“In what year was John F. Kennedy elected as president for the United States?”
“1960,” is the first thing I hear from Cat as she strolls into the house, throwing her keys into a little bowl with a clatter.
“Hey,” I say, turning away from the TV, where Trace and I are currently engrossed in the Weakest Link.
“Hi,” she replies, entering the games room with a bottle of water in her hand.
“19...70,” answers the scared young man on the screen with a stutter. Anne shouts, ‘Incorrect!’ at him, before carrying on.
Cat rolls her eyes. “We Americans are so stupid.”
“Come sit down,” I usher her in, patting the place beside me. She sits down, screwing the lid back onto the bottle, before I attack her with kisses.
“Justin!” she exclaims, “Your beard tickles!”
“You love it really,” I mutter, nuzzling my face against her cheek.
“Actually, I don’t. Justin, stop it,” she warns, her eyes darting over to where Trace is sitting.
“I’m not here,” he waves off, his gaze transfixed to the TV.
“But I am,” I grin, before once again planting my lips on hers.
She giggles, before wriggling out of my grasp. “Miss me much?”
“Just a tad,” I reply, grinning at her as she kicks off her shoes. “How was work?”
She shrugs. “’Kay.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Not good?”
She shakes her head. “No, just not exciting.”
“How’s Sean?” I ask sarcastically, turning my furious eyes onto the television, so she can’t see how much his very name pisses me off.
“Justin…” she begins wearily, as she does whenever I pester her about him. “He’s my work colleague, I have to be his friend. Can you imagine how awkward things would be if I hadn’t made any attempt to patch things up, but we still had to share a cubicle?”
“Can’t you move cubicles?” I insist.
She rolls her eyes. “No. Unfortunately the office seating plan does not rotate around my personal problems.”
“Oh, so he is a problem?”
“For you, apparently so.”
“I don’t care about him,” I say, knowing my lips has protruded and I can officially be classified as, ‘pouting’. “I just don’t like the close proximity in which you two work.”
“Don’t be silly,” she murmurs, resting her head against my chest as she gently strokes the soft fabric of my shirt. “You know I love you.”
“Yes, I know, but I also know he loves you.”
“He’s got a girlfriend,” she mutters, shaking her head at me.
“Oh! Well, in that case…he’s a great guy.”
She giggles and smacks me in the chest, hurrying into the kitchen before returning with a hastily made sandwich. “So, what have you boys been doing all day?” she asks, taking a bite of ham.
“Not much,” shrugs Trace. “We went to visit my cousin, but Justin wasted a ton of time whining because he couldn’t find any jeans to wear, so we only went for a few hours.”
“Are you kidding?!” she exclaims, almost choking on her food. “Justin, you have a ton of jeans!”
“But they’re not nice!” I defend.
“They’re all exactly the same!”
“Exactly, so that means if one pair is bad, so are the rest. Logically, that is.”
She rolls her eyes. “So, what are you going to do about your, ‘problem’?”
“Go shopping,” I reply simply. “Hey, wanna come with me?”
“I don’t like shopping,” she groans, leaning into the sofa as she stares at the television.
“But all girls like shopping!” I exclaim in dismay.
She looks at me from the corner of her eye. “But Justin, I’m not all girls. Surely you would have realized that by now?”
I grin and drop a kiss on her cheek, eliciting a cute blush. “You’re ten times better.”
She scratches her cheek slightly, the roughness of my beard tickling her face. “Can I ask when you and Trace are going to shave?”
“It’s a competition!” Trace says, finally tearing his eyes from the program. “To see who can go the longest without shaving!”
“Yes, yes, I am well aware of the said contest,” mutters Cat, shaking her head as she eats the last of her sandwich. “I just wondered if either of you have actually seen a mirror lately.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, scratching my face, the day’s growth prickling my fingers. “You don’t like it?”
She shrugs. “Do you want me to be honest?”
I pause. “Give me a watered down version.”
