Chapter Fifteen #2
But only for a short moment before he pressed back onto his ankles and finally reached for his own shirt, pulling it off without any ceremony.
My eyes moved over him, taking in every firm line, every cut of chest and abdominal muscles, looking perhaps a moment too long at the cuts to the sides of his hips that half-disappeared into his jeans.
As if sensing the train of thought, his hands went to his button and zip and worked them through and down, leaving a glorious little V open for a moment before he grabbed the material at his hips and yanked it down, leaving him in tight black boxer briefs, his hard cock straining against the material.
He didn’t waste any time with that either, snagging the waistband and pulling it down until his cock was in full, glorious view.
There were two types of women—ones who thought cocks were gross and the ones who thought they were, when you really wanted someone, were the most impressive things in the world.
And, well, I really wanted Sawyer.
His cock was long and thick, the head perfectly smooth, just slightly more pink than the hard shaft. A small drop of precum was beaded there, and I wanted so badly to taste him.
My hands reached out and grabbed his hips, pulling him. His brow raised as his eyes heated. “Like this?” he asked, sounding surprised.
“Like this,” I agreed, never having given head in that position.
Though, judging by the porn I’d seen, it was certainly a favorite of the male sex—to fuck a woman’s mouth.
I wasn’t even thinking of it that way, as naughty or new or anything.
All I was thinking was I wanted him in my mouth; I wanted him to lose control again.
His body shifted up, and his hips tipped down, his cock pressing into my lips, and I opened them around him, licking the head, tasting his precum with a moan as he slid inside.
I had always been in control of head before. I had always set the pace, the depth, and the motion.
Somehow, as Sawyer’s cock slid deep, making me gag once, then pausing as my reflex relaxed, and sliding fully until I felt his cock press into the back of my throat, somehow I was more turned on than I knew was possible.
My hands went around him, grabbing his ass, as his hands planted at the edge of the bed and he started to slowly pull his cock back out. Only halfway, then just as slowly going back down. I heard myself moan in response, my thighs pressing together, and he made a growling noise in response.
“Fuck,” he hissed, his control finally snapping as he started thrusting into my mouth faster, harder, his precum coating my tongue and sliding down my throat.
“Fuck,” he said again, pulling back. I knew he was pulling away so I closed my mouth tight around him as he pulled, his cock leaving my lips with a small pop that made him exhale a deep breath as he looked at the ceiling for a second, seeking his lost control.
By the time his gaze lowered again, I realized he had it.
“Jesus fucking Christ, babe,” he said. “Almost fucking came down that throat of yours,” he told me, shaking his head.
“That’s okay,” I said back, licking a bit of his taste from my lower lip.
“Sometime, yeah. I am going to fucking love shooting it down your throat, knowing my cum was sliding inside you. But not tonight. Tonight, you still owe me some begging.”
“Sawyer, please,” I said, shaking my head.
“Yeah, like that. But much more desperate,” he said with a devilish little smile as he moved back down toward me, his bare chest pressing against mine.
My traitorous nipples hardened, pressing into him, making his eyelids get heavier as he pushed half to my side, putting all his weight there so his one hand was free.
He moved it down my throat, over my clavicle, over my breast, my ribs, my side. It was sweet, soft, loving.
One minute, he was fucking my mouth hard and rough; the next, he was touching me like he was marveling at every single goosebump he brought out.
Maybe he was.
Add that to the list of about a thousand reasons Sawyer was shaping up to be the best man I knew.
“Oh,” I hissed, surprised, when I felt his finger slide inside me. I hadn’t even realized he stopped inspecting me until I felt him inside me, until his finger pushed in fully and stayed there.
My gaze went to his, and he was watching me closely as he slowly started thrusting in and out of me.
Another finger slid inside, just a twinge uncomfortable, seeing as my body hadn’t known any kind of invasion in well over a year.
As if sensing that, his fingers thrust lazily for a long minute before I felt them spreading apart slightly inside me, widening me a little, making it so it wouldn’t pinch when his cock finally slid inside me.
His fingers crooked inside me and started raking over the top wall, hitting my G-spot with expert precision.
“Sawy…” I started, my voice getting caught.
“Mmm,” he murmured, planting a kiss on my temple. “Almost…”
My thighs pressed closer together as I rolled onto my side, my leg going over his hip, my face burying in his neck, closing my eyes tight as I breathed him in, letting the moans come freely.
His fingers stayed inside me as he rolled onto his back, pulling me onto his chest, then moving to sit up, then get on his knees, holding me tight as he moved up toward the headboard. He lowered me down gently, his fingers starting their thrusting again.
