she read, I kept trying to get a glimpse of her expression, read her body language, but she was sort of turned toward the window. She gasped once or twice and brought one hand slowly to her mouth, but I couldn’t tell if it was because she was shocked, embarrassed, or touched. Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have written about her. Natalie wasn’t show-offish like other women, who sometimes begged me to write about them. A lot of them even asked me to use their real names too, which I never did. Not only for their protection, but also because real names suggested a level of intimacy I wasn’t comfortable with.
“Hey,” I said, tapping her head. “What’s going on up there? Do you hate it?”
“No, I love it!” she said, turning toward me with bright eyes. “Are you kidding? Thank you for saying all those things. Really, it was the best blow job you’ve ever had? The Stanley Cup of blowjobs?”
“Definitely.” I nodded, relieved she wasn’t angry. “You’re the top. And I’ve had a lot of blowjobs, I mean seriously a lot, and by some really hot women. I remember this one girl who—”
“OK, OK. Enough.” She held up her hand. “I get it. Thank you. I’m flattered, and you should stop talking now.”
I grinned at her. God, I was even starting to adore the frowny face. “Sorry. Anyway, she was nothing compared to you. That was my point.”
“So you really meant all those things you said?” She sounded surprised.
“Like I told you, I always mean what I say, Nat. Especially where you’re concerned.” I wondered which things in particular had her curious, but didn’t ask. “Now my problem is that you’ve ruined blowjobs for me forever because nothing will ever compare.”
“Oh, right.” She shook her head and sighed. “Something tells me you’ll be just fine, Miles Haas. And considering you just explained exactly what you like in a blowjob to any woman who reads your stuff, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of qualified applicants to replace me.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’ll always be my favorite.” I tugged a few strands of her hair, happy at the sweetly surprised expression on her face.
For about five seconds.
Because I realized it was true—no matter what happened, no matter how many hot girls lined up to blow me, I’d forever compare them unfavorably to her. And what about sex? Had she ruined that for me too?
Quickly I tried to think of another girl I’d rather go to bed with than Natalie, another pussy I’d rather taste, another body I’d rather be inside. And I couldn’t.
A sweat broke out on the back of my neck.
Because I realized I’d never been able to think of another girl I’d choose over Natalie. Ever.
And now that it had happened, I never would.
What the fuck was I going to do about that?
For one crazy moment, I wished we weren’t so good together. I wished the sex was average, the chemistry lackluster, the feeling I got when I came inside her something less than fucking transcendent.
For an even crazier moment, I thought about promising her everything and all of me if only she’d say she wanted it.
Then I shook it off.
That was fucked up.
• • •
We stopped once for lunch and once for more coffee and gas, and arrived in Detroit around four o’clock that afternoon. Natalie wanted to see my apartment before we did anything, so I parked in the garage adjacent to the building and took her up to the twenty-third floor. I unlocked the door and let her in first.
“Wow,” she breathed, setting her bags down. “This is beautiful.”
“Thanks.” I set my keys on a small table against the wall and kicked the door shut. “The guy who rents it to me said it was built in the twenties but abandoned for years before they renovated.”
“That’s amazing.” She walked over to the huge floor-to-ceiling windows and looked out. “I love the view.”
“Cool, isn’t it? The guy asked me if I wanted shades on those windows and I said no way.”
She turned around and took in the furniture, wood floors, and two-story ceiling before wandering over to the kitchen. “Holy shit,” she said, running her hand over the shiny granite counter. “This is gorgeous.”
“Yeah, he’s a chef, so this kitchen is totally decked out.” I went to the huge stainless fridge and took out two beers, taking the caps off before handing one to Natalie. “Actually he owns a restaurant called The Burger Bar in Corktown that I love. Maybe I’ll take you there for dinner.”
“Why’d he move out?” she asked, her wide eyes taking in the dark wood cabinets and stone tile floor.
“He got married and bought a house in Indian Village.”
“Oh.” She took a sip of her beer and meandered into the pantry. “What the hell, Miles? You have, like, nothing in here.”
“I’ve got the basics.” I leaned back against the counter and tipped up the bottle.
“What basics? Cap’n Crunch, Doritos, and Twinkies? Oh wait, I do see a bag of flour in here.”
“Yeah, I think he left that.”
“Oh my God.” She came out, shaking her head. “Let’s go to the grocery store while I’m here. I’ll help you fill up your pantry and show you some easy things to make.” She put her hand on the fridge handle and looked at me. “Do I even want to open this? Is six months’ worth of moldy takeout food going to attack me?”
“It might.”
She opened it up and sighed. “No mold. But what do you live on? Beer and cereal?”
I shrugged. “I could probably live on that.”
She shut the fridge and stuck a hand on her hip, looking adorably concerned for me. I let myself fantasize for a moment that she lived here too, that we shared things like beer and Twinkies, that she’d cook for me and I’d…well, I’d think of something to do for her. There must be something I had to offer.