“You look like a homeless person,” she says simply, turning back to the TV, trying to suppress a smile.
“That’s watered down?” I protest.
“Hey Justin, the truth would have included the words, ‘dead’ and ‘animal’, so consider yourself lucky.” She turns to Trace. “And I don’t know why you’re laughing. You are merely the hobo’s shorter, hairier friend.”
Trace’s laughing ceases. “So if I shave, will you come shopping with me?” I plead.
“You’d do that for me?” she says in a mock sweet tone, batting her eyelashes.
“You can shave it yourself,” I reply, grinning as she smiles at me.
“You got yourself a deal.”
I pat her knee and get up, giving Trace a slight push as I walk past him. “I’ll go and get ready, then.”
“Are you shaving or are we going out?” she calls out.
“Which would you prefer?” I tease, popping my head around the doorframe.
“We can shop tomorrow. The sooner that thing is removed, the better.” She briskly wipes her hands and stands up, turning to Trace. “Are you going to keep yours, little dude?”
He nods and scratches his chin thoughtfully. “I think it gives me a rugged sex appeal.”
She laughs and tousles his hair. “Definitely.”
“Excuse me?” I call out from the hall.
“Nothing!” Trace replies with a shout. “Your girlfriend was just complimenting my admirable sexual attractiveness!”
“What?” I say, scowling as I stand in the doorway of the games room, an eyebrow raised.
“Nothing, nothing,” Cat brushes off, walking over to where I stand and running a hand over my cheek. “So, shall we remove the beast right now?”
“Are you sure you don’t like it?” I whine, stamping my foot at the thought of removing what has taken a good week and a half to grow.
“Yes,” she replies sternly. “You know how crazy that thing makes me.”
“Yeah, crazy with desire,” I wink, grinning at her.
She rolls her eyes. “About as crazy with desire as I was with my fifth grade geography teacher who, by the way, had a comb over and an unfortunate skin disease.”
“Harsh, harsh,” I grin, clutching my chest.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
With the razor poised in my hands, I stand above Justin, surveying the creature currently residing on Justin’s baby face. Why him and Trace thought this was a good idea, I don’t know. Personally, I think it makes him look like a terrorist, but their male stupidity blinded them into thinking they actually looked good.
They were wrong.
“Okay, so where do I begin?” I ask, tilting Justin’s head up to get a rough idea of the surface area covered by the monstrosity.
“Wherever you want, sweetheart,” he says, grinning as he looks at me in the mirror.
I wish I could laugh, but I know that if I get one tiny scratch on Justin’s porcelain face, people will think I’ve finally gone crazy and hacked up his good looks. Not to mention the relentless whining I’ll hear from Justin, who I’ve discovered is the reason the word conceited was invented. If he has one little nick, he’ll freak out and ask me for concealer so his flawless complexion isn’t ruined. Don’t laugh, he’s done it before.
How the hell am I supposed to do this? Oddly enough, I don’t feel comfortable waving a sharp implement quite so close to his jugular. I can barely even shave my own legs. He must remember the time I ran out of the bathroom howling because I had cut my leg with my razor, and was slightly surprised by the unyielding blood gushing out of my shin. Who knew so much blood could surge from one little cut?
“Seriously, what am I supposed to do?”
“You’ve never shaved a man before?”
I roll my eyes. “Surprisingly…no.”
“Aw, you’re a virgin.” He pauses to waggle his eyebrows. “In some ways, at least.”
In an attempt to hide the blush spreading across my cheeks, I sulkily put my hand on my hip. “Justin, I am quite astounded by your ability to reel off insulting remarks when I am the one holding a lethal weapon.”
“It’s not lethal if you know what you’re doing.”
“Which I don’t,” I helpfully interject.
Ignoring me, he carries on. “Look, it’s simple. You just take the blade like this,” he takes my hand, his touch still gentle despite the taunting in his tone, “and just glide it up, like this,” he moves our clasped hands upwards, removing a neat line of hair and shaving foam from his face.
