I’m holding the waistband of his pants like there’s a pot of gold tucked inside. Letting go, I shimmy back on the bed, giving him enough space to join me. It’s a king; there’s plenty of room for frolicking. His eyes are low-lidded, his expression intense as he follows after me.
Fumbling and uncoordinated thanks to my loss of fine-motor function, I struggle to pop the button on his pants and pull down the zipper. Alex watches my hand disappear inside. It has to look good from his point of view. How can it not? Someone else’s hand in your pants is a winner of a situation. Soft, hot skin encases the hardest dick on the planet. It’s as solid as tungsten carbide. And there’s a lot of length.
I need to take a look at this thing. I push his pants over his hips, giving me room to check things out. Alex, being the helpful guy he is, takes them off the rest of the way, leaving him in a pair of boxers. I stick my hand back in, and when I finally manage to wrestle it free, my eyes are at risk of popping out of my head in visual-stimulus-induced fear.
First things first, Alex manscapes: there’s no 70s style dick fro going on down there. He’s not quite like my beaver—she sports only a short Mohawk—but he’s neat and tightly trimmed. I know some guys do this to make it appear bigger. In this instance, I’m positive I’m not gawking at an optical illusion. It’s huge.
Sometimes people exaggerate how big a guy’s dick is to make it seem better than it is. Like it’s clearly impossible for someone’s dick to be that big. This isn’t one of those times. Alex Waters is an aberration of cock.
“What is that?” The question is inane. But, honestly, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?
Alex chuckles nervously. As is appropriate since I’m holding his dick and I’m clearly not sane.
“I mean, I know what it is. Obviously. Do you have some kind of . . . disorder? Like elephantiasis of the penis or something?” I did not say that out loud.
“It’s not that big.” His erection slides in my grip.
I can’t stop staring. My thumb and middle finger must have a good inch or more before they can meet. I squeeze to see if it helps bring them closer together. It doesn’t. What it does is make Alex groan, and that, oh holy monster of cock, is one hot noise. He’s also laughing, so it comes out all heavy with a snort thing at the end. It’s quite cute and endearing while also being sexy.
I finally look up to see if he’s serious. Bad idea. His arms are loose at his sides, head bowed, eyes dark, lips parted, chest rising and falling. He’s staring at my hand. I’m so glad Charlene convinced me to get a manicure earlier this week.
Licking my lips, I glance at his cock. He’s uncut. This is a night full of firsts. The way the skin wrinkles with each stroke toward the head and smoothes back out as I reverse the motion is entrancing. I bet it’s fun to play with when it’s soft. I remember he’s said something which requires a response.
“This is like a porno dick. I realize it’s not like a foot long or anything, thank Christ. The girth alone is staggering. There’s no way . . .” Have I been deprived of oxygen? Am I seriously coming up with arguments against having sex and voicing them?
Instead of stopping, I continue like the head-trauma victim I am. “It’s like a person who wears an extra-extra-large shirt trying to fit into an extra-small. What the hell do you think happens to the shirt? The seams split, and they burst out of it like the Hulk. I can’t even imagine the tragedy if my beaver exploded.”
Alex silences me with his mouth, and I am so, so grateful. I want to avoid saying more stupid shit, particularly to a guy I just met and am planning to have sex with.
“You know”—Alex shifts his hips forward again—“you’re pretty damn good for my ego. And the only kind of * explosions I’m hoping to cause are the ones associated with orgasms.” His voice travels over my skin like marshmallows drenched in hot chocolate syrup.
His palm covers mine and pries my hand away as he nudges my legs apart. “Is this okay?”
At my nod, Alex settles between my thighs. Only a thin, worn, cotton barrier in Spiderman print protects the land of Beave from invasion.
He claims my mouth again. Butter soft, his tongue tangles with mine, lazy and lulling. I let my hands wander from his shoulders and the broad expanse of his back to his rock-solid ass. I push down and lift my hips, and there it is—his monster of a cock.
I’m a panting, whimpering mess as I wrap my legs around his waist to pull him closer. I’m moderately terrified of his dimensions, but Alex distracts me with open-mouth kisses along my throat. He continues his descent to my breast.
I fist his hair and push my chest out. I’m not sure what purpose this serves. It’s not like he’ll be able to fit more boob into his mouth. He spends a few minutes loving them like they’re deluxe cheeseburgers after a night of binge drinking. All the while, I grind with him, lost in sensation and his little hums of approval.
Eventually, he releases my nipple and licks the tip. “You okay to keep going?”