tagErotic CouplingsLove and Let Die

Love and Let Die

byLickerishWand©

Dear readers,

I really love feedback so please comment, especially if you liked a certain part. I'm always trying to improve my writing.


* * *

The iPhone in the pink case on the coffee table trilled a spirited melody and the young woman leaned forward on the couch to answer it. "Heya, Caitlin speaking," she said. Her face, which had been pink-cheeked and smiling a second ago, turned ashy white. Something was wrong. She listened, then ended the call and dropped the phone back onto the table nearly knocking over her glass of red wine.

"What is it?" Trevor asked. Since arriving, he'd been on edge. Trevor was a shy person who hated conflict and living rooms seemed full of conflict. The last one he'd been in was his sister's. That was four years ago, right after Mom died. But he'd been too embarrassed to ask if they might sit in Caitlin's kitchen.

In the first place, it had been a bad idea to accept Caitlin's invitation, even if she had that kind of elfin beauty that gave him goose bumps. So what if she was actually for-real interested in him, there was her husband to worry about, separation or no separation. Now she was hugging herself, shivering. He wasn't at all sure what to do.

Should he reach out to her? He was bad at comforting. His sister had told him so, said he was a stone-hearted piece of shit.

Caitlin had confessed to him that she had stopped wearing perfume or putting on makeup. "Sometimes I skip deodorant too," she said. "I'm not a hippie or a new-aged kind of person. I feel like I have to get behind who I am, who my body is, and screw social expectations. I'm also a little bit poor at the moment and, you know...needs must."

He'd adored that about her. It had turned him on. He liked the idea that she was bold enough to expose herself that way to the world.

Now Trevor was aware of the sour smell of Caitlin's sweat. Something had terrified her. "That was Robert," she said. "He's outside in his van. He says that at five o'clock. He's going to come in here and shoot us. Fucking Robert. Why can't he get on with his life? Why can't he just leave me alone?" She grabbed one of the pillows on the couch and hugged it to her chest.

Trevor wanted to put his arms around Caitlin's thin shoulders, put his face in her feathered layers of taffy-colored hair. But they were a long ways from being close enough for that, still practically strangers. He wanted to tell her to forget about her asshole husband. "He's just trying to scare you. That's all it is," he said.

"No," she whispered. "He sent me a picture of himself. He has got a gun. He said he's going to stick it in me and make me pull the trigger. Force me to do it to myself." She rocked forward and back, trembling.

A sizzling black tide of anger crashed through Trevor's chest. He would hurt this man for scaring Caitlin. He would punch his goddamn head in.

Trevor stood and went to the door and turned the knob. He felt as if he was capable of murder. Blind with rage. He knew what that meant now. The door was locked. Locked from the outside.

"It's four o'clock now," Caitlin said behind him. "He's going to come in here and try to kill us in an hour."

* * *

Trevor could not speak. He had pounded on the door, each time his fist hit, the anger in him loosened its grip, but only to be replaced by a tightly coiled spring of fear. It wound tighter each moment until he was sure his heart would explode out of his chest.

Meanwhile, Caitlin had stopped her rocking. Somehow, she'd found the gumption to calm down. She'd called the police and the operator told her someone would be there soon. Not fast enough for Trevor. First he'd paced, then he'd manoeuvred one of the armchairs from the living room in front of Caitlin's door. Now he was pacing again.

Instead of finishing the bottle of red wine Trevor had brought, Caitlin brewed a pot of tea and sipped it and looked at him. She raised an eye brow, thinking. A slow smile began to play about her parted lips.

"Come here," she said. There was nothing else to do so he sat down next to her and took a sip of the tea she'd poured for him. It tasted like grass and mint.

She scooted closer, her gaze focused on his face. She had warm, brandy eyes. She lowered her lashes and her smile deepened. She had slender lips, and a slightly squared jaw. But her eyes and nose were nearly perfect. Her ears...he loved her ears. He wanted to touch them. Softly she said, "Aren't you at all curious?"

"Curious? About what?" What was there to be curious about? He was afraid. He could feel cold sweat in his pits and dripping down the back of his neck. Where were the damn cops? Why was she looking at him that way?

"You said I was a puzzle." Her voice was a low purr. "That's why you came here. You said you wanted to solve me because I was a puzzle." Her fingers were walking up and down his leg. Everywhere they touched him through his jeans he felt electric energy.

"I was flirting," he said.

"I know," she said. Those brandy-color eyes had a hungry look. "But I'm still a puzzle. Even now. You could try and solve me before the time runs out."

He felt his pulse racing. A man waiting to kill them and here they were, horny as teenagers in their parents' bed. His breathing came short and quick. Her body was a mystery to him. What did she smell like? Taste like? Feel like?

As if in a dream she tugged off her shirt. Her skin beneath was silky, and fuzzed with soft hair. She had a mole just above her collar bone. Her breasts, not large were covered in a pink bra she unsnapped for him. The nipples were dark and had small hairs around them. She had dark silky hair beneath her arms, too. He could smell her even more now, soap and sweat and her strong, prickly arousal scent.

At last, he leaned close enough so that her breath brushed over his lips. Her Eyes were wide and she sat perfectly still, naked except for a pair of men's boxers.