“Oh my goodness, I can see your cheek without a dense forest of crap on it. This is quite a Kodak moment,” I tease, washing the razor in the sink and turning back to him.
“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t like it?” he asks grinning, as I cautiously press the blade to his skin.
“Because I thought you were making a statement,” I murmur distractedly, praying I’m not pressing too hard. “You know, that you weren’t just a pretty boy but had a sparkling, intelligent personality too. But then I witnessed your amazing Rock, Paper, Scissors tournament with Trace, and realized that that couldn’t be it. So now I just have it narrowed down to you and Trace being incredibly stupid.”
He laughs, but quickly stops when I gasp and pull the razor away, his sudden movement shaking the blade in my hand. “Don’t worry sweetheart, you won’t cut me,” he says, as I scowl at him before resuming my job. “And even if you did, I know you would take care of me.”
Not answering him, I continue to shave him, my head bent down.
“You would, wouldn’t you?” he repeats, his lips once again parting in a broad smile as he makes the mistake of slapping my ass.
“Justin, do that again, and I’ll chop your hand off.”
“When a woman says stop, she really means more,” he says philosophically, placing both hands square on my bottom and pulling me atop of him.
“Justin!” I exclaim, holding the razor above my head. “I could have cut you!”
“But you didn’t,” he brushes off. “Just admit it Cat, if something was wrong with me, you’d be at my beck and call.”
Relenting, I sigh. “Of course I would.”
“And why would you do that?” he enquires innocently.
Smiling, I know exactly what he wants to hear. “Because I love you.”
“Thank you.” His hands creep under my thighs and pull one leg on each side of him, so I’m sitting quite comfortably on his lap. “And I love you too.”
Shyly, I bend down to give him a quick kiss, his lips still igniting the same tingly sensation they have since day one.
“Well, well,” he grins even more cockily, looking down into his lap. “Aren’t we in a compromising position?”
Trying to suppress a smile, I roll my eyes. “Just take a second to think about all the things I could cut off with this blade, Justin.”
His grasp on my hips tighten. “Fine, fine, just carry on with what you were doing.”
“On your lap?”
“Yes,” he replies simply, raising an eyebrow. “After all, you’ll get a closer shave this way.”
“Mmmhmm, whatever,” I reply, removing the final traces of the horrific beard as smoothly as I could.
Don’t assume for one second I was completely unperturbed at the idea of being quite so close to Justin, or, more specifically, his crotch. It grew exceedingly hard to wipe images of me, Justin, and a bed out of my mind as he carelessly rubbed my skin with his hands, his gaze on me as I stared at his face in deep concentration. I’m not usually one for sex fantasies at five in the afternoon, but hey, straddling Justin Timberlake in a skirt has proved to be the ultimate mind-boggler.
Once I was finished, I triumphantly threw the razor into the sink and wiped his face of any remaining shaving foam.
“See? Look how much better you look without a mammoth on your face!”
He smirks and runs a hand over the smooth skin. “I guess you’re right.” He shrugs nonchalantly.
Rolling my eyes, I turn to the mirror, running a hand through my hair. “It must be great to look in the mirror and know your reflection is drop dead gorgeous.”
“Well, you know that too,” he says, coming up behind me and slipping his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder.
Frowning at my appearance in the mirror, I shake my head. “Not really.” He glares and I immediately correct myself. “I mean, I know I’m not ugly. I’m just…nothing special, I guess. Not like you.”
“That’s bullshit, Cat,” he says sternly, still scowling at me. “How many times a day to I tell you how beautiful you are?”
“About ten,” I murmur sheepishly. And he does. Every morning, every night, every waking hour, I hear, ‘Cat, you’re so beautiful’ or ‘Cat, you know those other girls on TV don’t amount to anything compared to you’… He’s so thoughtful, and kind, and lovable, and sexy…
“So how many times have I got to say it until you believe me?” he says, almost angrily.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper timidly.
