The Mending of Broken Hearts

As she walked away from him and down the hall towards her bedroom, Mike wondered just what exactly was going on. When she returned moments later carrying a mid-size cardboard box, his confusion only increased, and then again when she sat back down and placed the box in the middle of the table.

And then Andrea reached inside the box and removed what lay inside, and the confusion Mike Gregory had been feeling melted away in place of absolute shock . . . and a little bit of horror.

* * *

The whole day she had been uneasy, her stomach fluttering on the wings of its many butterflies, and as time grew nearer and nearer to seven o'clock, the fluttering only grew worse.

There was no way she could go out to dinner with him, knowing what she knew, which is why she decided to cook for him instead, forcing them to remain at her apartment. She slaved away in the kitchen for two hours before his arrival, working very inefficiently as her mind was so preoccupied by thoughts of what he would say and how he would react.

Audrey finally yelled at her to relax and take a shower to calm herself down, and that helped greatly, as did fixing herself up. She picked out one of her favorite dresses, an expensive but casual Oscar de la Renta number, but one she had not worn in some time and one she knew he had never seen. She coiffed her hair and fixed her makeup, and was very nearly done when she heard the knock at the door.

And then she went to meet him and saw him standing there with her sister, flowers in hand, looking very hot in dark jeans and a button down shirt, and the most peculiar feeling washed over her: absolute happiness at the sight of him.

She had not expected to feel that way. She had expected to be so nervous she could hardly speak, but seeing him made her so happy she could hardly contain herself as she went to him and hugged him, feeling the strength of his body and inhaling his musky scent.

But then she panicked and retreated inward, her fears overwhelming her joy, and for a long time there was awkwardness between them like there had never been before, which was exactly what she had been afraid of in the first place. He did not know the real reason why, of course, which made it worse, and when he finally asked her what was going on, why they were acting so weird, she panicked again and played dumb.

Which is when he dove into the whole issue about the stupidness of Peter and Hayden being his fault, which was maybe the one and only thing that could have helped bring her out of her self-imposed shell: that particular notion was utterly ridiculous. She had never, not once, blamed Mike for anything, and for a little while talking to him about it, Andrea felt like herself again . . . and he told her so.

"Oh, there you are," he said with the same sly little grin she knew so well. "I knew the Andi I know and love was in there somewhere."

He hit the nail right on the head. He could tell something was wrong, but could not put his finger on it, which bothered him, and so he played her into acting more like herself again. He knew her better than she thought, it seemed, and knew just how to push her buttons.

She laughed. "You're a prick," she said playfully, but she realized then as she looked at him that there was more truth in his words than he was letting himself realize, and her next words were soft, but pointed. "But you're not just making fun. You believe it, don't you?"

"It was one of the hardest parts of the whole thing for me," he admitted as he lowered his eyes. "I felt so guilty, knowing how much pain I caused you."

"Forget it!" she exclaimed, and she realized something then quite clearly, and said it and meant it. "We're better off without them. I realize that now."

"Single again," he said with a sigh, and for the first time she wondered just what exactly it was he was thinking, and what his words meant.

She spoke then with a specific kind of tinge to her voice, wondering if he would pick up on the significance of her words. "Yes," she said quietly, "and for once, we're single at the same time."

His face changed. "So, Miss Tinsley, anything interesting happen now that you're single?" he asked, which surprised her, and she wondered with a sudden rush of fear if he knew what she herself suspected, and despite trying hard she could not keep those fears off her face, and he noticed. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

And so she decided she could not wait any longer. The butterflies were crazy and her mind was swirling and she needed to know, once and for all, one hundred percent, and so she asked, "What did you do last weekend, Mike?"

His confusion was clear. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

She shrugged and played it cool. "Just curious."

"I went to a party with some friends, " he told her. "For Halloween."

"Me, too," she asked, her ears ringing. "What'd you wear?"

"Uh, well," he stammered, and it was clear he was not too thrilled with answering, and she waited until he said, finally, "Alright, fine. I went as Spiderman and I looked totally ridiculous, but it wasn't my idea."

