He moaned and started moving his finger, pulling it out slightly then moving it back in again, though not as deep this time. “Just tell me if you’re not ready, okay? I just want to feel you with my finger. I just want to push in a little deeper, okay?”
I was not ready, but I found myself saying, ”Okay.”
He pushed it deeper until he’d reached that spot, and he was hitting against a small barrier and the pain thrummed inside of me again. He moved his finger lightly from side to side, feeling at it, exploring me without delving any deeper.
I was sure we’d gone farther than I was ready for, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop him.
The desperate noises he was making as he felt me for the first time were intoxicating.
I’d have given myself to him right then just to keep him in that state.
For love. For passion. For calculation. Take your pick. Each one applied.
He started thrusting in and out, in and out, stopping just shy of the barrier, but it wasn’t the best angle with how his hand was placed and after a few frustrating minutes, he pulled it out with a curse.
He panted on top of me, fists on each side of my face keeping him aloft.
Watching his pained face, I reached down and felt him through his jeans.
I’d never seen it before, but the shape of him even through his clothes fascinated me. He was so hard and there was so much of him straining to get out. I rubbed at him earnestly, learning his shape, squeezing and pulling at him through the stiff material.
Abruptly, cursing, he sprang off me and was gone, down the hall and in the bathroom with the door closed.
I stood up and followed him, not bothering to put my shirt or bra back on.
I listened at the door for one beat, two, and realizing he wasn’t going to the bathroom, I slowly opened the door.
He was at the sink, one hand braced on the wall.
He had his jeans unzipped and pulled down far enough to bare his thick, naked sex, and he had it in his hand and was frantically stroking it, yanking it hard enough that it looked like he was hurting himself.
His eyes snapped open, and he stared at me like a deer caught in headlights. Then his eyes shifted down to my breasts, and he started jerking faster.
I bit my lip, stepped inside, and shut the door behind me.
He pinned me against it and started kissing me, grabbing my hand and pushing his cock into my palm.
There was lotion by the sink, and he pulled back briefly to squirt some into my hand before he brought it back to his straining sex and started jerking himself off with both of our hands.
I tried to keep up, but I was clumsy with inexperience.
Still, it didn’t take much before he was finishing, just a few hard, long, fast motions before warm wetness was shooting out of his tip and against my naked naval.
I loved it, loved the look of madness in his eyes. Reluctantly I let go of his twitching member to put my arms around his neck and rub against him.
With a groan, he rubbed back, his hardness still spurting liquid onto my belly as he palmed my breasts and took my mouth.
Eventually he pulled back to look at me. “Did I freak you out too much?” he asked, studying my face intently.
I pulled back slightly and looked pointedly down. My hand went to touch him. He wasn’t as hard now, but he wasn’t soft either and I started playing with him.
He moaned and cursed, then started praising, growing harder by the second in my curious hand.
“No,” I finally answered. “Actually I think I’m becoming obsessed.” I squeezed his tip experimentally. “With this.”
“Let’s go to your room,” he murmured thickly, hands still at my breasts, kneading. I swear he’d have played with them every hour of the day if it were possible. He was at least as obsessed with those as I was with his newly discovered sex.
I was intimidated but I didn’t protest. I needed something more. More touching. More of his naked skin on my naked skin. Something. Anything. I couldn’t have walked away then if I tried.
When we got into my room, he moved to the foot of my bed. His jeans were still undone, but he’d tucked himself away, and as I watched, he zipped and buttoned them closed. After seeing him bare, I wondered how he even fit into his pants.
“Take off your shorts,” he told me softly, eyes on my large, trembling breasts. “And come here.”
I tried to do both at the same time, fumbling at the button of my cutoffs and moving to stand between his sprawling legs.
With a moan he started sucking at one of my nipples, his hands going to help me.
“I’m not ready to go all the way,” I told him breathlessly. I didn’t want him to think I was a tease.
Well, at least not a tease that wasn’t being honest with him.
“I know, angel,” he said with his lips still on me. “I just want to touch you, okay? I want to take care of you like you took care of me.”
I moaned and wiggled out of my shorts, but I left my panties on because I couldn’t imagine getting naked in front of him just like that.
He left them on, his fingers playing with my sex first over the material, and then he was pulling it aside and pushing into me.
I gasped. It was such a shocking sensation that I couldn’t imagine ever getting used to it.
He didn’t seem to notice my reluctance, his whole being concentrated on feeling me with his fingers.
“Jesus, you’re so wet,” he groaned into my chest.
My knees were going weak as what he was doing to me started an ache inside of me that I didn’t know how to relieve.
“I want to lie down,” I told him.
He moaned and I crawled onto the bed. When I was on my back, he started pulling down my panties.
I stopped him, I don’t even know why, instinctually, I suppose, but he just paused, bent, and started sucking on my nipple, then began to pull them down again.
When he had me completely naked, he sat up at my hip and started playing with me again, his eyes intent on what he was doing.
I squirmed. I needed something, I wasn’t sure what, but he wasn’t doing it. He was jerking his finger in and out of me, his breath ragged, his eyes looking like he was about to lose it again.
“It’s too much,” I told him. “The pressure’s too much.”
His hand froze. “What should I do?” he asked, looking as lost as I was.
“It just . . . hurts. Your finger’s too big.”
He looked horrified. “My finger’s too big?”
I thought about this. “That’s never going to fit inside of me.”
Something happened to his face, it fell and lifted as a shudder wracked through him. “Jesus.” He pulled his finger out of me with a curse. “Fuck. I need to go to the bathroom again.”
I sat up and stayed him with my hand. “Don’t. Stay here. I want to see.”
“I don’t want to freak you out.”
“Do you do that every time after we . . . make out and stuff?”
His mouth twisted into a sheepish smile, and he couldn’t look me in the eye. “Every time. At least once. Hell, at least twice.”
My eyes widened. “How long’s that been going on?”
“You don’t even want to know.”
I kind of did, but I dropped it as his hands went to the button of his pants.
“What should I do?” I asked him as he rose and shed his jeans.
He tilted his head down to give me an amused look. “Honestly? You could do anything and it’d work for me. Just sit there and watch me if you want.”
I shook my head. He wasn’t getting it. “I want to do it. I want to get you off myself.”
His eyes closed and his head fell back. “Jesus. You’re going to kill me today, aren’t you?”
I grinned. It was like nothing else, the power I felt at how desperately he wanted me.