Maya - The Novel

Maya reached for the zipper that lay against my chest and worked it down the same moment the clasp on her bra popped, releasing her breasts. She wasted no time wriggling out of it before returning her fingers to my chest.

But I clasped her hands, holding them at her sides, feeling a slow burn spread through my body at the sight of her breasts.

She'd been very generously blessed. Her breasts were topped with dark, thick nipples that were so tight they must be hurting her. I ran a single finger down the side of her left breast and saw her fingers curl into fists.

"You're gorgeous, sweetheart," I breathed, tracing an outline of her breasts. "So gorgeous."

She blushed a little and raised her hand to work my zipper a little harder. I decided to help her out and tugged the binder off me quickly. She ran her fingers over the exposed flesh, a smile curving her lips.

"So are you, Gray," she said.

"Hold on tight," I cautioned before I lifted her with my hands under her ass. She let out a surprised squeal before she wrapped her legs around my waist, kissing me again.

I set her on the kitchen counter, filling my palms with her breasts, testing their weight and sensitivity. Maya moaned into my mouth, her back arching. With her leaning back on the kitchen counter, her breasts were the perfect height for mouth.

I nuzzled slowly, using my lips and teeth to lightly pull and nick the sides of her breasts. Her floral scent was stronger here, mixed with a heady feminine scent. Jesus, the warm hollow where her breasts met her stomach was a place I would gladly call home.

When I used the flat of my tongue against her peaked nipple, she moaned deep in her throat. One hand found its way into my hair, holding me in place. My mouth curved as I licked yet again, feeling her breathing quickening under my palms.

She had extremely sensitive breasts; she reacted to every little tug and lave. Much as I enjoyed worshipping her breasts, her little whimpers and moans were severely addictive and I felt as though we were working on some kind of reward system: for everything I did right, she rewarded me with a whimper or a moan. God, her every little reaction was shooting straight to my core.

And then she said my name. "Please, Gray."

I couldn't remember how much time I'd spent on her breasts - I don't think I'd ever lost track of time like that before. Her eyes were pleading, needy, glazed over with pleasure.

"Come here," I said, straightening my back. She sat up, her curls a complete mess, tumbling any which way they pleased. Her lips were red, wet and parted. Jesus, I loved that rumpled and dazed look on her.

She offered me her lips again, her fist in my hair. She said little but I could feel the desperation in her every movement. I trailed my fingers up her inner thigh and traced the crotch of her lace panties. Warm heat coated my fingers.

Her breaths tumbled out of her in hiccup-y waves as I traced the seam of her panties, threatening - but not really - to slip under the edges. She leaned forward and rested her head in the hollow of my neck, her lips nuzzling the sensitive skin at the base of my neck. I shivered.

My fingers slipped under panties and pushed them to one side.

"S-sorry," she stuttered against my neck. "I'm very wet."

I used my free hand to slide my hands into her curls and lift her head. She was blushing again - her cheeks fiercely red, eyes glazed. I placed a hard kiss on her full lips.

"Don't ever apologize for being wet, sweetheart."

"But I'm too-."

"No." I gave her a hard look and she bit her bottom lip. "Don't."

"Besides," I continued, "if you weren't soaking wet, how would I do this?"

I ran a finger over her sex and found her opening. With a gentle, consistent pressure, I entered her with two fingers. Her fingernails dug into my arm; her breathing stopped as her body adjusted to the invasion.

My other hand was still gripping fistfuls of her curls. I tipped her head up and placed a long, thorough kiss on her lips. It took her a moment or two to respond. When she did, my fingers probed deeper. She moaned, long and hard, against my mouth. Her body trembled almost violently as I explored her depths.

"Oh god," she breathed, pulling away slightly. "What are you doing?"

I pressed my index finger a little higher and she watched me with hooded eyes. "I'm exploring you," I said, sliding in a little deeper. My palm was now pressed fully against her heat, wetness dripping down the back of my hand.

She shot me a pleading look. "Could you just, you know, do it?" She moved her hips suggestively.

I chuckled. "You're not patient, aren't you?"

She shook her head. "Please just..."

I slid my fingers out and back in again quickly. Her eyes half-closed in pleasure. A word that sounded suspiciously like a multi-syllabled "yes" crossed her lips. I repeated the move, getting a firmer grasp of her curls in my hand. Her legs tightened around my waist and she soon started trembling, on edge.

