Lube? Did people actually use lube? Abilene never had, ever in her life. Her very first lover had made it clear, if a woman wasn’t wet, it was about the worst insult you could deal to a man’s ego. James had always done the job with his spit, and she’d found that scandalous—felt ashamed that she’d needed it, but also relieved that he’d bothered to care.
“What?” Casey asked, smiling at whatever upended expression she was wearing.
“That’s not . . . Do people do that? Just use that stuff?”
He laughed. “Lube? Yeah, of course. How else do you have sex in a big messy rush?”
She wasn’t sure. Sometimes it was just uncomfortable, she’d figured. She’d always blamed herself for those times.
“Have you seriously never used lube?”
“No. Doesn’t it . . . I dunno. Hurt your feelings?”
He snorted. “What kind of an asshole has the nerve to get his feelings hurt when he’s about to get laid?”
Most of my exes, probably. She supposed it stood to reason, when you played the apologetic, deferring vessel, you attracted men who were content to treat you that way.
“The bottle’s in the drawer,” Casey said, nodding to the table.
She found it, messed around with the safety seal, recapped it. “How much do you . . .”
Casey took it, squirted a small shining blob on his fingers. She watched with fascination and excitement as he slicked his cock. Crazy. All this time, she’d assumed this was the woman’s responsibility.
“Here.” He wetted his fingers again and reached down between her legs, gently stroking the cool gel along her lips. Her breath drew short, from both the sensation and the brazenness of it.
Casey laughed softly, capped the bottle and tossed it aside. “Hope you don’t think we’re cheating somehow,” he teased.
Maybe a little, but really, that was her first lover’s voice, echoing from the back of her mind. She’d much prefer to listen to Casey’s, which seemed to be telling her this was completely normal.
“Lay down a sec,” he whispered. She did, and he moved to kneeling, straddling her leg, fingers returning to her sex to trace her now-slick seam with slow, light motions. “Feel all right?”
She nodded, all at once flushed and breathless. She’d never been touched like this, with such patience and reverence and curiosity. Her pleasure wasn’t lost on him. He lowered, coming closer, bracing himself on one arm and casting her in a thrilling shadow. She could feel the heat coming off him in waves and memorized the flex of his arm as he touched her, the expression on his face, the promise of his ready cock.
“Could you . . . You know, inside me,” she mumbled. A clumsy sort of request, but the fact that she was directing at all was miraculous.
“With my fingers?”
“Yeah.”
He gave her two, slow and smooth, and her mouth dropped open.
He studied her face as his fingers worked, lust blazing in those blue eyes. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
“Just about how good that feels.”
He added his ring finger, the penetration changing, heightening. His name fell from her lips.
“You want me to make you come?”
And she knew he could. Knew it as a natural fact. But she wasn’t ready for this hunger to be over. She wanted to still be feeling all of this as he sank inside her. “Not this way, not yet. I want to feel you, first.”
His hand slowed, then withdrew, and he knelt beside her. “C’mon.” He urged her to him by the waist. One of his hands was slippery, the detail feeling dirty and exciting and new. She came close to straddle his hips, lifted up, and he held his cock steady as she eased down.
“Oh.” The sensation was potent, this way. Obscene and a little intimidating, with her on top, and the friction all smoothed away.
“All right?”
“Yeah.” She found the right angle, and with a slow, steady push she was seated tight against him. She could feel him inside, thrumming faintly.