Blind Side(41)

“It’s like… sparks,” I tried to explain through my panting, and Clay smirked, circling my nipple with his thumb as I whimpered and writhed.

“Some girls like it, some girls don’t,” he said. “How does it feel?”

“Hot.”

He chuckled. “Good hot, or bad hot?”

I considered the question, not really sure. It was a little of both, like touching my tongue to an acidic battery or a copper penny. It shocked me, and felt uncomfortable, but at the same time, I liked it.

At least, I thought.

When I didn’t answer, Clay settled lower between my legs, his chest pressed against my aching core now as he balanced on his elbows.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

I did, releasing a long breath.

And then, his mouth was on me.

I gasped, the sensation rocking through me violently as his tongue swirled over my nipple.

“Clay,” I breathed, and without meaning to, my hands shot for his hair, and I held on like those strands were reins.

“Good or bad?” he asked again.

“Good,” I breathed out, wetting my lips. “Very good.”

He smiled against my breast, and then his tongue was dancing, circling and flicking as little shots of electricity bolted down between my legs. Then, he sucked my nipple between his teeth, nipping so gently I barely registered it before he released me.

“Is that okay?”

“God, yes,” I breathed, hands fisting in his hair, and he kissed a line of sweet, tender kisses across the middle of my chest until he took my other nipple between his teeth, spreading the love.

It felt like hours of that torture, his lips moving from one to the other, tongue never tiring, and when he finally crawled back up to take my mouth with those beautiful lips again, I held him to me, arching into him, wanting to praise him like a saint.

“That was amazing,” I breathed. “Now what the hell do I do to you?”

Clay barked out a laugh, but it faded quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he rolled over onto his back. He kept his eyes on me, but I couldn’t help but watch his hands where they lowered, thumbs sliding under the band of his sweatpants. He pushed into his heels, lifted his hips, and tugged them down below his knees before kicking them the rest of the way off.

My eyes grew wide, and Clay paused with his thumbs in the band of his briefs next.

“You okay?”

“Take your briefs off, Clay,” I said, practically panting as I waited for him to free the beast straining against the black fabric.

A light chuckle left him, and then he did as I asked, and when his erection sprang free, I actually salivated.

I’d never seen one in real life, never known anything other than what I’d glimpsed on raunchy television shows or the occasional porn I indulged in. But I’d read about them. I’d felt my body heating as the authors described the swollen tip, the veiny shaft, the thick base with tufts of hair.

None of it compared.

I reached for him automatically, but his hand snapped out, capturing my wrist and halting me.

“Touch yourself first.”

I balked. “Wh-what?”

Clay moved my hand to my stomach, pushing it down under the hem of my sweatpants as my eyes fluttered at the sensation. He wasn’t even touching me yet. It was my own damn hand.

But his was on top of it.

He lined up his fingers with mine, the pad of his pushing into my nail, and he ran my hand along the length of my vagina, slipping one finger between the folds.

“Are you wet?” he asked.

I nodded, unable to form words.

“Coat yourself in it,” he instructed. “Slick your hand with your wetness, and then let me feel it.”

My next swallow was rough, like I’d taken too big of a bite — and maybe I had. Maybe I’d bitten off entirely more than I could chew, but God did it feel good to have his eyes on me, his hands, his mouth.

I’d debate the consequences later.

I did as he said, and my body heated more and more each time my palm slicked over my clit. Clay helped my hand glide back and forth, drenching my fingers and palm, and then he removed our hands from beneath my pants and moved them over to him.

I leaned up on my elbow, watching as he wrapped my hand around his base.

The second I touched him, he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and falling back into the pillows.

I ripped my hand away. “Oh, God. Did I hurt you? Did I fuck up?”

“No,” he panted, grabbing my hand and moving it back. “It feels good,” he breathed, and then a soft curse left his lips as he helped me slide my fist over his shaft. “So fucking good.”

I lit up under the praise, mirroring what he’d done. I ran my slick palm up to his mushroom tip, applying light pressure as I slicked it all the way down to his base again. Another moan of satisfaction rewarded me, and he flexed his hips into my touch.

“More.”

I squeezed tighter on the next roll down, and he cursed, nodding and flexing into my hand again. He was so thick I could barely get my hand all the way around him, and the thought of taking him inside me both excited and terrified me.

“The tip is really sensitive,” he tried to explain through his panting, his chest heaving with every new roll of my hand over him. “You want to touch it, yes, but not too much, not too aggressively.”