Which confirmed what she had only scarcely let herself believe was actually possible.

She went through a series of emotions then, seated there in her chair, that cannot truly be described, so many swirlings and whirlings and changing thoughts and feelings that she was amazed her mind did not just explode, and so she did the only thing she could focus long enough on and rose to her feet and went to get the box, which she brought back to him and set down on the table, and opened to remove what lay inside.

A white football helmet.

* * *

It lay on the table peacefully and yet in the mind of the Mike Gregory, the helmet resembled greatly a nuclear mushroom cloud.

He was confused at first, not really following the line of thought, which is how it had been for him the whole night, but quickly everything fell into place, little things he remembered from the party, little things that had been said, her questions from just moments earlier, the weird way she was acting, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, and then everything crystallized.

The mystery woman was mysterious no longer: it was Andrea Tinsley he fucked that night.

And he lifted his eyes from the helmet to meet hers, the deep and soulful eyes of his friend, and saw then in those liquid sea-green pools what he thought looked to be a desperate kind of hope, a desperate kind of desire, and he desperately hoped his read was right.

"It was you," he said in a strangled voice.

"Yes," she said simply in that same soft voice.

"Did you know?" he asked.

"No," she replied.

"When?"

"Last night."

"How?"

And she smiled then, softly, sexily, and he felt an intense stirring beginning in the depths of him, a stirring he knew he would not be able to stem as she said, "Think you can handle that?"

And Mike Gregory knew in that moment a great many things, things long buried and long disguised now gloriously risen to the fore, and it felt suddenly like fire bursting inside his chest, raging over the whole of him.

* * *

Andrea watched the expressions roll over the handsome face of her friend, relieved that the burden of knowledge was off her now and could be shared by them both, frightened by the great many possibilities of his reaction, terrified she would lose him, euphoric she might have him, totally and completely bewildered by the whole situation, but amazed and breathless and excited and very, very, very turned on.

Their eyes met, his deep grays piercing through to the core of her as easily as a knife moves through hot butter, and with the whole of her being she hoped her eyes would tell him exactly how she was feeling, and what she wanted.

And then he was on his feet before her, his powerful hands lifting her bodily into his arms, and she realized with a delighted thrill that her eyes had done their job as his lips came fiercely down to meet hers and the world around them exploded.

Mike kissed her with more passion in that one moment than Andrea had experienced in the whole of her lifetime with anyone else. Their tongues dueled as she brought her hands up to cup the sides of his face, while his fingers trailed around her arms to the space between her shoulder blades, just below her neck, where they danced light as air over the exposed skin. She moaned and snaked her fingers through the brown locks of his hair, grinding his lips against hers, and she shuddered as his arms tightened around her waist.

She was instantly wet: it was like a water balloon burst within her and she could feel the moisture soaking through her silk panties.

The effects of his mouth were devastating and ignited all the passion Andrea had buried within herself. He drew her tongue into his mouth and suckled on it, and she relished the taste of him. Her knees went weak and her body flushed as his tongue danced around hers, savoring her.

Mike felt her wobble and grabbed her hips to steady her, and then suddenly she was airborne, his hands under her bottom and easily handling her weight, and she did the only thing she could think of with her legs and wrapped them around his waist.

He was strong, so very strong, and carried her effortlessly into the living room. His mouth never left hers and never relented its assault, his tongue everywhere, and she swooned and wrapped her arms around his neck as they moved, holding on almost for dear life.

And then she was moving through the air again as he tossed her with ease onto the white cushions of the couch, and she squealed in shock. He gave her no time to consider his actions, however: he was upon her again before her body settled, pinning her down and bringing his face scant inches from her own.

Andrea froze, amazed at the intensity she saw in his eyes, stunned by the entirety of the turn of events, hungry to have the man above her in ways she had only considered in the deepness of her dreams. Her red lips parted slightly as she breathlessly anticipated his next move.

Mike was a scorchingly hot guy: tall and strong with a lean frame rippled with athletic muscles, straight brown hair that curled at the tips and a chiseled jaw. It was his eyes, however, that captivated her and had always held her thoroughly when set upon her, those deep gray pools of emotion and soul. She had never let herself admit it before, but Andrea had long been undeniably and unconditionally attracted to Michael Gregory; she wanted to fuck his brains out.