He kissed her, and as their lips touched, it was like an electric circuit was closed. A roaring red lust flashed through his body, from his mouth to his cock. He felt her gasp as much as heard it. He wanted to possess her as a lion possesses its kill. He flung her back onto the couch and stared at her, his naked prey. Naked except for those boxers.

"Yes," she gasped, her voice jagged with longing, "Do it. Fuck me. Make me yours." Her hands slipped beneath the hem of the boxers and thrust them down her legs. She kicked them to the carpet and lay there, panting, on display for him, waiting.

From the door came an ear-splitting bang. An icy wind blew into Trevor's chest, freezing his heart solid. It throbbed with the cold, pounding and jarring against his ribs. Time was up and Robert was trying to force his way in.

Trevor's skin tingled. He swallowed and felt the fluttering of fear in his stomach, a violent tornado threatening to suck him away. His mind had gone perfectly empty.

Caitlin sat up, made a kind of nest of the pillows behind her. She spread her thighs, revealing the split of her pussy below her pubic curls. "I need you to make me feel good," she said, her voice sending a buzz up his spine. "C'mon, Trevor. Don't worry. Trust me."

But Trevor was like a deer caught in the headlights. The door was banging against the chair he'd put in the way. He knew that most likely he was minutes away from facing a man with a loaded gun. Trevor didn't do well with conflict.

"Trevor," Caitlin said. "Trevor, I'll protect you. You can trust me. I just want your mouth right here." Her hand went down and spread herself apart.

He knelt on the carpet. He delicately sniffed. His finger reached out and gently stroked across her lips, feeling the satiny wetness as if it were a warm slice of mango.

Another loud bang and she gasped. He looked round, a sudden wave of coldness washing through him. "Oh my God," he screamed.

Robert stood in the door way, gun in his hands, staring at his naked wife with a mask of utter shock on his face. He took three shaky steps forward and pointed his gun at Trevor. "I'm going to fucking kill you," he said. "Then I'm going to shove this gun up her cunt and make her pull the trigger."

"Asshole," Caitlin said. "Trevor, ignore him. I won't let him hurt you. Don't be afraid, sweetie." She slipped one hand behind her into the nest of pillows. Her other hand reached out and tried to guide Trevor's head toward her waiting pussy.

Sure he would feel the bullet rip through his body, Trevor turned his back on Robert. He reverently kissed Caitlin's open sex and waited. If he would die, he would die here and now, between Caitlin's splayed thighs, loving her as he knew he was meant too.

He heard the crash of the gun, but did not turn to look. Strangely, there was no pain.

At first he was hesitant with his kisses. He had never made love to a woman like this before. Always he'd thrust inside as soon as he could, unable to resist the promise of the velvety-feel of a pussy gripping his cock. But now he was still fully-clothed. Somehow, this was right. It filled him with a kind of pleasure he'd never felt before.

Caitlin's lips were as silky as rose petals against his, her odor as dark and mysterious as an underwater cavern. His tongue lapped her and she groaned. The sound of her voice filled him with a sense of accomplishment. he was doing this. He was making her feel this way. So good. So right. So beautiful. He suckled at her. Lapped as if he were eating an ice cream cone. Found the fat little nub of her clitoris and polished it.

She became so thick and soft and open. Against his lips and tongue her fleshy pussy seemed to swell and melt. He took a moment to rest his tongue (it wasn't used to such a workout) and looked along her body, at the rose blush spreading over her breasts to the roots of her hair.

"You're doing really awesome," she said. "Keep going."

He dove back into her. Closing his eyes, losing himself in the taste and smell, the prickly feel of her thighs against his cheeks. He could hear her crying out and then she gently pushed his head back.

She had tipped her head back. Her neck was so soft and smooth. "You are so good to me," she said. Her smile was radiant.

"Robert?" he asked.

She lifted up a small hand gun from between the couch cushions. "I shot first," she said simply. "You did so good not to be scared."

"Did you ever even call the police?"

"Nope." she giggled. "I will now. Self-defense. And I have a witness."

"I think I love you," he said. His tongue felt thick and sore.

He respected her for having shot her husband in self-defense. She was so brave unlike him. He liked that she could take her pleasure and keep it. He felt as if he should pray to her. She was such a wondrous, mysterious woman.

"I'm going to call the police now," she said. "Should be some time before they get here. Round one was pretty sweet."

He felt a warmth spreading through his chest. His heart was light as Christmas snow. She was his. He was hers. They belonged to each other. He wanted to sing. Instead, he buried his face again between her legs, seeking out with his tongue her clitoris, working it for all he was worth.

"That's good," she said, stroking his hair. "That's so good."

Distantly, he was aware of her talking on the phone. Placing the call that would have the police soon come and discover the corpse of her dead husband. That's right, he thought. She's mine now. I'm hers. He redoubled his effort until he heard her gasps and the long drawn-out moan of her second orgasm. Hearing her voice cry out, feeling the pressure of her thighs against him, he felt something like an orgasm transfix his own body, a wave of soft, expansive pleasure that bubbled up through him, like a gentle caress of a powerful hand. He knew it was Caitlin's sexuality, sweeping him along, grounding him in her own being, in their own shared essence of love and pleasure.

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