Player(65)

He laid me down.

I was aware of everything. The feel of his shirt under my hands. The weight of his body pressing me into bed. The taste of his lips. The soft cotton of his sheets against the backs of my arms. The rough calluses on his fingers rasping against my thigh. The beat of my heart as it raced in my rib cage. The hard length of him shifting pleasurably against the center of me.

And the kiss went on and on.

Everything had shifted. A few words, and the thin boundaries we’d held in place were gone. Against all reason, he wanted me.

Me.

You and I have become a fact.

It couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream, some brilliant dream where it rained chocolate sprinkles and broccoli tasted like birthday cake. Where snow wasn’t cold and girls like me got their wishes.

And oh, how I had wished for Sam. I’d wished on every star and eyelash. Every eleven eleven and every dandelion. I’d wished for him before I knew I was wishing for him.

When he relinquished my lips to kiss down my neck, I sighed my contentment. He hummed against my skin in answer.

In a feat of strength and skill, he grabbed me and twisted, pulling me into his lap as he sat. I gasped in surprise as his lips connected with the hollow of my throat, his hands up my skirt, my ass in his palms. He squeezed.

“God, I want this ass,” he whispered against my skin. “It’s perfect. I know you don’t believe me, but it is.” He pulled, grinding my core against his cock.

My arms rested on his shoulders, forearms cradling his head, fingers slipping into his hair. “If you think it’s perfect, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

A chuckle. A wet kiss on my neck. My skin drawn into his hot mouth. “Is that all it takes to convince you? I’ve been going about this all wrong.”

His fingertips trailed up, traced my hip, found the bend of my thigh. With one hand, he lifted my skirt. The other stroked me through my panties, eliciting a whimper and a shift of my hips, seeking connection.

“So many firsts I’ve claimed,” he said between kisses, his thumb doing some magic on the hood of my clit. “Tell me. Tell me what’s mine only.”

My chest heaved, the motion inadvertently bringing my breasts into his face, then away, then back again. “F-first swing dance. First real kiss. First real date. First real everything,” I breathed.

“More,” he demanded.

“F-first orgasm by a m-m-man—oh!” I gasped, my core clenching when he squeezed my clit. “First real b-blowjob. First time coming from a man’s mouth. Mmm—ah!”

He popped my ass with his free hand, and my hips swung into his from the shock and pleasure.

“Say blowjob again.” His voice was gravelly and raw, that free hand moving to my breast. He unfastened the top button of my shirt and buried his face in the valley of flesh.

“Blowjob,” I whispered, rocking my hips.

His hips rose in answer, his fingers working my buttons until they were open. “I want another first.”

“Tell me.”

He slipped that hand under my shirt, and I shifted, helping him get rid of it altogether. “I want to be the first man to make you come, cock deep inside you.”

“Oh my God.” The words were barely intelligible. My hips were not my own. The point where his thumb connected with me ached desperately.

“Have I mentioned, I’m not a fan of failure?” He palmed my breast, squeezed and released, slipped around my ribs to the clasp of my bra, unfastened it with a snap of his fingers.

“Y-yes. I remember.” My bra slid down my arms. I tossed it away, cupped his jaw.

His eyes lowered, his lids heavy, one hand cupping my sex, the other tracing my collarbone. “Once I make up my mind about something, I don’t stop. Not until I have what I want.” His hand, warm on my breast. His thumb, callused and rough against the tender skin of my nipple. “And I want you.” He squeezed, the flesh spilling from between his finger. “I’ll have that orgasm. I’ll take a few more because I can. Because it’s like I told you.” His lips, millimeters from my nipple. His breath hot and damp when he spoke. “Your pleasure is my pleasure. And I want to take mine until I’m satisfied.”

The sensation of his mouth on my nipple was a haze of feeling, too many nerves firing to decipher everything at once. It was the slick of his tongue. The pressure as he sucked. His lips parting, flexing, releasing. The very edges of his teeth grazing the tight peak.

“Sam,” I breathed, already close.

My hips were too wild, the delicate crawl of heat across my skin bringing with it a dimming of the room as he pressed exactly as I wanted, sucked just like I needed, licked right where I desired.

He closed his lips, his hands disappearing from the places they’d been. They moved instead to my face, which he turned to his, bringing me down for a kiss that left me boneless in his lap.

My clumsy hands fumbled down his torso to the hem of his shirt. “Too many clothes,” I mumbled against his lips.

He laughed against mine and reached back to grab his shirt and tug it off, mussing his hair on its way off his body and onto the floor.

It was my turn to stare, eyes down and hands roaming over his skin, so tan, so soft over the hard muscles of his chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whispered in wonder.

He held my face so delicately, tipped it to meet his amber eyes. “Every day, every minute I’m with you, any time of day, any day of the week, I feel the same. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known, Val. Ever.”