I don’t know if it was my words or the moan that escaped me when his thumb brushed my nipple, but something in him switched. There was no longer a trace of vulnerability within him when he slid his hands up my sides, pushing my shirt up and over my head.
I stood there in nothing but a pair of his boxer shorts, my naked breasts only inches in front of him. I started to cover them, but he held on to my hands, not forceful but gentle because he knew. He knew I’d want to cover my body, this part of me that no other man had seen before him. And even though my pulse raced when his eyes lowered, taking me in for the first time, I knew I trusted him. Because he’d done nothing but make me feel safe from the moment he saw me. So when he leaned forward, his wet lips parting as he glanced up at me through his thick, dark lashes, I released all prior insecurities and let him do what he thought he needed to do.
What he was best at.
I let him take care of me.
The warmth of his mouth covered my nipple, and my back arched involuntarily, my fingers gripping his hair. He moaned against me, the vibrations pulsing through my skin, through my veins, directly to my core. My body was on fire, my muscles weak beneath his touch. He must have sensed it. Felt it somehow. Because he wrapped an arm around my waist, his mouth still around my breast as he lifted me slightly, his other hand grasping my thigh. He settled me back down on his lap, his mouth switching to my other breast while his hand flattened against the small of my back, fingers splayed as he pulled me closer to him.
I could feel his hardness pressed against his slacks, rubbing against my center while his tongue circled agonizingly slow. And I couldn’t tell you if I was breathing harshly, or not breathing at all because all other sensations fled, and the only thing I could feel was the pleasure building in my center. My hips circled, my head lolled back, my hair brushing against my lower back. It must have tickled his thighs because the next thing I knew, my hair was being tugged, over and over as if his hand had grasped the ends and wound and wound until it was wrapped in his fist.
It was almost too much, the lightness of his tongue against my flesh as he moved from my breasts, up my chest, and onto my neck, leaving a trail of wetness behind. The heat of his lips mixed with the cold of the thick air set off a burn somewhere deep in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt it. In the past, when he’d kissed me, when he’d touched me in ways not meant to create the thoughts that would subsequently run through my mind—touches meant to comfort, not to tease—I still wanted more of him but was too ashamed to ask.
“Fuck, Bailey,” he said before his teeth clamped down on my shoulder and his hands did the same to my thighs. “You gotta stop with those noises.”
I didn’t realize I was making any.
“And you gotta stop moving. Just for a second.” It was a plea. One I didn’t really understand until his hand left me to undo the button and fly on his pants. His cock sprung free, still restrained in his black boxer shorts, but it was there, and it was hard and when he said, “You keep moving on me like that, and I won’t be able to hold off,” I knew it was for me.
He went to adjust himself, but I beat him to it—not to do what he wanted—but to do something I wanted. For once, I wanted to be the one to take care of him.
He seemed confused when I tried to slide off his lap, his hand reaching out as if to stop me from going anywhere.
As if I would.
I wasn’t naive to what I planned on doing next. I lived on the streets for years. Hookers, pimps, and Johns were all part of my nightly stroll through the alleyways while I looked for a safe place to sleep.
As I put my hands on Nate’s knees and got down on mine, I tried to push back the memory of my fifteen-year-old self and the fear mixed with interest while I watched a man in the front seat of his car, his eyes shut and his head tilted back. The sea of blonde hair moved up and down on his lap, slow at first and then faster when the man’s hand came down on it. A loud moan had left him just as his eyes snapped open and landed on me standing there, watching him get off. In my memory, I gasped, and in the present, I must’ve done the same because Nate’s hand curled around my shoulder, his face in my vision, eyes right on mine. He said my name, and without thinking, I reached for the band of his shorts so I could finish the task I set off to achieve. But he stopped me, his touch as gentle as always when his fingers circled my wrist only inches from his cock.
He must have the strength of a thousand men, I thought as I looked up at him.