The tightening started again, and his brow raised.
“Sawyer, please,” I begged, desperation seeping into every syllable.
“There it is,” he said, smiling slightly as he pulled his fingers from me, reaching into my nightstand and fetching a condom that I had no idea lived there.
He sat back and slid it on, watching me intensely as he lowered back down and positioned himself between my legs.
His cock pressed against my cleft, and my legs wrapped around his back, pulling him tightly against me as my hands moved up his back to land just under his shoulders, pulling his chest flush to mine.
His hips shifted, and his cock moved toward the entrance, pressing hard there, and my eyes closed as I let out a satisfied sigh; I was finally getting what I needed.
“Open your eyes, Riya,” he demanded, his voice a little strained. “I want to watch as I slide inside you for the first time.”
My sex clenched again, and my eyes opened. The second they did, his hips pressed forward, and his cock thrust inside me—one long, thick, smooth stroke all the way to the hilt.
“Fucking perfect,” he said, his voice barely audible.
But I heard. And I agreed.
Perfect.
Nothing had ever felt quite so perfect before.
“No,” he commanded softly as I felt my eyes flutter closed again.
“Look at me, Riya,” he said as he pulled back and smoothly thrust forward again, making my chest arch up as my legs pulled him tighter.
“I want to watch you come,” he told me as his movements got just a little bit quicker, but not hard, not rough. It was…
Hell, there was only one term for it that fit.
It was making love.
And it had been so long since I knew that feeling that I felt a sting of tears in my eyes as my sex tightened, as I felt the first tight, hard pulsation.
“There, babe,” he said softly. “Right there. Let go. I got you.”
I let go, eyes on his.
And I came harder than I knew was possible.
My entire body went impossibly taut for a long minute before a tremor wracked its way through me, a tortured cry of his name escaping my lips as the waves crashed through me, a seemingly never-ending tide of pleasure that he kept rocking into me, dragging it out, intensifying it.
Then, as the pulsations slowed, he buried deep and came with my name on his lips.
His body came down on mine, his head next to mine.
And as soon as his body slackened, his face shifted, and he planted a kiss on my temple where one of the tears had escaped.
There it was again.
Perfect.
It was utterly terrifying.
And as he slid out of me a while later, I found the moment oddly metaphoric. Because my body ached at the loss.
I could only imagine how much it was going to hurt when I eventually lost him.
He came back a moment later, head cocked to the side, watching me for a long moment. I hadn’t bothered to cover up. What was the point? He had already seen and touched every inch of me.
Whatever he found made him shake his head with a small smile as he moved toward the bed.
“Don’t let fear make you overthink shit, Riya,” he told me as he pulled the comforter hard so it slid out from under me. We both climbed under and he surprised me by reaching for me, pulling me up and onto his chest, his arm tight around me. “You end up missing out on good shit that way.”
Those were the last words spoken that night.
He fell asleep about ten minutes later after writing things across my back with his fingertips. Try as I might, I couldn’t seem to make out what the words were.
I, however, didn’t sleep, not for a long time.
Because he was right; I was scared.
I was so incredibly scared it was nearly debilitating.
See, I had known men before. I had dated men for long enough for the sex to range from making love to fucking to borderline kinky and back again. I had thought I had felt it all.
But it was different. The entire experience with Sawyer was overwhelming. It took over my entire body, my mind, my soul, my everything. I had never felt so open and exposed but somehow safe all at once. I trusted him to take care of me even laid bare, both literally and metaphorically.
And he did.
Of course he did; he was an all-around amazing person.
He had done nothing since we met but look out for me.
Then he had gone ahead and given me literally the best night of my life.
Even there, on his chest, under his sleep-heavy arm, my body so sated from sex that it felt too numb to move, I felt the surge of tears again.
I closed my eyes tight and deep-breathed them away.
I had had the best night and the best sex of my life with a man I had only known a week.
It made no sense.
The best sex of your life and the best night of your life were supposed to belong to the person you had been with for a long time, the one you loved to your soul.
But there was no denying it was the best of both of those things for me.
Fear was like a coiled snake in my belly, ready to lash out and strike, shaking and shimmying like a rattler at the very idea of danger being near.
Sawyer was right.
I was bitter.
Bitter was like a weed; if you let it grow, it would trip you up somewhere along the road.
And if I let it wrap around my ankle and send me face-first to the ground, he was right again about it making me miss out.
Several hours later, no closer to any rational decision about how I was supposed to act and how I was supposed to feel, I slowly drifted off to sleep with the new and novel idea to me, to not think about it at all, to just act and feel as I did in the moment.
I know. Crazy, right?