And then he descended and his mouth touched her ever-so-softly, his tongue gliding languorously across her bottom lip. Their tongues wound playfully around one another as her hands rose to cup the sides of his face, then melted down against his neck and shoulders.

She whimpered into his mouth before she broke away, panting heavily, chest heaving. She looked into those beautiful gray eyes again and for one endless heartbeat of realization, her breath caught in her throat: she and Mike were actually happening.

The moment passed and it was her turn to attack. Andrea grabbed his head and pulled his lips to hers, her tongue worming into his mouth. Her fingers dropped to his shirt and began tugging at the buttons, desperate to get at the body beneath.

And then he pulled away.

"Stand up," he said hoarsely as he rose, pulling her to her feet.

Andrea was several inches shorter than Mike was and her head came up to just below his chin. She looked up at him expectantly, eyes smoldering. He grinned and stepped forward, and without touching her reached around and drew down the zipper at the back of her dress. The garment slipped from her shoulders and fell in a heap around her ankles. He stepped back and gazed upon her body, which now was covered only by her lacey white bra and tiny silk panties.

"I didn't get a good enough look last time," he said quietly as he drank in the sight of her.

Andrea blushed. "Would you like a little more?" she asked, and the corners of her mouth turned up in a wicked kind of grin as she reached back and unsnapped her bra, and tugged it down her arms.

His eyes widened as he looked at her breasts, which she had always been very proud of: round fleshy mounds of 36C perfection with dark red quarter-sized nipples, pear-shaped and perky and totally real. They jiggled as she stripped the bra off completely, strawberry blonde hair sweeping across the crests as she settled.

She grinned and waved her hand. "Your turn," she breathed.

He grinned right back as he undid the last two buttons on his shirt and stripped it off to reveal his muscular chest. He was big, but not too big, the perfect athletic sort of physique capped off with washboard abs. His body was gorgeous.

"More, please," she instructed, and his hands went to his belt. She wondered just how far he would go . . . and she found out moments later when his jeans and boxers hit the floor.

Andrea remembered most of their encounter in the laundry room at the Halloween party, but there was something so mysterious and crazy and surreal about the experience that now, even though she knew beyond doubt that the man was Mike, she was having trouble reconciling it. Also, it had been such a frenzied sort of fucking that there had been very little time for exploring, the opposite of which was true at present.

When she was younger, penises had frightened Andrea. She gave very few blowjobs in high school for that reason and only really opened up to the idea in college. But now she was older and wiser and more mature, and able to see things for what they were, and for several years she had come to enjoy the sight of a man in his nude state. She did not mind the look of the penis, even thought it cute in many ways.

Cute did not describe her reaction to the sight of Mike's cock: it was the most beautiful penis she had ever seen. It was long and thick, very proportional, well-colored and lacking any sort of mark or blemish, his testicles heavy balls beneath. There was very little hair.

Andrea tore her eyes away and looked again into Mike's face. He was naked, gloriously naked, and it was her turn now. Her hands slid up the sides of her legs in the direction of her panties.

"Stop," Mike said suddenly, and she obeyed.

He stepped forward again, bringing himself right up to her, so close that the tips of her breasts were no more than an inch from his pectorals. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and hear its rhythmic thumping in her ears.

And then he dropped to his knees before her and with one smooth motion, before she knew what was happening, he hooked his thumbs into the elastic band of her panties and yanked them down to the floor.

Andrea gasped as her swath of trimmed blonde pubic hair was exposed, as well as the thinly pursed lips of her pink little pussy. Droplets of arousal dribbled from her slit and moistened the folds, clinging to them precariously; she could felt the juice saturating her.

And then she was off her feet again, thrown once more by him bodily back onto the couch, her now-naked ass landing square in the center of the largest cushion, her legs splayed out to the side. It was one of the most vulnerable and absolutely sensual positions she had ever been in.

And then Mike pounced.

