Her musk was strong and fresh as he put his mouth between those widely spread legs and began to lick at her vaginal lips. When he began plunging his tongue in and out of her the sounds she had been making changed from utterances that sounded suspiciously contrived to deep, spontaneous moans of passion and lust. He began to lick at her swollen clitoris while plunging two fingers in and out of her tight vagina. Her moans became louder and her pelvis began to rise and fall on the bed. When he began sucking the clitoris, treating it like a small nipple, she screamed out her pleasure and began to buck up and down. Her orgasm blasted out of her with a force Jake had not expected. She nearly strangled him with her legs as she shouted out obscenities. Jake had no idea that he was the first man to ever lick her down there for more than two minutes, the first man to ever lick her clitoris at all, and that the orgasm he'd sucked from her body was the first she'd ever had that had been produced by anything other than her own fingers.
"Oh my God, Jake," she panted when he raised his face from between her legs. "That was... that was... God."
"I'm glad you liked it," he said mildly, planting a little kiss right in the middle of her blonde bush.
"Come up and do it to me now," she said. "I'm ready."
"Not yet," he said. "I haven't finished my dinner yet."
"Huh?" she asked. "You mean... you want to do that... again?"
He licked his lips. "Yeah," he said, putting his head back down. It was another twenty minutes and three orgasms before he brought it back up.
She held her legs widely open as he brought himself up into the standard missionary mounting position. Her hands were everywhere, touching his stomach, his chest, his thighs, his penis. "Come on," she said. "Do it to me, Jake! Fuck me!"
"I intend to," he said, leaning over toward the nightstand next to the bed and pulling open the drawer.
"What are you doing?" she asked, feeling his ass cheeks now.
"Just getting a rubber," he said.
"A rubber? You don't need one of those. I'm on the pill."
"I know," he said, giving his standard answer. "It's more for your protection than mine."
"Huh?" she said, confused.
"I have a clean bill of health," he said, "but I have been with... you know... some women of questionable standards in the past. It would just make me feel better if we used protection."
"Oh... I see," she said, her face falling a little.
He pulled a condom from the drawer and quickly removed it from its packaging. He rolled it expertly into place. He then leaned down and kissed her. "Don't be mad," he said. "It's just a condom."
"I'm not mad," she told him, kissing him back.
He put himself inside of her and began to move, thrusting in and out of her tightness, utilizing every move he'd ever come up with to give her pleasure. And pleasure was just what she got. She came three more times — each more powerful than the one before — before he let himself go and sprayed his semen into the reservoir tip of the unlubricated condom.
"Wow, Jake," she said, her body covered with sweat, her pale skin flushed. "I've never had sex like that before."
"Then you've never had sex," Jake told her with a smile. He stood up.
"Where are you going?" she asked. "Don't you want to snuggle with me?"
"I'll be right back," he said, "and then we'll snuggle all night if you want."
Before she could say anything else he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He removed the condom carefully and tied a knot in the end of it, keeping anything from spilling out. He dropped it in the toilet, urinated, and then flushed everything away. He then took a washrag from a drawer next to the sink, wet it, and cleansed all of the lingering semen from his penis, even going so far as to squeeze it and make sure every last drop had come out.
He hardly even thought about what he was doing, the precautions against having any of his sperm get into his partner's body — either by accident or design — was so ingrained in him by this point in his life.
He went back to the bedroom and crawled under the covers, putting his naked body next to Rachel's. He went almost immediately to sleep. Rachel lay awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling, occasionally tossing and turning. She had never spent the night in a man's bed before and was not used to it.
On March 2 the escrow on Jake's new house closed and he was given the keys. When he arrived there just before noon he found several dozen picketers from the homeowner's association holding up signs and several news crews who were covering the event.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he mumbled as they filmed him stepping out of his Corvette and as the picketers began to chant "Live somewhere else, live somewhere else!" at the top of their lungs.
He ignored them as best he could and used the keys to enter the house that was now officially his, that had been recorded in the Los Angeles County hall of records as belonging to Jake Kingsley. Soon the mortgage payments would begin to arrive at the offices of Yamashito, Yamashito, and Yamashito and Jill would pay the Third Bank of Orange County $4,400.50 per month plus $3375 ever three months for property taxes plus a yearly homeowners insurance premium of $950 out of his accounts.
Jake's furniture and other belonging from his condo arrived in a moving truck less than an hour later. As the team of movers began to bring things inside his every possession was filmed and documented by the news crews outside. By the time they'd finished up two of the reporters even tried to interview the movers themselves to question them about some of the more personal items they might have seen amidst Jake Kingsley's possessions. As they'd been instructed by both Jake and the owner of their company (a man who'd moved Jake twice before and who had collected nearly twice his normal rate for this particular job) they kept their friggin mouths shut, saying nothing but "no comment" whenever they were asked. When they left Jake tipped each of them one hundred dollars.
Rachel arrived shortly after four o'clock. Her classes at UCLA were done for the day and, thanks to the increased business her mother's restaurant was doing now that it was famous, she no longer had to work as a waitress very often. She too had to run the gauntlet of reporters and protestors in order to get inside. She was very nearly in tears as she sat down at Jake's dining room table and swallowed the stiff drink he'd made for her.
"One of those assholes out there called me 'the wife of the anti-Christ!" she said. "They don't even know me! How can they stand out in front of your house and yell at your guests like that, Jake? Can't you call the cops on them?"
"It wouldn't do any good," Jake said. "They're not breaking the law. They're standing on a public sidewalk and exercising their First Amendment rights to free speech and assembly. If they're still doing it after ten o'clock tonight, I can call the cops on them for disturbing the peace, but they're pretty much free to picket all they want until then."
"It's just not right," she said. "Sometimes the First Amendment lets people get away with too much."
"Well, that's what the bible thumpers were saying about me in Cincinnati," he said. "I'm sure they'll go away eventually."
He was right. Jake and Rachel spent the next three hours putting away dishes and silverware and clothes and a hundred other belongings. Jake explained to her about the new furniture he was going to buy to go with his new house and showed her where we was going to put it. He offered to let her help with the interior design and soon she was throwing around suggestions as well.
They forgot about the protestors outside and, at around six o'clock, they decided to break in the new bedroom with a lengthy sex session upon his bed.