“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” I whispered through the palpitating pain shooting through my groin.
“That’s not a good explanation.”
I exhaled. “Because I didn’t want you to turn me down.”
“Turn you—” he sputtered. “Why would I do that? Did you plan this?”
Since that first kiss. I nodded my head. Stenton blew out another breath. My legs still gripped his waist to hold him in place. He was still inside of me, throbbing. I was still in pain, impatiently waiting.
He’s going to stop this.
“I’m not your little sister, Stent. At least that’s not what I want to be anymore.”
His angry eyes were like a smack in the face. “Is that what you think you are to me?”
I nodded firmly.
He snorted and I saw a lewd flash in his eyes. “You’ve been a lot of fucking things in my mind since last summer; a little sister has never been one of them.”
Relief settled upon me like never before. Then I felt my panting return. My excitement resumed and determination reignited. But Stent was still motionless. I didn’t want to waste another moment. I felt stretched beyond capacity in my groin and even considerably pained, still I was ready to see this through, to give Stenton something from me that no one could take away from us, and I couldn’t get back.
I tried to wiggle in spite of the ripping sting below. Stent sucked in a breath and his eyes fluttered.
When they opened he muttered inches away from my nose, “Now, I’m going to finish this because you seem to be so damned determined for some foolish ass reason.” He rocked into me and my breath caught in my throat. I thought that was a bland reason, but wouldn’t dare utter a complaint. He reared slowly and pushed in again. I could hear a groan from the back of his throat. “And because your * is so snug and warm and creamy that I can’t stop.”
That was it. I leaped up, pulling him into my arms and began to rock with him through the pain. With each thrust the sting subsided. It took a minute or two, but he was eventually suctioning in and out of me with more ease. I started to feel the sweat on his arms and wiry back, his delicious scent blanketed me. Stenton lowered himself on his elbows, wedging my head into place and took my lips into his, wildly lashing through my mouth with hunger.
This was a different side. Here was a level of intimacy I quickly understood could only be experienced through sex. In this act, he was giving me a different passion than he gave on the court. His biggest fans would never experience the outpouring of his innermost like I was in that moment with him. This was a different greatness, and we were making it together.
Stenton’s moans grew to generous proportions. He was vulnerable, needy. His body rocked into me and several muscles held on to mine like he needed me. And that’s what I needed from him. I yearned to feel connected to him far beyond telephone conversations and text messages. I wanted a deeper bond. An exclusive attachment to him. I wanted inside of his very being, even if that meant allowing him inside of me.
Wracked with pain from rubber rubbing against my rawness, I felt pleasure like nothing that was described by any of my peers who shared their sexual experiences with me. As we smacked into each other, the world turned off and an exclusive piece of Stenton came alive inside of me. Our heads lay side by side as his hips rolled over mine, in between my quivering thighs. His ragged breathing into the side of my face as my lips literally touched his ear. In no time, Stenton’s pants grew violent and uneven.
“I can’t hold out,” he cried desperately.
I didn’t know what that meant. It made me a tad nervous. The only thing that didn’t have me leaping from underneath him was that he was inside of me, and whatever it was causing this urgency in his body had emerged from our actions.