Savages by Don Winslow

for Chon.

44
     
    Or for O.
    “How long has it been,” she asks Ben, “since you’ve had a woman?”
    “A few months.”
    “That’s too long.”
    She kneels in front of him, unzips his fly, licks butterfly wings up and down him. He stops her and asks, “How does Chon feel about this?”
    “It isn’t his tongue, isn’t his mouth.” And swallows him deep, slides her lips up and down his beautiful warmwood cock, feels him harden, loves her power to make that happen, bobs her head up and down, knowing he’ll dig the sight of that, guys love the sight of that (seeming) submission; she sees his fingers grip the sofa cushion.
    “You want to come in my mouth,” she asks, “or in my pussy?”
    “In you.”
    She takes his hand and leads him into the bedroom. Pulls her dress up over her head, slides her panties down her legs, and kicks them off. Takes off his shirt, his jeans, his boxers and pulls him down on top of her.
    “Are you wet?” Ben asks.
    Pure Ben, always considerate. Ben never wants to hurt anyone.
    “God, yes. Feel me.”
    Opens herself to let him see
             her glistening.
    “God, O.”
    “You want to fuck me, Ben?”
    “Oh yes.”
    “Fuck me, sweet Ben.”
    Sweet sweet Ben so slow and gentle so strong and gentle, so warm so fucking fucking fucking warm, his brown eyes looking into hers questioning, asking if this pleasure can be real asking if this pleasurecan be really found and his smile an answer, the answer yes because his smile makes her come a small one, the first small wave.
    The mermaid on her arm strokes his back, the green sea vines entwine him and hold him to her, sweet sticky trap, dolphins surfing on his spine as he rides her, their salty sweat meeting and mixing, slicking them together, sticking them together, little frothy white bubbles joining his cock and her cunt.
    O loves his hardsoft cock in her, loves gripping his shoulders as he moves in and out; in his ear she whispers, “I missed this.”
    “Me, too.”
    “Sweet, sweet, sweet Ben, fucking me.”
    The “me” triggers another climax, it’s the “me” of it, this beautiful, wonderful, sweet, loving man, it’s “me” he wants to fuck, his beautiful warm brown eyes looking into “mine,” his hands on my back his cock in my pussy.
    She comes again and tries to slow down but can’t, but can’t, she gives up on the control she wanted to make this slow for him make it last for him but can’t and she jacks her hips to push her clit into his pubic bones and circles her hip to grind it there his cock deep inside her.
    “Oh, Ben. Oh!”
    Her fingers, a crab scuffling across the wet sand, race down to his ass, search for and find the crevice, a tidal pool, she pushes a finger in and hears him groan and feels him shoot deep inside her his back muscles shudder, and then again, and then he falls on her.
    The mermaid smiles.
    The dolphins fall asleep.
    So do Ben and O.

45
     
    Ben gently untangles himself from her moist arms.
    Gets out of bed, puts on his jeans and shirt, and steps into the living room. Through the big window he sees Chon sitting out on the deck. Ben goes to the fridge, grabs two Coronas, and goes out.
    Hands Chon a beer, leans against the white metal railing, asks, “Good swim?”
    “Yeah.”
    “No sharks?”
    “Not that I saw.”
    No surprise—sharks are afraid of Chon. Predators recognize each other.
    Ben says, “We make the deal.”
    “Mistake.”
    “What,” Ben says. “You worried their dick is bigger than our dick now?”
    “
Our
dick?”
    “Okay, our
dicks.
Our collective dick. Our joint dick.”
    “Redundant,” Chon says. “Let’s just keep our dicks separate.”
    “Okay, they won,” Ben says. “And what did we lose? We got out of a business we want to get out of anyway. I’m telling you, Chon, I’m bored with it. Time to move on. Next.”
    “They think we’re afraid of them.”
    “We are.”
    “Separate dicks?” Chon says. “I’m not.”
    “We’re not