Riding With Brighton(53)

I sit up and flip him so he’s on his back and then promptly straddle him, my fingers never once stopping their exploration. “You have no idea how awesome this is. To look at you and to touch you.” And it is. I’ve literally been dreaming about this day since I hit puberty and my dreams have, for the most part, starred Brighton for the last few years.

“I think I have a pretty good grasp of the situation,” he tells me, moving his hands over my hips and up my sides.

I pause to take his hands off me. It’s distracting. “Don’t touch me. I just want to touch you.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible.”

I tear my eyes away from his skin so I can look at his eyes. “Try.”

He lets out a breath and clasps his hands behind his head. “I’m all yours. Look away.”

Damn, he looks good lying like this. I run my hands up his sides and over the undersides of his arms that are literally bulging. I’m so close to his mouth now I have to pause so I can feel his tongue against mine. I stop when his hands make their way into my hair. I put them back in place then run my hands down the length of his arms, over his chest and abs, then to the waistband of his boxer briefs. Slowly, so that I don’t lose it, I pull them down, taking him in one inch at a time. And, damn, it takes a lot longer to reveal him than I thought it would. Once I can see all of him, I practically tear his boxer briefs the rest of the way off because I need to touch him. But more than that I need to feel him in my mouth.

He’s smooth and hard, and I feel every vein and crevice and ridge there is to feel. My lips and tongue and my entire mouth in general become lost in a weird euphoric state of ecstasy. I’m not even thinking. I’m just doing. All the things I’ve ever wanted to do. And the words and sounds coming out of his mouth let me know I’m doing damn good for my first time, and with each satisfied murmur, I want to do better. When he gives me the warning, I have no intention of easing off him. When he grasps my shoulders, trying to push me away, I engulf him farther and nail his hands to the bed with mine.

The sound that rips out of his mouth is the most satisfying thing I’ve ever heard. The entire experience is transcendental. Seriously, that’s not just some romantic flowery BS. I literally feel like I’m not even on the planet anymore.

It’s a blur as he grunts words at me, lays me down, and covers me with his mouth and body. I’m beyond lost in my euphoria.

And then his mouth leaves mine. And my underwear is teleported off my body. And his hot, wet mouth is on me. And, goddammit, I have to think of his mom for a second, otherwise I would be screaming at the top of my lungs. Fuuuuuuuck. Seriously, Fuuuuuuuuck. Jesus, I can’t even comprehend what he’s doing to me or get any kind of grasp on how many places he’s stimulating with his hands and his mouth, but it puts whatever basic, white-bread shit I did to him to shame.

I should have shot off immediately, but I swear to God, my brain is in sexual overload, and every time it’s about to let go, its focus shifts to some other area that’s about to explode.

And then it’s like all the rushing rivers congregate at the biggest lake called climax and the waves they create are orgasms. Yes I said orgasms not orgasm.

I’m literally seeing stars.

I’m looking for Grams and Gramps because I’m pretty sure I died.

I’m wondering why third grade science never taught us that the solid mass of your body is capable of turning into liquid in the hands of one mad, sexual scientist.

I still can’t figure out what the hell just happened or what he did to me.

And then his mouth is on mine, sweetly kissing the corner of it. And even that sends wave after wave of desire through me.

“What the hell was that?” I manage to mutter. My eyes are closed. I can’t open them.

“Sorry. I lost it. I couldn’t stop touching you. Everywhere.”

“Fuck. Are you seriously apologizing? I mean, maybe you should. I’m pretty sure you just turned me into a paraplegic. I can’t feel anything past my waist.” And then I feel a hand on my, holy shit, hard-again dick. “Fine, I can feel. But it doesn’t feel real.”

“God, Jay. We’re gonna have so much fun. I could get lost in you for hours.”

“Please, Brighton. Feel free. My limp ass will just lie here.”





Chapter Fourteen


Brighton



GOD. HOW to describe what that kid does to me? He makes me wicked. He makes me lose all the inhibitions I didn’t even know I had. He makes me feel free and whole and horny as hell.

He makes me feel good. I’m trying not to think the words too good. I keep telling myself too good is a good thing. Jesus, when this day started—or I guess technically that was yesterday since it’s well after midnight—I never thought it would be me who was having to hold back and keep all the things in my head under wraps.

It’s that perfectly sculpted body of his. Or, really, it’s all the shit that comes out of his mouth that has my cheeks aching from smiling too damn much. God, I think it’s just the way he’s opened up right in front of my eyes and become fearless and self-possessed and overcome with a whole new confidence. Or maybe it’s just the way he makes me feel. Maybe I just like who I am with him.

Hell, it’s all good. And I don’t want it to end. I don’t want this day with him to end.