He sighs, and rests his forehead on my shoulder for a second. “I just hate to hear you say that stuff, Cat. It makes me feel like I’m doing badly in my job as a boyfriend.”
Turning around to him, I stroke his smooth cheek. “What do you mean, silly? You couldn’t do better if you tried.”
He shrugs and pulls me in for a hug, burying his face in my neck, which he always does when he wants comforting. “I should make you feel like the most amazing woman in the world, and I’m clearly not.”
“Justin, this has nothing to do with you. This is all about me and my crazy head.” My hands automatically rub his back soothingly, his hot breath tickling my neck.
“What can I do to make you feel beautiful?” he asks quietly, inadvertently causing my eyebrow to raise at his comment.
I could think of a few things…
Dear goodness, here we go again. All these unexpected lapses into sexual thoughts must stop immediately. All I need is a calendar of a half-dressed Pamela Anderson pinned on the back of my bedroom door and I’m a fully fledged teenage boy, for Christ’s sake.
“Nothing,” I reply, giving his back one last rub before pulling away from him. “Come on, let’s not talk about this any more.”
His hands stay on my hips, his eyes darkening. “Oh, I think there’s something,” he whispers, his voice lowering as his eyes take a dip down over my body. “I think there are a few things,” he says, grinning cockily.
Ah, it’s, ‘The Voice’.
People have little quirky, unique seduction techniques that they always pull when they want to get someone into bed. (Excluding me, of course. My one and only attempt to ‘seduce’ Justin ended proved to be a little less than successful. Who knew it was so easy to trip over one’s own feet?). I’ve accepted the fact I have no sexual prowess at all, so when I’m feeling bold enough to initiate sex, I go extremely shy and can’t touch nor look at Justin without blushing, until he catches on and leads me to the bedroom. It’s a wonderful, artful method. How can he not resist someone that goes beet red and mumbles something along the lines of, ‘There’s a bed upstairs, you know’?
But, of course, Justin Timberlake’s seduction technique is refined and smooth and fine tuned to a point where I am quite powerless against his urges. He lowers his voice, he starts staring at everything apart from my face, so yes, my chest, and then starts kissing this really sensitive point on my neck until I’m practically begging him to quit the goddamn teasing.
But he doesn’t always win, and he won’t today. Cat Saunders is not swayed by the simplest of touches, the tone of someone’s voice, or wandering hands. She has strength, willpower, resistance, and will not bow to--
“Oh Justin,” I moan, his lips grazing against the skin of my neck.
Screw willpower.
“Yes?” he says in the same husky, deep, quiet tone.
“Trace is just downstairs…” I mumble helplessly, feeling his hands glide up my shirt. “We’ve just left him alone…”
“He’s a big boy. He’ll be fine,” Justin mutters, his hands rubbing the small of my back, pulling me towards him. “And anyway, he left to see that girlfriend of his. We have the house all to ourselves…”
“But Justin…” I rue the day I met Justin and allowed my IQ to drop to the point where I can’t even complete sentences. I used to be a key debater, with a sparkling vocabulary, now I’m a whimpering, ‘Oh Justin’ mess.
“Don’t start, Miss Saunders,” he orders as my legs hit the base of the bed. Hold on, how did I get from over there to…over here?
I’m beginning to wonder whether I’m just fighting a losing battle.
“I’m not going to stop…” he presses his lips against my collarbone. “Until you know…” my body collapses onto the bed, and he climbs over me, his muscular figure hovering over my curvy one. “Just how beautiful…” His burning touch leaves a trail of tingling nerves as he stealthily slides his hand up my outer thigh. “You really are.”