He gripped her calves and contorted her body, pushing her legs back up to her shoulders, bending her in half, upturning her ass and presenting to him, perfectly and lewdly displayed, the pretty pink lips of her pussy. He gazed down at the sacred place between her legs, then looked into her eyes once more.

And Andrea realized with an absolutely euphoric kind of glee exactly what Mike was about to do. He had tasted her once, tasted her pussy and her asshole, but time had been limited and their position had been difficult and neither had known the other. Now he had unfettered and unlimited access to her delights, and it seemed he was eager to use it.

"Eat me," she breathed as his mouth drew nearer the sacred place. Her voice betrayed her emotions: anxiety coupled with wanton sexual craving. Her pink crease quivered in anticipation.

Mike drew his fingers across her thighs, teasing the rarely relished, fleshy swath of skin, and blew a stream of warm air over her glossy gash. "As you wish," he whispered without looking at her, enchanted by her glistening folds.

She moaned. "Eat me, Michael!" Andrea shrieked. "Eat my fucking pussy!"

And so with a grin, he descended.

* * *

Perched between a pair of toned and very inviting thighs, heart pounding nearly out of his chest, ears burning, hands trembling, Mike Gregory gazed upon the splendid creation beneath him.

In every way Andi Tinsley exemplified his ideal woman, and it killed Mike that it had taken him so long to truly realize it. He knew now, having come face to face with deep truths, that he had always known she was the perfect sort of girl for him, but the honorable side of his mind had long concealed it from the selfish side.

Andi was a lissome creature with long succulent legs and large luscious breasts, and cool skin stretched over an athletic and flexible frame. She was beautiful, her face gorgeous and her eyes such a dazzling hue of green it reminded Mike of tropical ocean waters. But more than the physical, it was Andi's character that truly set her on high: she was warm and kind and generous, and wonderful.

And Mike realized then beyond shadow of doubt, suddenly and quite overwhelmingly, that he could spend the rest of his life with her . . . although, at the moment, he was content enough with the present.

"Oh my ggoooodddddd!" Andi moaned as his tongue slithered out and over the top of her glistening pink crease, circling the nub just below the trimmed and pointed end of her strawberry blonde bush.

With agonizing torpor designed to enflame, Mike burrowed his tongue deep into her small and tight inner labia, stretching the folds with his lips and face. He circled higher again and worked his tongue again and again over her clitoris, grazing it, teasing it, and Andi growled and her thighs pressed together with need.

"Unnhhh, mmmmm, aahh, aaahhh," she shrieked as he attacked the center of her entire erogenous being. Her fingers dug into the cushions of the couch as her back arched and her head rolled back toward the ceiling.

Andi was ridiculously wet. She moaned and writhed in pleasure as he lapped away at her tender folds. Mike was drowning in her juices, and loving it. He parted her sex with two fingers, while a third moved to her clitoris and began to massage it. The girl let loose a long, drawn-out moan and her torso trembled, her luscious breasts heaving and jiggling, which Mike enjoyed greatly from his vantage point between her thighs. Her breasts had been woefully underappreciated thus far and he promised himself he would right that particular wrong as soon as possible.

His massaging finger dipped lower and slipped inside the velvety interior of the girl's vagina, even as his tongue replaced it on her clitoris. The combination was devastating and Andi cried out loud as he thrust his finger in-and-out as he flicked his tongue over and across the swollen nub in quick, feathery strokes. Her body squirmed and quivered beneath him, bottom wiggling.

Which gave him an idea.

He altered his ministrations and began a series of long, slow licks across the whole of her pussy with his tongue, even as the slick digit that had been fucking her withdrew and dropped lower, and rubbed against the wrinkled plot of her anus, teasing it and pushing on it until just the barest hint of the tip slipped inside.

Andi screamed with a force that was glass-shattering and her thighs clamped down on the sides of his head. She babbled out words with complete incoherency and quaked violently, and then the juices really began to flow. She was a wet one, Mike realized, all juices heretofore just warm-up for the real thing, which flooded into his mouth and face like a raging river. His tongue sought desperately to lap up and swallow as much of the sweet nectar as he could.