Chapter 14 Delilah #2
He smiles, his eyes alight with relief and arousal.
He gently pulls his finger back, almost all the way out, and then back in again.
He does that a few times before finally seating his finger all the way in and then curling it upward—and holy god in heaven does that feel unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced in my life.
My back bows off the bed, and I cry out—from both pleasure and surprise.
Graham pins me down with his free arm, grinning from ear to ear. “That’s it,” he praises. “Right there.” He does whatever the fuck it is again, and I nearly cry.
“Graham,” I whimper. “Fuck, what is that?”
His finger presses harder, and I’m panting, writhing against him, unable to stop the pleasure rising within me.
“That’s your g-spot, sweetheart,” he says. “And I think we’ve just learned you really like it being played with.”
A muffled groan escapes me as he continues his assault, stroking that spot inside me harder and faster. I grip his arm that’s holding me down, my fingernails biting into his flesh. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I chant, the pressure almost too much.
“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, and it sends me over the edge.
My orgasm crashes through me harder than any that’s ever come before it.
I think I scream. I’m not really sure. All I know is that by the time I can see clearly again, Graham is gently stroking my cheek with one hand and still pumping a finger in and out of me with the other.
No, not one finger—two. I can feel myself stretching to accommodate it, but instead of a pinch, it’s pleasurable.
“You doing okay, Trouble?” Graham asks me, slowing the thrusts of his fingers.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I want … I want you.”
Arousal darkens the blue of Graham’s eyes, and he takes in a steady breath. “Yeah?” he clarifies.
“Yeah,” I say.
He sits up, his fingers leaving me, and I immediately miss their presence.
Graham stands from the bed, grabbing his jeans and fishing a condom out of one of the pockets.
I lie there on the bed, simply watching him.
Watching the deep v of his abdomen that disappears under his boxers.
Watching as he tears the condom wrapper with his teeth.
Watching as he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear and pulls them down, his cock springing free.
And while I’ve obviously seen his cock before—had it deep down my throat, for God’s sake—it’s still a bit jarring knowing … where it’s headed.
I watch as he rolls the condom down the length of him, and suddenly the nerves set in. Because here in my bedroom stands a hot-as-fuck naked man with huge cock who’s about to fuck me.
And I’m both turned on beyond belief and terrified.
Graham’s eyes meet mine, and in them he must read every emotion going through me, because he calmly climbs back onto the bed, takes my face in his hands, and says, “Hey. Tell me what’s going on.”
Shame flares—that hauntingly familiar enemy of mine. “I’m kind of scared,” I admit, and even though I hate to say it, I don’t see a way around it.
“We can stop at any time,” he reminds me, and, as if he knows I’m about to protest that, his hand slides along my bare body, over my breasts, down my stomach, to the bundle of nerves between my legs, rubbing softly. “But I think I can scare your fears away,” he promises.
The pleasure immediately soothes the fear, and I feel myself melting back into the mattress. His fingers enter me again, his thumb still rubbing circles on my clit, and I moan softly.
“That’s it, relax for me,” Graham praises. He halts only for a moment to gently pull my panties down my legs and toss them aside before positioning himself between my legs, hovering over me.
His body presses against mine, and his fingers return to my pussy, pumping long, slow strokes. His mouth captures mine, and I kiss him back in a way that I’m worried might be desperate, but I’m too amped up to care.
Graham inserts a third finger, and my breath hitches softly. “Good girl,” Graham praises, leaning down to suck one of my nipples into his mouth.
And just like that, that third finger doesn’t feel so tight anymore.
Graham kisses his way up my body, his lips finally hovering above my earlobe. “Are you ready for me, Dee?” he asks softly, leaning back enough to look me in the eye.
And while the nerves are still there—fighting in my lower belly like they’ll never leave—I nod. Because yes, I am ready. And beneath the nerves, there’s a calm, because … I trust him, I realize. I trust Graham. Really trust him. To take care of me. Keep me safe.
And I’m so glad I chose him.
Graham removes his fingers, but I only have a second to miss them before I feel the blunt head of his cock at my opening.
Fear tightens every muscle in my body, and I take in a shaky breath, but Graham runs his hand up my belly, cupping my breast and caressing my nipple softly as he readies himself.
“Breathe, Trouble,” he tells me. “Let me in.”
I nod, doing as he says and taking a deep breath.
Graham sinks slowly into me, only a few inches at first. I whimper at the initial stretch, the burn. But I wrap my legs around his waist and pray for relief.
“That’s it,” Graham murmurs, still caressing my breasts, his lips kissing up my neck.
He sinks in farther, and I cry out—from the stretch, the pleasure, the shock. I feel so full I could burst. As if Graham could split me open from the inside out with one wrong move.
“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” Graham praises, and all of a sudden, he’s seated within me, and the initial pain is gone.
We both gasp in tandem, and Graham’s gaze finds mine again. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I breathe, the enormity of what we’ve just done settling in. “Yes,” I repeat, a smile spreading across my face.
Graham grins down at me. “Good girl,” he says, pressing his lips to mine. The kiss is relief and desperation and ecstasy, and then he’s slowly pumping his cock out and back in.
And fuck, if I thought his fingers felt good inside of me, his cock is something else. I cling to him as his thrusts pick up speed, moaning in time with them.
