We’ve done this before, but it feels more intimate now. Maybe it’s because the room is brighter with the twinkle lights so we can see more of each other, or maybe because we’ve told each other how we feel.
Then he licks me, and any self-consciousness flies out of my head. One long, smooth lick at my center, and my hips shoot up. It’s wet and decadent and, God, so good.
He licks me slow and languorous, as if he wants to savor each drop. He teases me, tortures me. I lose any sense of myself, any shame or fear or insecurity until I finally explode. He rides my orgasm, raining soft licks and kisses down on me until the aftershocks fade and I’m a boneless, satisfied mess.
I sigh when I can draw breath, feeling shy again. “That’s… Yeah. Wow,” I say. He fried my brain.
“We’ll be doing it often, because I can’t get enough of you.” He brushes my hair back from my face. I look at him, at the need in his eyes. I realize again how one-sided this is. I want him as wild as I just was.
My hand shifts down. I feel just boxers. Sometime, during all that, he took his jeans off. I push his underwear down, and he kicks them off. We’re both naked now. I grasp him and have evidence that he did, indeed, like going down on me. I rub the moisture I find at his tip, and he draws in a breath.
I play with him, exploring the satin-smooth hardness, exploring his shape, texture. He gives himself over to me, and I revel in it. He’s big, worryingly big, and now that it’s about to happen, I’m not sure how it’s possible for us to fit together, but I’m willing to give it a try.
It’s my turn to lean over him, and I kiss down his ripped stomach. I recall how he’d kissed my soft belly, but his body is so different from mine; where I’m soft, he’s hard. I count his abs. A six-pack has nothing on him. His dick is standing at attention for me, and I give him a lick. He jerks like I jolted him with electricity. I draw back. “I’m sorry, did that hurt?”
He laughs, a deep, husky sound. “It felt too good.”
“There’s no such thing as too good.”
“There is, if you want me to last. I’ve been dreaming about this forever.”
I smile. I’m glad it’s something we’ve both wanted, both dreamed about.
“Hush, I’m concentrating.” I taste him again. Excitement thrums through me. This gorgeous man who’s wanted by millions is laid out before me, all mine.
“I still don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit.
“You’re a natural,” he rasps out and then moans as I sink my mouth down on him, taking him to the back of my throat. He’s too large to take him all in at once, so I settle a hand at his base and let instinct take over, listening to his response, going slow and fast, experimenting like he’s my favorite science project. Just as I find a rhythm that drives him mad, he pulls me away.
“Enough. You’re killing me. And I don’t want this to end before it begins.”
“I think we already began,” I say. I lick my lips, savoring him on me, and he makes a guttural sound.
I watch him with wicked merriment, feeling proud of myself and a little relieved. I’ve had a niggling worry that I wouldn’t be enough for him—not experienced enough, not sexy enough, not naughty enough. That I was too much of a good girl.
But I’m realizing that I am enough. I love every part of him and want to make him happy and satisfied, and he wants the same for me. It’s about our connection, not fancy tricks. We’ll learn and teach each other all we need to know together.
He reaches down and strokes me, and I moan.
“God, you’re wet.”
He rubs me until I’m wild for him again, dipping a finger in, then two, stretching me as my hips follow his rhythm, drawing in and out.
He stops and I whimper. His half-grin is sexy and full of promise as he reaches for his jeans and pulls out a condom.
“So, you planned this. Is this a booty call?” I tease.
“If by planned, you mean hoped and prayed and begged God, then yes.”
I feel him between us, putting on the condom.
And then he’s there, at my entrance. Our eyes meet. He’s serious, almost reverent. There’s a question in his eyes.
“I want you to be my first,” I assure him. I want him to be my last, as well, but I’m not sure if we’re ready to say that.
“I love you, Olivia Evans.”
“I love you,” I whisper. Tears pool in my eyes. I’ve felt so alone. And now I’m not.
“Hey, don’t cry.”
“They’re good tears. Does it seem too fast to feel this much?” I ask.
“It’s not fast, Typewriter Girl,” he says.
And then he’s pushing. There’s pressure and tightness and a tearing burn, and he’s there inside me, filling me, and despite any lingering pain, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
I’m full of him as our bodies mate and our mouths meld and our hands are everywhere. I’m drowning in Chase and he’s drowning in me until we’re no longer separate anymore, until we become one.
He sets a slow and steady pace that has me crazy. My body has mostly adjusted to the fullness. The pleasure-pain of it makes me cry out as he draws in and out, driving me mad. He adjusts his hips in a way that hits something in me, something that makes me gasp.
“More. Just like that,” I order. And he does.
He reaches between us and rubs my most sensitive spot, and the sensations, the friction, are all too much. “Come for me, Olivia.” His command is dragged out of him. “Come because I can’t last much longer.”
It’s his rhythm, his restraint, his desperation that pull me over the edge, and I reach that peak again, feeling it everywhere this time, inside and out. My body’s climax sets him off, and he drives deeper into me until he stills.
Our eyes lock, bodies entwined, as we fall over the precipice together.
I come back to reality first.
I did it.
We did it.
I’m no longer a virgin.
And even more important, Chase is in my body and my heart.
I close my eyes, savoring the satisfied languor in my limbs, even savoring the full soreness between my legs, knowing I feel it because the man I love was there.
Yep. Falling in love makes me a sappy dork.
“Hey.” Chase kisses my shoulder and brushes my hair out of my face. I pop my eyes open to see him smiling above me. He looks younger, happier than I’ve ever seen before. I’ve done that. Me! And I’m awed all over again.
“Hey,” I say.
“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“I’m more than okay.”
“Did you like it?” he asks uncertainly, which only makes me fall in love with him more.
I laugh. “You mean you couldn’t tell?”
He gives me that slow smile I love. “Well, it seemed like you enjoyed yourself, but I don’t want to presume. It’s supposed to be painful, isn’t it?”
I can’t believe we’re talking about this. “It was a little when you… But then you… And then it was incredible.” I shrug. I’ll let him fill in the blanks.
“You’re adorable.”
“You’re hot as hell.”
“You’re that as well. And so damn pretty. You don’t know what these big gray eyes do to me.” He strokes a finger over my eyelashes. “Or these lips.” He draws his finger down my face to settle on my lips. “Or your incredible tits.” His finger follows the line of my neck and chest to circle my nipple. “I could spend forever worshipping them.”
I wriggle a little, unable to believe I’m turned on again. He looks up at me, his eyes hot. It’s as if he can read my mind and feel my growing excitement.
His hand glides down to my clit and finds it, circles it once, then twice. I draw in a breath and raise my hips to his hand.
“How sore are you?” he asks.
“Don’t worry about that,” I say.
“Hold that thought.” He jumps up and struts to the bathroom. I admire the view. He comes back a few minutes later, still unapologetically naked. He’s big all over, with hard, rangy muscles, his body moving with unconscious, lithe grace. And he’s mine.
He has a wet washcloth.
I covered myself with the white sheet for modesty’s sake. He rips off the sheet, eyes raking over my nakedness, and then he touches me with the warm, damp cloth, gently wiping away any traces of blood there.
“We won’t make love again,” he says with authority.
I cock my head. “Ever?”