My body helplessly relaxes into the plush sheets of Justin’s bed, any form of resistance well and truly shattered as his lips start their epic journey down my neck, over my stomach, and to the button of my skirt. He grins at me and eases the skirt off my hips, his self-satisfied smirk letting me know just how much he is enjoying the obligation that I gave him so easily. I would protest with some feminist crap, but the steady contact of his skin and mine seems to have knocked the breath out of me, or at least brought the functions of my brain to a terrific standstill.
He slowly…teasingly, in fact, the bastard…unbuttons my blouse, punctuating each open button with a kiss. He discards my top over his shoulder carelessly, quickly returning to me to skim his lips over mine.
“Feel beautiful yet?” he whispers, his hands encircling my waist.
“Not yet,” I reply coyly, reaching down to pull his sweater over his head, his heated skin warming my cold body.
He smiles at me as my hands explore the expanse of his back, feeling the muscles ripple with every movement he makes. A fluttery feeling of excitement grows in my stomach as his jeans become a distant memory on the floor beside my skirt and top.
His fingers start grappling at my bra as I mentally go over a hundred Cosmo articles about always wearing sexy lingerie in case you get caught in impromptu sex. Why didn’t I ever listen to them? Why did I pick today to wear the most boring, white, something-your-mom would wear underwear?
But he doesn’t say anything, and pretty soon, my mind couldn’t be further from my choice of underwear. My bra soon joins the every growing pile of our garments, and I gasp when his mouth comes into contact with my skin, pangs of pleasure shooting through my body. Reality slowly slips from my finger tips, no matter how hard I try and hold onto it, as his talented mouth works its wonders on my body.
“We’ve not even started yet,” he chuckles cockily, clearly finding my easily pleased nature amusing as he makes a wandering line of kisses down my stomach.
Why does arrogance have to be so attractive?
-------------------------------------------------------------
Giving is as good as receiving, okay? I’ve decided. Giving rocks.
Especially when the receiver keeps on gasping, and whimpering, and whispering my name, and biting her lip, and sighing contentedly every now and then.
Especially when the receiver is Cat.
Cat has a thing about sex. She hates to talk about it, she hates people knowing she’s having it, and sometimes I wonder whether she might even hate sex. It’s all down to this screwy mentality that she has that she’s not beautiful and her body is horrific, and I think that can get in the way of things sometimes. I realize a lot of women are like that, but Cat is so self-conscious low self esteem literally pours from her the first few times we have sex, or even just fooled around a little. She got nervous and it took time for her to relax, a problem we still have sometimes.
The sooner she realizes that different doesn’t necessarily mean worse, the better. Sure, her body isn’t like Britney’s, or any of the other women I’ve seen along the way, but it’s still beautiful. In some ways I prefer being with Cat than anyone else, because she’s …softer, and easier to cuddle. I always have this incredible urge to protect her when she drops the act and shows me just how scared of some things she is. I want to please her, to make her realize what a great thing sex is and it’s nothing to be ashamed about, and I think I’m slowly doing that.
We had been together for three months before she tentatively whispered something along the lines of, ‘You can stay in my room if you want’. I can’t tell you how much my heart leapt. I was curious, in a way, to see how she’d behave once the lights were out and the bedroom door was closed. The transformation from a seemingly confident, sarcastic Cat to this shy, nervous girl was quite astounding. I liked seeing an introverted side of Cat, it took the edge off her, but I’m glad to see she’s not as inhibited as she once was. She’ll always be gentle in bed, and she’ll never talk about it freely, but it’s a comfort to think I’ve pulled her out of the place where it was something that she couldn’t enjoy. Now, she doesn’t so much get jittery or nervous, she just seems amazed that it’s happening. As though this is the first meeting with pleasure she’s ever had.
I cannot tell you how good that feels.
Kneeling back slightly, I run my hands over the curves of her body, memorizing every inch of her, from the dip of her waist to the arch in her foot. She is beautiful, and I’m determined to make her see that too.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, fear suddenly pooling her eyes as she watches me examine her almost naked body. Instinctively, her arms cover her chest.
