Stinger

his tongue slowly in and out of me. I couldn't help it, I writhed down on his face, gasping, feeling an orgasm just within reach. "Faster, please, Carson," I panted out. How was it exactly that he always managed to make me beg? I wanted, needed, to come so badly, and his movements, although delicious, were just too slow to tip me over the edge.

He ignored me though, instead licking backwards, over my, oh my God! Was he really licking me there? I tensed up slightly, but he kept moving upwards, licking up the seam of my ass until he hit my lower back and then kissed my skin lightly. His movement stopped again and I almost screamed out in frustration. If he wasn't inside me in the next three seconds, I was going to take matters into my own hands. I was so worked up I thought I was going to combust.

But then I felt him push my thong aside again and then finally the blunt tip of his cock at my entrance. I leaned back into it, moaning greedily. He pulled it back though and I made an angry sound of frustration in my throat. "Stay still, please," he said. Despite the please, it sounded like an order, not a request.

I nodded my head, too desperate to form words. I briefly considered turning around and jumping on top of him, and forcing him to take me, right before I felt him at my entrance again. I was trembling with the effort to stay still, but when he saw that I was going to, he pushed in a little bit. We both moaned out together. "You're even tighter from this angle, Grace. Jesus."

I dropped my head and he pushed in all the way, filling me completely. Oh God, that's amazing.

He started moving slowly, his hands holding my hips steady. I tilted my backside up toward him, wanting him as deep as possible. He moaned out, "Grace," as his thrusts picked up in speed.

"I wish you could see this, baby. I wish you could see me pumping inside of you. It's so beautiful. You're so beautiful." His voice panted out with his movements, sounding thick.

I closed my eyes and pictured what it must look like and moaned at the image my mind created. He reached around and put his hand under my thong and started massaging my clit again to the rhythm of his thrusts, one hand still on my hip. He had never made any sounds during any of the other times we had had sex, but this time he let out little grunts with each thrust. Something about those little sounds sent me over the edge and I screamed out his name as I came, hard and fast, intense ecstasy tightening my body.

"Oh fuck," Carson grunted behind me slamming into me one final time and then groaning in release.

My whole body was vibrating with the receding waves of pleasure, my legs shaking from the effort to support the rest of my body.

Carson pulled out of me and I turned around and fell onto the bed. I looked up into his eyes and saw something close to awe as he smiled down at me. He followed me down to the bed and took my mouth, kissing me slowly and deeply one final time, then leaning up and looking into my eyes. "Damn," he murmured.

I smiled lazily. "Yeah," I said, smiling bigger.

He disposed of the condom and then we climbed into bed together, me snuggling into his warm, hard chest.

* * *

Carson

I held Grace, stroking lazily up her arm for a few minutes, reflecting on what we had just shared. It was a base position to have sex in and despite that, I had felt more connected to Grace than I ever had to anyone I had been with. Emotionally connected. I had been about to tell her that I didn't know it could be this way, but as the words came to my lips, I thought better of it. That felt dangerous. This was about one weekend, nothing more. I was confused, and I didn't ever remember being confused. It was a new feeling for me. Confusion indicated possibilities, choice, but what were my choices in this situation? There were none.

I looked down at her and she smiled a small smile at me before she closed her eyes. I leaned down and kissed both lids and she smiled, opening them again to look at me. She leaned up and put her hands flat against my chest, one on top of the other and then rested her chin on them, looking up at me.

"Hi. How are you?" She grinned.

I laughed. "My granny used to say, 'fine as frog hair!' when anyone asked her that. I never knew what the fuck it meant. That just popped into my mind." I grinned down at her.

She smiled. "Tell me about your granny."

"She was a sweet lady. I went to stay with her most summers and then, like I said, when my mom went to rehab. She taught me things." I was silent for a minute, picturing her, hearing her voice in my head.

"What kinds of things?" she asked gently.

"All kinds of things. How to mow the lawn, how to sneak up on a grasshopper, how to choose a cantaloupe at the store." I grinned down at her. "Completely worthless things to a kid from L.A. It wasn't what she taught me so much as that she cared to do it."

She nodded up at me like she totally understood what I meant. I thought she probably did.

"She had a sadness about her too though, because of how my mom turned out." I was silent for a minute. "She never talked much about my mom, but I could tell there was lots of regret there."

"Where does your mom live now?" she asked.

I glanced down at her, surprised by her question. I didn't usually talk much about my mom–even to my closest buddies, but I had already shared things with Grace that I hadn't shared with anyone else. Any question she asked felt comfortable now, normal. I trusted her.

"My mom still lives in L.A.," I answered. "Not too far from me."

She nodded. "Do you have a relationship with her?"

I sighed. "Yes and no. I talk to her every once in a while, but we're not close. She's gotten her life together more than she had when I was a kid, but there's just too much water under the bridge now. We don't really know each other. Being around her is just awkward."

She looked sad, her eyes moving away from mine for a couple seconds as she looked like she was thinking. "She doesn't… "

"Make films anymore?" I finished for her. "No. She lives with some guy. He's a jackass. We got into it one time about eight months ago when I went to see her and I haven't been back. But at least she's off the prescription meds now–or at least as far as I know."

She looked sad. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know what it's like not to have a mom–or at least, not one you can count on. But at least I had mine for the first eleven years of my life."

I thought about that. "Maybe that makes it harder, not easier, Buttercup."

She tilted her head slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I just mean that maybe having something good and then having to let it go is more painful than never knowing what you're missing."

She looked thoughtful. "Yeah, maybe," she said.

We were both quiet for a few minutes. I looked down at her and put a piece of hair behind her ear. "So pretty," I murmured.

She smiled a shy smile. "Do compliments make you uncomfortable?" I asked. She always looked just a little uncertain when I gave her one. Surely, she had to know how beautiful she was.

"They usually do, but I love hearing them from you," she said quietly. "I grew up with a dad who was a guy's guy, the 'strong, silent type.' He was a great dad, but he didn't ever tell us girls we were pretty. He wasn't the type to dish out compliments on any subject really." She looked thoughtful for a minute. "If he was happy with you, you knew it by the silent, prideful look in his eyes and maybe a chin lift in your direction. I learned to get that look and that chin lift with my accomplishments, never my looks." She shrugged slightly.

I nodded, thinking that in that regard, we were probably polar opposites. I got by on my looks, rarely the things I did, or didn't do. "Well, just for the record, you're beautiful. A beautiful little Buttercup." I smiled at her and she smiled back at me.

"And you're a beautiful desert hyena," she teased back.

I laughed. "I've been given a lot of compliments in my time, but I think that may have been the best one," I said.

She laughed back and then was quiet for a few seconds. "Tell me about your first time," she grinned up at