Player(53)

“Please. Oh God. Please, Sam.” Her legs writhed against me in an effort to get free.

My hand moved up her thigh and between to hook the back in my hand. “Is this what you want?” I spread it, only the one. The other pushed against my forearm, wishing to mirror its twin.

“Yes. Yes, please.”

My gaze locked between her legs. I couldn’t look away.

“I want it, too,” I said half to myself, inching closer, debating where to start. I pushed her other thigh up, spread her as wide as her hips would let me. My hand trailed to the center of her, stroked the line, slipped the very tip of my finger into the dip without breaching her.

She bucked, an involuntary jerk of her hips, at the contact.

“No one’s ever touched you like this, have they?” I asked as I spread my fingers and opened her up.

“N-no,” she whispered.

“I hate that, you know,” I said quietly as my fingertips stroked her, felt every secret place but the one inside her. “I hate that no one has ever appreciated your body the way I do. But I’m glad, too. Ask me why.”

A shuddering breath as I circled her clit with slick fingers. “W-w-why?”

I edged closer until my lips were millimeters from the edge of her desire. “Because the first time gets to be all mine.”

I closed my lips over her clit at the same moment I sank my middle finger into her heat.

Her sweet, whispering moan spurred me, the relief of touch releasing something in her I didn’t know she’d ever be able to bottle back up. It was free and wanton, her body unencumbered by fear or thought, only feeling. She trusted me; I’d disarmed her, left her defenseless and vulnerable, naked and writhing, a slave to touch. My touch. And I didn’t take that responsibility lightly.

I found a rhythm that made her breath pick up, found the places that made her whisper pleadingly to the sky. I learned what she wanted. Like when I teased the left side of her clit, her thigh would jerk in pleasure, and when I shifted to apply pressure to that place—always with more attention to that side—her hips would roll, their agenda their own.

Her body squeezed my finger, drawing it deeper, and I slipped another in to better fill her. I learned what she liked, and every time I started over, it was a little faster, a little harder. She came closer. With the rhythm of my fingers, I sucked, my lips latched to her hood. My tongue drew her in until she was bucking, murmuring, her fingers twisted in my hair like reins as I fucked her with my mouth.

And then she came with a thundering pulse, squeezing and flexing and panting and sighing affirmations and rocking her body and—God, she was so perfect. So fucking perfect. And she had no idea.

As she rode the end of her orgasm, I kept her pace, though I couldn’t be soft. Because my own orgasm pulsed in my cock, thick and hard and aching. I propped myself up with one knee, my face still between her legs, my hand reaching between mine, closing around my length and pumping. I groaned against her.

“Come here,” she panted, pulling at my shoulders, shifting to reach for me.

I climbed over her, bracketed her hips with my knees, pressed my forehead to hers as I looked down our bodies. Her hands on my cock. Her breasts jostling as she pumped. Her hand disappearing between her legs, coming back wet. Those fingers slicking the tip of my cock with her sex.

And that was all I could take.

Electricity detonated down my spine as I came like thunder, spilling in hot bursts all over her—a creamy drop on her tan nipple, a milky stream across her stomach, another filling the cup of her belly button. The sound of her sigh filled the room. It was only a breath, but it held the weight of a thousand yeses.

And then I kissed her. I kissed her with possession and relief, with deliverance and demand. I kissed her and thanked her, kissed her and told her I wanted to keep kissing her. I kissed her and kissed her, told her my secrets with my lips and my tongue and my hands and my noisy breath. There were no words to explain how I felt, not even to myself. Only kisses. A hundred of them, a million of them, not enough of them.

Her arms draped around my neck, and our kisses became lazy and languorous, unhurried and easy. When I finally returned her lips to her, they were swollen, plump and pink and smiling.

“Did I pass?” I asked with a smirk, my voice rough from disuse.

“Summa cum laude. You’ll need to prepare a speech for graduation.”

I laughed and kissed her again, a soft, brief pleasure. “How do you feel?”

“My heart feels like it just finished a marathon without leaving the comfort of bed. The rest of me feels like I could sleep for at least twelve hours without moving.”

“Not in my bed.”

Her smile fell, the light in her eyes dimming.

But I smiled, cupped her face, and finished the thought.

“There’s no way you’d sleep for twelve hours in my bed without me fucking you again.”

She laughed, and somewhere in the sound was a sigh of relief.

“Question,” I said.

“Answer,” she replied.

“What gave you the idea to touch yourself to lube me?”

Her face fell. “Why? Was that not okay?”

I chuckled. “Val, that was so okay, I came all over you within a heartbeat. It just surprised me with its…ingenuity.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, I mean, I watch Pornhub like any other red-blooded American. It’s a treasure trove of filthy sex tips.”