“Nothing, nothing,” I reply, gently grasping her wrists and pulling them away from her, feeling her body relax slightly. “I just can’t believe how beautiful you are.”
She tries to hide her pleased grin. “You’re going to be saying that all the time now, aren’t you?”
Chuckling slightly, I bend down to retrace my earlier kisses on her neck. “Yup.”
“Well, I don’t mind,” she says, wrapping her arms around my neck as I grind into her slightly. “Oh-oh,” she whimpers.
I smile at her gasps and press harder, peeking a glance at her swollen lips and flushed cheeks. I could go on forever, teasing her like this, chuckling at the wispy pants escaping her lips, but I know that wouldn’t be fair on either of us.
My fingers deftly work to remove our final items of clothing, sliding her underwear over her hips and off her body, leaving us both naked in front of each other. She shivers slightly as the cold air hits her skin, and I immediately pull the blankets over us, not missing the sneaky look she throws over my body. I actually feel strangely proud that I’m the only guy that makes her go weak at the knees, the only guy that can get away with saying cheesy things, the only guy that she loves.
I capture her lips with my own, giving her one breathless kiss after the other, as her hands lightly skim over my back, my neck, my hair, leaving tingling nerves in their wake. Her touch leaves this electric fire I didn’t know existed, and it takes every fiber in my body to not just slam into her to end the anticipation.
But I know she wouldn’t like that. She’s not used to aggressive, hot sex that I’ve participated in more times than I care to count. That was just screwing, that didn’t mean anything, but when I’m with Cat, it’s slow, and gentle, and patient. I’m in no rush, and neither is she. It’s our time, where our sole focus is each other, and everything else fades into oblivion. We can just close ourselves off from the world and its expectations, and just be with each other.
Smoothing the hair back from her face, I place one final kiss on her lips before slowly pushing myself inside of her, finally connecting our bodies in one unhurried, deliberate movement. She gasps and I hold perfectly still for a moment, allowing her to catch her breath as her eyes flutter close and she grips onto my back.
“Oh God,” she mutters, the words falling from her delicate lips as I begin to slowly ease in and out of her, my hands running over her body.
The room is silent except for the soft proclamations of love rolling off the edge of our tongues, sounding so easy and natural it surprises me. She clutches the sheets with one hand as the other clings desperately onto me, soft sighs and occasional moans being whispered in the darkness as I rock my body against hers, her soft flesh welcoming me with each thrust.
Time becomes insignificant as a haze takes over both of us, indescribable waves of pleasure crashing down upon us, our synchronized bodies moving as one to reach the ultimate goal. Her breathing quickens, her words become more urgent, and I begin to move faster, deeper, doing anything I can to get her to the place I know she wants to go.
“Justin,” she whispers breathlessly. “I love you.”
I rest my forehead against hers, trying to see through the blinding flashes of colors before my eyes. “I love you too.”
Her back arches and her body presses against mine, soft cries of bliss echoing in the room as I pause for a moment, before working towards my own peak.
Suddenly, I’m taken over by an inexpressible feeling. Nothing can capture the moment of intense pleasure as I glance down to see Cat staring up at me, her eyes wide with surprise from seeing the enjoyment she inflicted. I pant her name as she runs her hands over my body, murmuring sweet words as I slowly come down from my high, with her right there with me.
My body falls limply against hers, my head resting on her chest as she lovingly strokes my hair. There are so many things I could say, so many things I could do, but I don’t need to. The simplicity of the moment, with her fingers soothingly stroking my head and my hand idly rubbing her waist, makes it seem like a rare glimpse into heaven. No frills, no big bangs, just me and Cat.
I look up at her, smiling faintly.
“What is it?” she whispers, a soft, gentle, feminine tone that would surely ruin her hard ass image.
“Do you feel beautiful now?”
She laughs, her chest heaving up and down. “Very, thank you.”
Smiling, I rest my head against her chest again, the movements of her hand in my hair slowly sending me into a sleepy daze.
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