Alex and Josie from It's Complicated

A tiny taste:

And then he asked, “Is Josie short for Josephine?”

Another preliminary to get out of the way. Names. “Yes. Josephine Elizabeth Mendham.”

His smile lit up the room. And her heart. He bowed slightly, a joking move, and said, “Alexander Edward Derjian. At your service.”

That name rang a bell, but before she could think twice his arms slipped around her waist, one hand setting down his wine glass and then carefully prying hers from her own hand, his fingers so gentle and facile on the stem that she swooned. Surgeon's hands. Long fingers. Oh, what could those do to parts of her that cried out for heat and touch and more?

She was about to find out.

“Alex, I – ” His fingers, achingly soft, landed on her lips, silencing her, while his other arm snaked about her waist, hand splayed against the middle of her back where her shoulder blades met.

“Let me speak first, Ms. Josephine Elizabeth Mendham.” The roll of her full name off his tongue sent her knees into a weak state, thighs humming and her breathing becoming a bit labored with lust. Matter had changed. The blend of oxygen, hydrogen and nitrogen must have been altered, the formula now thick with a new element, one of luscious, unqualified want.

His hair slid over his forehead, the brown waves out of place and damn near perfect, the wide cheekbones and bright eyes competing for her attention with his fingers, which now played with her lower lip, rolling it out until the wet flesh of her mouth made his fingerpad slide down, touching her chin.

“I said the other day that this isn't just about sex,” he continued.

“I know – ” Now he pressed his middle three fingers against her mouth, harder. She moaned involuntarily, her hard swallow and slow, long inhale the only way to hold back from coming right there in his arms in full view of the damn cat, who had now decided to pause and stare lazily at the humans, as if watching prey.

“I know you think you know.” Alex pivoted and grabbed a kitchen chair with the hand that wasn't making love to her mouth, sitting down and pulling her into his lap, the brush of her pants against his trousers, the feel of his hardness under her ass making her center swell, her throat tighten with need, and her mouth seek his.

A smile tickled his lips as he stroked her hip, running one wide palm down her thigh. This was a man who enjoyed touching women, sending a thrill of damn near everything through her, as if what she had thought was an isolated, insular act – making love – was instead a blanket that covered her entire world. Instead of separating and compartmentalizing – This is sex time. This is lunch time. This is work time. – he made it seem, in this split-second, that it could all be integrated into This is life.

“I need to make sure you know, Josie. This is me telling you so. But first, I want to make love with you, because no matter how many times I tell myself this isn't only about sex, and that I don't want to scare you off by making you think I think it's only about sex, all I can think about is getting you stripped bare and using my hands and tongue and,” he shifted, making it obvious which other part of his body he wished to use, “to make you cry out my name like it's the only word left in your mind.”

Josie had no words. She couldn't even try to speak.

“And then we'll work on the rest of the getting to know each other stuff, like your cat's name, and – ”

Sweetly, with an exquisite motion that took time and broke it into little slivers of awareness, she rose up in his lap, wrapping her legs about his waist on the chair, the rasp of cloth against cloth a friction that set her entire body into a buzz. One finger traced a lazy path from his eyebrow down his face, the aroma of his cologne infusing her as she let all her senses come forth and accept this as it blossomed, time changing in the air between them. The sight of her skin against his, how his eyebrow raised with a questioning look, how his eyes told her more in an unspoken language than every person who had said words to her over an accumulated lifetime could possibly have communicated.

The brush of her fingertips against his freshly-shaved chin and the taste of his jawline as she leaned down to kiss it mingled with the sounds of kids and parents cheering across the street, blending with blues melodies that poured out of the speakers in her bedroom. What had felt like a nervous rush since the second she'd met him in the hospital last week turned on a dime, his strong, smooth hands now caressing the nape of her neck, his abs brushing against hers, their bodies seeking to fit into each other just right as their tongues found each other, a savored entwining that she deliberately drew out, as if to tell him in tender flesh that this now was not measured in seconds or minutes or hours.

It had its own timeline.

“Cats,” she said slowly against his mouth. “I have two. One hides nonstop, but the other is Dotty.”

“Dotty,” he murmured.

“Yes. Dotty and Crackhead.”

“Crackhead?” he sputtered, wiggling his hips just enough so that she could have dry humped him and walked away with one of the best orgasms ever. It was, however, in her best interests to stick around and go for the more mature climactic approach. The way he moved juuuust enough to set her right on top of his erection told her he was thinking the same thought. Her lust twin.

How convenient.

“Now that you know their names,” she whispered against his mouth, “are we done with all the 'not sex' parts, and can we move to the 'sex parts'?”

“I like your sex parts,” Alex sighed, sliding one hand up to cup her breast, the nipple responding to his touch.

Her hand found his erection easily, though it was blocked by clothing. “I'd like yours more if I could see them,” she teased.

“At your service, Ms. Josephine.” Nearly falling to the ground as he stood, Josie found herself the only customer at a private strip tease as Alex unceremoniously unbuttoned his shirt, his fingers so precise and efficient in the unbuttoning. As the shirt hung open at the chest while he twisted his wrists to unbutton the cuffs, she realized she'd only caught glimpses of his nakedness in the handful of romps they'd had, all illicit moments stolen in an on-call room, an outdoor trail, an elevator.

Time for the big unveiling.

Big.

* * *

Alex couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much fun getting naked for a woman. Toppling Josie out of his lap had been tough, but necessary, if it meant he could take the lead and show her what “sex parts” really meant.

You want 'em? You got 'em.

She joined in, to his delight, matching him clothing piece for clothing piece, as if they were playing strip poker without any cards. The cat – was it Dotty or Crackhead? – sniffed with pretentious condescension and headed for the living room.

Good. The only audience he wanted was Josie.

As he slid his shirt off and slung it over the back of a kitchen chair, she reached down with both hands and pulled her knit top off in one intensely erotic motion, throwing the light piece of cloth onto a little bench behind her. The lilac silken bra underneath was so feminine, so achingly delicate, that he wanted to take it off her with a savage grace. Holding himself back, he took her in with his eyes while she returned the favor.

They both seemed to like what they saw.

He nodded. “Go ahead.”

She frowned, hands on hips now. “Go ahead what?”

“The bra.” He stood before her, shirtless, filled with a thrumming that blocked out the rest of the world.

“What about the bra?” she asked, looking down at it. 

“You need to take it off or I'll rip it off with my teeth.”

“You can't!”

“I have very strong teeth.”