“You’re doing so perfect, Delilah,” Graham murmurs into my neck. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.”
I whimper in response, my hips meeting his thrusts, desperate for everything he’s capable of giving me. God, it’s so good. So much better than I ever thought it would be. Is it just sex, or is it Graham? I don’t know—all I know is that I don’t want it to end.
I cling to him as he thrusts deeper and faster, and I gasp at the overwhelming sensation, my nails digging into the flesh of his upper back. Graham stills momentarily, and I whine in protest. “Am I hurting you?” he asks desperately, concern suddenly lining every inch of his face.
I’m shaking my head before he’s even done with his sentence. “No, don’t stop,” I beg.
He presses a kiss to my temple and keeps going. Our breaths intermingle as he picks up speed again, my soft moans mixing with his. At some point, he snakes a hand between us, finding my clit and rubbing soft circles with the pad of his finger, and I nearly combust.
“Graham!” I squeak, and he doesn’t change what he’s doing by even a fraction.
“That’s it,” he praises. “Come undone for me.”
“Graham, Graham, Graham,” I whimper, and then I do exactly what he asked of me. Stars dance before my eyes, and I cling to him through the shaking of my limbs as my climax hits me.
Graham captures my mouth in his, kissing me deeply as he continues thrusting, tumbling over the edge only seconds later. And we lay there together, entangled, coming down from the high, our panting the only sound in the room.
After a few moments, Graham sits up, sliding out from within me, and the moment I look down, a slight gasp leaves my lips. I instinctively move to hide the small amount of blood on my inner thighs, but Graham clocks it immediately, calmly saying, “Don’t move,” and leaving the room.
Seconds later, he’s back with a wet washcloth from the bathroom, and he sits on the edge of the bed and gently pries my legs apart. The washcloth is warm as he moves it gently along my inner thighs and along my center.
And, strangely, it seems almost more intimate than what we’ve just done. More intimate than being inside of me.
“Does anything hurt?” Graham asks.
I shake my head. Surprisingly, no. And I know blood is pretty normal for one’s first time, I guess it just surprised me. And maybe I thought it would gross Graham out. But he seems less phased than me.
Graham’s eyes meet mine, and he gently tosses the washcloth to the floor. “Use your words, Trouble,” he says with a soft smile, climbing back onto the bed to lie beside me, pulling my comforter over top of us. “Are you okay? How do you feel?”
I know what he’s asking, but I’ve barely had time to process it myself. “Good,” I settle on, and I’m pretty sure it’s true. I search for the shame inside of me, the shame I suspected would rear its ugly head, but surprisingly, I find it … quiet.
Graham nods. “Good,” he repeats, although he seems a bit hesitant. And suddenly my mind is less focused on how I feel and hyper focused on how he might feel. Was it good for him? Was it bad? Does he regret this?
“Delilah,” Graham’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Talk to me.”
My gaze meets his concerned one, and I blurt out, “Was it good for you?”
He blinks, once, twice. Then he breaks out in a confused grin. “Asking a man if he enjoyed sex is kind of a silly question, Trouble.”
“But—I have no idea if I did good, if it lived up to what you normally experience, I—”
“Woah,” Graham interrupts me, sitting up partially and taking my face in his hands to stop the rambling. “Is that what you’re stressed about?”
I bite my lip, unable to look away from him.
“Dee, what we just did, that was—that was really good for me. I …” He shakes his head. “But more importantly, this experience was about you. So, I’m gonna turn this question around.” He smirks slightly. “Was it good for you?”
I can feel my face heating in that familiar way.
Although this time it’s not from embarrassment, not really.
More so from the memories of what we just did, and …
“Yeah,” I answer with a soft smile. “It was good.” It’s not a very profound thing to say about an experience that feels very much profound, but nonetheless, it’s what comes out of me.
Relief and contentment washes over Graham’s face. “Good,” he repeats. “Good. Come here.” He snuggles me closer to him, wrapping his arms around me, and together, we simply lie there, breathing each other in, letting the moment sink in around us.
And in the warmth of Graham’s embrace, I feel something strange. Or more accurately, a lack thereof.
I guess I always assumed I’d feel different. Some monumental shift in being. Altered irrevocably. But as I lie here, searching within myself, I’m shocked to find … nothing. Just the same presence I always feel. Me. Delilah. Whole. Just like a was an hour ago, a year ago, twenty years ago.
There’s something oddly comforting in that. Surprising, too.
Eventually, Graham and I part, dress ourselves, and make our way back to the living room, the atmosphere a strange mixture of awkward silence but also a comfortability that’s new. It’s gotten late, and Graham hovers by the door like he knows he should leave but doesn’t want to.
“You’ll be okay if I head home?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say with a nod and a small smile verging on laughter. “I’ll be okay.”
He nods once, awkwardly stuffs his hands in his pockets, and turns toward the door. “Night, Trouble.”
I watch him leave, and as the door shuts behind him, I feel this strange sense of longing. Loneliness. And then anticipation.
And all at once, it hits me.
Oh no.
I want to see him again. Now, tomorrow, the next day.
Maybe it was the sex. Or maybe it was the accumulation of bricks being laid one by one and I just didn’t notice them until now.
I just lost my virginity to Graham Whitaker. And I think I might be falling for him too.