That was my cue. I slid my finger as deep as it could go and pressed upwards, looking for the patch of nerves I'd found before. She jerked violently, her back arching in a beautiful curve of ecstasy as she rode out the orgasm. Just as her breath returned, I brushed the spot yet again and she moaned low and deep, her short nails probably leaving faint scratches on my arms.

I briefly wondered if I should maintain the pressure but as she slumped against me, her breaths harsh against my neck, I reconsidered. Her body trembled every few seconds, still riding the quick succession of orgasms.

I pushed errant hair out of her eyes so I could watch her recover. She was beautiful in repose, her face a warm red, her body fully sated.

She didn't say anything for a few minutes. I held her against me, running my fingers through her hair and watched her breathing (gradually) return to normal.

A bolt of possessiveness surged through me. I savored the feeling, letting it ebb and settle in my gut. She was so beautiful, so open, so tempting... just so perfect cradled in my arms. And the way she responded to my touch - well, that was a big bonus.

I was pretty sure my boxers were soaked through. Yes, I was turned on after watching her fall apart, but the warmth of her sated weight in my arms was too comforting for me to even attempt to move her.

She pressed a kiss against the side of my neck, her eyes barely open. "I wasn't expecting that," she said, her voice soft. "That was... something else."

I pressed a kiss to her forehead, a content smile twisting my lips. "What were you expecting?" I asked, curious.

"I don't know," she said, trying to sit up a little. "You're very attractive, Gray. No, that sounded weird. It's not a bad thing that you're attractive. I mean, it's good, really good -"

I kissed her soundly on the lips. I had a feeling that I'd be doing this to shut her up a lot more in the future.

"But you thought someone attractive would be bad at sex?" I raised an eyebrow.

She looked sheepish. "That's what people say - it's not like I'd know."

"What? What does that mean?"

She shrugged. I wanted to dig a little deeper. Her statement could mean two things. (1.) She'd never slept with someone she found attractive or (2.) She'd never slept with anyone, period.

But she pulled away and said, "I'll go clean up a little. How does that sound?"

I took a deep breath, fought the urge to pry, and said, "That sounds good."

She hooked a finger around the waistband of my unbuttoned slacks and dragged it along the length of my pelvis. "How about you open up that bottle of wine you brought, shuck these pants and meet me in bed?"

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, her dimples showing. Goddamn, was she cute.

"Take a deep breath now, sweetheart."

"What? Why?"

"Deep breath."

As she sucked in a large breath of air, I pulled my fingers out of her quickly. She let out a little squeak.

"Sore?" I asked. She nodded. I could imagine - she was pretty tight and she'd needed time to get used to only two fingers. "You'll get used to me," I said instead.

She blushed and lowered her eyes. "How about that wine? I just need a few minutes."

"Sure." I helped her off the table and she wobbled in her heels. Chuckling, I let her hold on to me while she took them off and placed them in a corner. Even without the heels, she walked unsteadily into the bathroom.

I couldn't get the shit-eating grin off my face as I washed my hands and wrestled with the bottle of merlot.

#

Chapter 4

Clad only in boxers, I stood by the edge of her queen bed, wondering how I should arrange my body to look most attractive in preparation for Round Two. Her room was beautifully decorated. The old building still had its original moldings, revamped and styled to suit the minimalist grey tone of the room. Her bed itself was a modest, typical student affair. Her sheets were covered in black and white mandala patterns, which, I suppose, if she wasn't Indian, would have been quite pretentious.

Beautiful hipster art hung on the walls but there weren't any family pictures. Or even a picture of herself. Very odd.

I heard the water tap squeak shut in the bathroom and made a dive for the bed. It was surprisingly plush; the sheets were definitely rich cotton. As I propped myself up against the headboard and crossed my feet at the ankles, I briefly wondered if I looked like I was waiting for a business meeting to begin. Minus clothes, of course.

She exited the bathroom in a white robe, her make-up gone and hair up in a tight knot. Her cheeks still glowed. I smiled as she walked around the side of the bed and placed herself daintily in my lap.

The smell of jasmine surrounded us again as she placed a gentle kiss on my chin and then my lips. I held her there, my fingers cupping her cheek, keeping her lips locked onto mine.

"I have a confession to make," she said sheepishly when I broke the kiss.

I nodded for her to continue.

