Chapter 24 #2
We can’t deny this anymore. We can’t act like being friends is what makes the most sense for us.
I can’t just be his friend. I don’t want to just be his friend.
I want to do more intimate things like this with him.
Learn what it’s like to feel his heart beating against mine.
I want to lie naked with him, our legs tangled with the sheets as we talk and laugh and kiss.
I want to wake up in the morning with him. Without the hangover and regret.
“I don’t want it to be like last time,” he adds.
“Grace, I want you.” He tilts up, kissing me lightly.
A slight tickle just to feel my lips. As if the time spent getting from my entryway to my room was too long, and he needs to make sure the kiss we had mere minutes ago was real.
All real. “I want you so fucking bad. And I don’t mean just tonight. I want you so much more beyond that.”
“I think…I want you too,” I tell him, a tremble in my voice showing how scared and nervous I am. “I want you tonight. I want you tomorrow. I want—”
He lunges for my lips, finally closing the distance between us.
His body lays flush against mine as he presses me into the mattress.
I slip off his boxer briefs, the last stitch of clothing on him, and my palms slide over his round ass as I take them completely off.
His erection prods against my soft stomach, as if probing around and looking for its depraved counterpart hiding between my legs.
I grip him in my hands, and my fingers grow slick as his rampant precum trickles out of him, like desperation dripping from him with each slow deliberate stroke, waiting to burst at any given moment.
He shudders over me as his own curious hands tuck into my thong and his fingers feel me.
His hands don’t move with purpose but rather with interest. Like testing the waters, starting with a cautious toe before plunging all the way in and discovering how ready and wet I am.
How needy I am. He starts with light strokes, watching what makes me squirm and what makes me turn into a big pile of mush.
He knows exactly what to do and how to touch me, turning me into his own little puppet, moaning and shaking and writhing, all at his will.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he informs me. A matter of fact, not opinion or something to be discussed or swayed. “I’m going to fuck you hard, and then I’m going to take my time.”
I nod. “Yeah. Okay, whatever you want.” A breathy laugh or an amused giggle might fit perfectly in this moment considering how little protest I give, but I mean it with my whole heart.
Whatever he says right now, goes. I don’t care what it is.
He can treat me like his own personal fuck toy or wring the pleasure out of me until there’s nothing left.
I’ll say please and thank you before begging for more.
I buck underneath him, my hips moving back and forth on their own as if miming what my body wants. “Now,” I plead. “Can you fuck me now?”
He thrusts forward too, mimicking my motions with a silent answer. Yet he falls just short of his promise, leaving me wanton and needy. As determined as he is to fuck the shit out of me, I can tell he’s trying to let my body adjust to the moment. But foreplay is the least of my worries.
“Really,” I moan. “We can skip the foreplay. Please, just—” My words are cut off when I feel the head of his cock nudge against the slick mess between my legs.
A preview of what I’ve been craving for too long.
I want to tell him to stop teasing me when he continues those slow, torturous thrusts.
It’s the act of fucking but not quite. Like settling for the nonfat, dairy-free, sugar-free soft serve when all I want is some real fucking chocolate fudge ice cream.
“Jesus,” he grunts. “How do you feel this good, and I’m not even inside you?”
I love the sound of his voice. The way he sounds so confused and desperate. It scrapes against my skin, leaving behind tracks I hope will never go away. My knees fall back, giving him room to settle in, get comfortable, and stay between my legs for however long he wants.
Being the responsible one, Andrew stretches his body over mine to reach for the condoms he knows are already in my nightstand.
All while sense and reason left my brain, and I was ready to let him fuck me bare.
I watch him lean back on his heels, and in the distracted haze of me gawking as his fingers expertly move over his length, I forget I still have my underwear on.
But Andrew’s over me before I can slip them off, and instead of giving me a moment to remove them, he pulls the measly strip of fabric aside and pushes inside of me in one swift, slippery go.
“Holy shit,” I gasp. “That feels so good.”
“Oh, fuuuck me,” he groans. He only spends a second adjusting, giving me a moment to adapt to his sheer size, and he starts pounding into me.
He pistons in and out of me, and everything inside me starts to grow tight.
The live wire coiling in my gut twists and tightens, and it intensifies everything.
I can feel him down to the tips of my toes.
“Harder,” I urge, an aching moan stamping the end of my demand. “I want you to make it hurt.”
A low growl rumbles across his chest. A sign of approval and zeal rattling between us while we both process what I just said.
I want it rough and hard and fast. I want to feel him tomorrow every time I move or walk or even sit.
I’ve never wanted it like this, and it scares me just as much as it excites me.
He pulls out of me, leaving me bereft. He scoops his hand under my back and flips me over with such ease, I feel like I’ve been spun on a Tilt-A-Whirl.
Suddenly, I’m on all fours, and his hard erection brushes against the backs of my thighs.
He quickly shoves back into me, pushing me forward.
He hooks his hand around my neck and pulls me flush against him.
I feel his firm chest against my back, his heartbeat drumming against my spine.
He continues to fuck me, hard like I asked, and he promised.
From past sexual experiences, I’ve needed a bit more to get to the finish line. A little clitoral stimulation or an interminable time spent on foreplay. Something most men aren’t willing to undertake. So, it renders me nearly speechless when I find myself already there with neither.
“I’m going to come,” I tell Andrew, surprising myself more than him. “Holy shit, I—I’m going to fucking come.”
“Yeah,” he says with a strained voice. “Me too.”
And it hits me. Like a Mack truck. I shriek, unable to hold back the keening sob ripping through my throat. He grunts just as loudly, groaning through his own orgasm as he continues to fuck me from behind.
He wraps his arms around my front, holding on to me like I might disappear.
His ragged breaths filter through the air, and my own rapid gasps follow.
He kisses my shoulder, a stark contrast to the harsh and dizzying sex we’re having.
I reach behind me, ruffling up the hair at the back of his head.
My own gesture of soothing comfort. To let him know he didn’t go too hard.
It was exactly what I wanted. What I needed.