“Not yet,” he said, straddling her hips again.
On the surface the massage was just that, pampering the muscles holding collarbone to shoulder, rib cage to spine. Except for the moments when he massaged her breasts, oiled up her nipples. Except for the tight possessiveness of his hands as he pushed his thumbs into her hip crests, opening her pelvis with each strong touch, reminding her of the hollow ache inside her. She was moaning softly by the time he reached her quads, restlessly pulling her calves away from his hands, shamelessly spreading her legs.
He laughed, low and dark. “Do you think you’re ready for me?”
Like he didn’t know, like they both didn’t know the answer to that question. “Come here and find out,” she said, crooking her finger at him.
He crawled up between her legs, spreading her with his knees, caging her with his hands braced on either side of her shoulders. He peered down into her face.
“Like this,” she said, and reached for the button of his jeans. Trapping her under him, he let her work his jeans low on his hips and get him out. “No,” she said when he reached for the top drawer in her nightstand. She gripped his cock and pulled him toward her, too shy to say what she wanted. “Like this.”
Once he figured out what she meant, he shoved off his jeans with alacrity and straddled her ribcage. She smeared the precome around the tip of his shaft with her thumb as he pushed her breasts together, then guided his cock into the channel between them.
They both moaned at the first slick glide into oil-sheened skin. “Fuck,” he said, and did it again. “Charlie. Yes. Fuck.”
His balls, tight and high against the base of his shaft, brushed her breastbone with every stroke. She watched his face as he got lost in it, a flush darkening high on his cheekbones as he stared down at the erotic sight.
“Here. You do this,” and guided his hands to her breasts so she could palm his fine, firm ass and pull him into each stroke. He groaned, raw and hot, and picked up his pace, giving a choked shout when she lifted her head and licked the tip of his cock the next time it popped free of the tight channel between her breasts.
“You can finish like that,” she said, looking up at him. “If you want.”
He stared at her, obviously stupid with lust at the moment, then pulled back to sprawl over her, trapping his cock against her belly. “No,” he said, and kissed her, unapologetic and demanding. “Want to be inside you.”
She opened her mouth to him, letting him taste the fading musky salt of his precome while their oiled bellies slid hotly together. “Now’s good,” she said. “Now is really good.”
He was so close to her slick sex, and for the first time in her life she understood the primitive, bodily demand for now, bare, yes. A couple of inches lower, an opportunistic cant to his hips, and he’d be inside her the way she wanted him inside her. Before she knew what her body was doing, she’d angled her knee and dug her heel into the back of her thigh.
“I want that, too, but not yet, not yet, it’s not…” he groaned and pushed away, showing her exactly how much stronger he was, and scrabbled in the nightstand.
“You make me want things I can’t have,” she whispered as his slick fingers grappled with the condom wrapper.
“We can have whatever we want,” he said, his gaze hot and dark above her.
She liked the sentiment, even if it was a pipe dream, and especially liked the dangerous thrill it sparked inside her, so she took pity on him and opened the condom wrapper herself and rolled it down his shaft, taking extra care to tease him a little, smooth her hand down the straining flesh, caress the sweet spot behind his testicles as she did. A muscle in his cheek twitched and his cock flexed in her hand as he leaned forward and nuzzled against her ear, her cheek, her open mouth. She got the condom on by feel, the emptiness inside her growing more hollow by the second.
His skin as slick as hers, he shifted between her thighs, then laced their fingers together and nudged his way inside her. He bore most of his weight on his knees and forearms and kept his head lifted, watching her face as he took possession of her body.
“Look at me,” he murmured when her eyelids drifted down. “Charlie. Look at me.”
Her heart climbed into her throat as she obeyed, swamped with swirling emotion. Desire. Vulnerability. Fear. Joy. She looked at him, both desperately afraid he would see what she felt, understand it, and just as desperately afraid he wouldn’t. Hot tears stung her eyes, collected in the corners, but didn’t trickle down her temples.
He stopped. “Does it hurt? We’ve been at it like…”
Like we’re kids. Except they didn’t do this when they were kids, and now they were making up for lost time. While her body didn’t hurt, her heart ached, but she was barely able to articulate her feelings when she wasn’t naked, slack from a full body massage and yet thrumming with tension.