"It's embarrassing, though. You'll judge me." Her cheeks were an alarming red. She tucked herself into the crook of my neck to avoid eye contact.

I ran my fingers over her hair and released the bun from its knot. "I won't judge you sweetheart. I'm curious now - tell me."

I wrapped a curl around my finger as I waited for her to continue.

"I've only been with one other person my whole life."

Her obvious embarrassment made me smile. "There's no shame in that. I have friends who've only been with one partner their whole lives."

She shook her head. "I didn't love her... not in a romantic way, at least."

I lifted her head with a finger under her chin. "So it was just sex then?"

She nodded. "It was awkward. To be honest, I didn't even... you know. I maybe thought I couldn't. Until tonight."

She bit her lip. "So, anyway, what I'm asking is, what do you like? I don't really have much experience and I don't want to do anything wrong. You're so good at this and I'm -"

I cut her off mid-ramble with a kiss. Is it weird that her confession or uncertainty / almost innocence kind of warmed my heart a little? Okay, maybe it warmed my heart a lot. And when she'd said she'd never even orgasmed with a partner... I don't think my head could get any bigger.

All this was probably bad for the possessiveness I was already feeling with her.

She kissed me back fiercely, her small palm cupping my cheek and her teeth coming out to play. I let her have her fun, let her explore my mouth with her tongue, nibble my lip with her teeth.

Then she adjusted her position such that she wasn't on my lap anymore but straddling me. Everything seemed to slow down a little. Her robe parted at the front as she threw a leg over my thighs. She flipped her hair over one shoulder, the action so intimate, so erotic that I felt little bullets of pleasure spark in my belly. She leaned forward to place a kiss on the sensitive skin of my neck and I shivered.

"Do whatever you want sweetheart," I said, breathless. "Explore if you want to."

She bit her lip and nodded, her eyes focusing on my body. Her fingers ran over every inch of skin, her eyes watching me for what I liked and what I didn't. I lay on the bed patiently, letting her trace my tattoos and find my secret sweet spots at the same time.

My nipples were already tightly beaded when her fingers found them, the pink nubs almost blending into the rest of the ink on my body. She thumbed them once, twice, then ran her short nails over them lightly. Testing. The pinch made me suck in a breath - my nipples have always been extraordinarily sensitive. She stopped.

"That was good, sweetheart," I clarified.

She smiled and tugged gently on my nipples this time. I couldn't stop myself from moaning. The slow build was truly killing me.

And then her robe fell off one shoulder, revealing her collarbone and the top of one generous breast. I watched it jiggle as she tugged at my nipples, pleasure spiraling in my body. And then she leaned over and placed her mouth on me, suckling.

I felt myself move. In two quick seconds, I had her hands pinned behind her back and flipped her over so that I lay on top of her.

"What're you doing?" she asked, startled.

With the flat of my tongue, I licked a path along her neck. An audible gasp escaped her.

"I can't help it," I whispered, my breath rasping against her ear. "I need to be inside you."

I bit down on the side of her neck and she squirmed, pressing her breasts against mine. A brief whisper of "yes" reached my ears as I nibbled a path down to the distended tips.

"You have the most beautiful breasts," I murmured, nuzzling the generous curve.

"Thank you. I- Oh!" She gasped as I nipped at the tender flesh. Her back arched, giving additional access to my seeking lips.

"Please," she whispered as I suckled. It was the only word I heard for quite some time.

*

Sue Ellen's version of "I Was Made for Loving You" wafted from Maya's MacBook as she lay on my chest, her fingers aimlessly tracing the contours of my ribcage. Her breath was warm against my breast, her hair silky against my fingers. She hummed along with Sue's soulful voice, the words too deep for either of us to try and voice at the moment. I knew better than to speak of commitment, of anything other than the now. I wasn't going to push Maya away by telling her how her boldness, her expressive eyes, and those beautiful breasts had kicked me in the gut. It was too soon.

Instead, I savored the feeling of the "in between", leaning back against the plush pillows and breathing in our mingled scents.

She raised her head, her lips swollen and rosy red from my kisses.

"Do you have cigarettes on you?" she asked.

I raised a brow. "You smoke?"

She faked offense. "I'm not some innocent little girl."

Aren't you? I wanted to ask.

Instead, I leaned over and picked my boxers off the floor. By the time I found my pack of Marlboro Reds, Maya had already tugged her bathrobe on and popped the window open.

"Here," she said, tossing me her Columbia hoodie. I slipped it over my head but not before the chilly night air cut its way into the room. My nipples immediately stood at attention.

She boosted herself out of the window and sat on the bottom stair of the fire escape. I followed suit, trying not to wince at the contact of cool metal on my upper thigh. We sat shoulder to shoulder; it was a tight fit.

I handed her a stick and she lit up like a pro, making me wonder again if I knew her at all.

"You know, I did actually cook for us," she said with a smile. "Well, I'm going to anyway. What do you think about steak and mash? Maybe some red velvet passion fruit cupcakes for dessert? The cupcake's not optional. I've already made the batter."

"You made it yourself?"

She nodded, taking another drag of her cigarette. "I've always been good at baking, even when I was a kid. I actually wanted to go to business school to learn how to set up a store slash bakery."

"Why didn't you?"

She shrugged, tugging her bathrobe firmly closed. "It just isn't in the cards, I guess. I'm still studying business, though - that's my major. But I'll probably do something else with it."

"I don't understand," I cut in, knowing I was pushing but unable to stop myself. "How long has this been a dream of yours? Having a bakery?"

"Maybe fifteen years? But I-"

"And what's standing between you and that dream?"

"I don't know. Family, I guess. It's hard to explain."

"You wanna try?"

She took another long drag. "My parents are highly conservative - our status in society means everything to them. Starting something like a bakery would be 'too small' a business venture for any of us. Too menial." She looked away. "How awful does that sound?"

"Hey." I placed a hand on the back of her neck and turned her towards me. "If you want this dream, go after it."

She shook her head. "I can't. Let's not talk about it anymore." She cleared her throat. "What about you? What's your family like?"

I let my hand drop from her neck, wondering why I felt like our connection had been severed.

"I don't have a family," I said instead. I'd said those words so many times in my FREE NYC youth counseling groups that the pain was barely there anymore.

She looked back at me, her eyes wide. Her lips parted to utter a condolence but I interjected with, "Don't be. It was a long time ago. My dad died in combat and my mom raised me as best as she could. She worked two jobs to make sure I had everything I needed." I took a drag of the depleting stick. "When I was ten, she got hit by a car on the way to work and passed a few days later."

"I'm so-"

"No, it's okay," I cut her off again. I'd mourned her enough over the years. I didn't need sympathy anymore. It wasn't easier not hearing people's condolences... I just didn't need it.

Maya shocked me by reaching up and grabbing the back of my neck with her small hand - a mirror of what I'd done just minutes before. "Listen, I don't know if this is some sort of weird coping mechanism but stop cutting me off. I need to tell you I'm sorry for your loss, not because it'll make you feel better but because it's truly how I feel. I'm sorry, Gray. Losing your parents at such a young age must have been so painful."

A sad smile twisted my lips. "I know, sweetheart. I've had a lot of time to process this. It's okay. I'm fine now, aren't I?"

She raised a perfectly arched brow. "Are you?"

I considered it for a moment, stubbing out my cigarette. "Yeah, I think so." I paused to exhale. "I actually run a support group for at risk or homeless teens at FREE NYC - have you heard of us?"

She nodded. "I've seen flyers."

"My mentor, Jean, was one of the founders. He got me involved when I was a teenager. I hated it, talking about all that feelings crap. Swore I'd never come back."

She smiled. "How'd that work out?"

I shrugged. "After a while, I felt like I was suffocating because I didn't have anyone to talk to. And then I realized that if I wasn't going to take the help Jean was offering, there was no way I'd ever get any peace or get off the streets."

"The streets?" she asked, taken aback.

I stood. "Maybe that's a story for another time." I offered her a hand. "How about that steak now?"

#

Chapter 5

I didn't know which was better - watching her spoon sizzling thyme-scented butter over the perfectly browned steak as the tops of her breasts jiggled with the movements, or the scent of a home-cooked meal after a long, long time. The most I could be bothered to make myself on the regular was spaghetti. Was that even considered homemade if most of it came out of a jar?

She'd changed into a white tank top and pair of pink dolphin shorts. I sat up on the counter next to her, still dressed in boxers and her hoodie, listening to her talk about food like it was the hottest love affair of her life. She smacked her lips, making a "mm-mm-mm" noise at the back of her throat as she spoke of the different fillings she was toying with for her cupcakes. I'd already offered to be her tester bunny.