7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
R ose
His palms glide along my curves like a sculptor memorizing his creation while my fingers tug at his hair, silently asking for more. I need more of Braxton. Our lust-fueled dance intensifies until it’s not just about physical contact anymore; it’s about tasting desire and hunger on each other’s breaths and drinking in the delicious agony of needing to be connected.
I’ve never felt this way. No one has ever kissed me with such possessiveness, ownership. Sure, I had first and second-base kissing in high school and with a couple of local boys at parties, but nothing has prepared me for Braxton’s kiss. His is the kiss of a man. A passionate, older man who knows what he wants.
He pulls from our kiss to graze his mouth along the tendons of my neck, hovering at the base of my throat, licking me there, then sucking softly. He can surely feel my racing heartbeat.
“Fuck, Rose,” he growls, continuing to explore and nibble at my neck, sending goosebumps all over and my inner core to clench. “You taste so sweet. I need more of you. Of your taste, your moans. You’re like a damn drug for me.”
I whimper as he gently slides the strings of my sundress down each arm, exposing my generous breasts to his heated gaze. I should be embarrassed, exposing myself like this, something I’ve never done with anyone. But I feel safe with Braxton.
Skimming both hands over the sides of my breasts to cup them, he then kisses, sucking on the tip of each with a gentle tug, rolling the tender buds in his fingers. He makes sure to shower them equally with attention, causing me to whimper again with need. I can feel how wet and desperate I am for this man.
“Shhhh, sweet girl, I’m going to make you fall apart for me.” He gives one nipple a slight pinch, making me cry out, then soothes it with his tongue. Pushing me gently to fall back on the couch, he moves above me, one hand on my thigh, just beneath the hem of my dress. His other hand is propping himself above me to look into my eyes.
“Look at me, Rose,” He commands. “Tell me you are okay with this. I won’t do anything you don’t consent to, baby.”
“No, I’m fine, really. Please, please, Braxton.” I’m begging, not even sure what I’m begging for at this point, but I know I need this man. I need to ease the ache building inside me. I need him inside me.
He sits up, sliding the hem of my skirt to my waist, where my top has fallen. He’s holding me by the hips, eyes glued to my simple white panties. I try to pull my legs together, embarrassed he can see the damp, wet spot of cotton between my legs.
“Don’t hide from me, Rose.” He scolds as he’s holding my thighs open under his gaze, not allowing me to close them. “I need to see this beautiful pussy.” He moves his hands down, thumbs skimming the outside of my panties, running back and forth over my tiny bundle of nerves. He’s lightly grazing my clit with his movements, teasing me, but not applying enough pressure to give me any satisfaction. Leaning down, he runs his nose against the damp fabric, inhaling deeply.
I cover my face with both hands. Can someone die of both embarrassment and desire at the same time?
“Rose, I told you I want to see your eyes, and I want you to watch everything I do to you,” he says, looking up at me from between my legs. “I need to see every glorious emotion cross your beautiful face when I make you come. Do you understand?”
Removing my hands to place them at my sides, grasping the fabric of my skirt, I nod in agreement. I’d do anything he wanted at this point. He’s promising to fulfill every dirty fantasy I’ve had since he moved in next door.
“Words, baby girl. I need you to use your words. Tell me you understand and want this as much as I do.” His voice is stern, but I don’t feel threatened. He’s taking care of me and because I want to please him and desperately want him to please me, I say, “Yes, I want this, Braxton.” My voice is soft and breathy. “Please, I want you.”
Sitting up, he grabs the sides of my panties and slides them down my legs, tossing them to the side, eyes focused on what’s revealed to him. “So beautiful, so wet and needy. And it’s all mine,” he murmurs possessively, leaning down to run his tongue up my seam.
I arch upwards, seeking his tongue as he continues to lavish my folds, circling my clit, before lightly sucking on it in a rhythmical pattern. At that, my moan is so loud, I know Honeybun can most likely hear me next door and might come looking for me.
My hands move to grasp his hair, holding him against me as I seek relief from the pressure building in my core. Expertly, he continues licking my clit and circling with light motions of his tongue. I feel two of his large fingers slowly move inside me, stretching me with a pinch of pain, but made easier by the wetness of my arousal.
Everything around me is fading, and I can only focus on Braxton and the need spiraling within me. He’s so intense, so much, too much, I think as I tug on his silky strands, wanting my release. A release only he is capable of providing for me.
His fingers are now pulsing in and out of me, going deeper with each thrust until they suddenly stop. Everything stops.
I know then that he knows. He can feel it. Proof of my virginity.
Dang it. I should’ve told him.
He’s older. Used to women with more experience. Will my inexperience be a deal breaker for him? I squeeze my eyes tight, waiting for his reaction.
Gently, he withdraws his fingers, moves to a sitting position, and smoothes my skirt back over my naked body.
Tears well in my eyes, and I know I’ve disappointed him.
Sighing, he turns to face me, tugging my top over my breasts once more, tying the strings. Then he finally makes eye contact. His ice-blue eyes are remorseful, but grow distant once again.
“This was a bad idea.” He gestures to me, sprawled on his couch. Standing, he roughly runs both hands through his hair and looks at the ceiling in frustration. He has to be in pain as I can see his hard, long length pressing against his pants. It’s likely begging for release if it feels anything like me, who’s sitting on his couch, impossibly wet and turned on.
“You are too young for me, Rose.” He growls, swiping his hand down his face. “Fuck, I know better.”
Emotional and embarrassed, I stand up, straightening my clothes.
“I’ll go home now.” Tears are glistening in my eyes as I turn away from him, going to retrieve my bag and dish from his kitchen. “No big deal, Braxton. I’m actually a big girl. It’s fine. I get it.” I continue to mumble and prattle nonsense with false bravado as I make my way to his door, not even bothering to see if he’s watching me or giving him a chance to speak.
“Have a good night, Braxton.” With that, I grasp the handle, holding back my sobs, and stumble back to my small cottage, where my precious puppy is happy to see me with a wiggling butt and sweet smile. The one time I’m grateful he doesn’t talk, so he can’t demand to know what’s wrong. He just offers cuddles and comfort because he knows it’s what I need the most right now.
I certainly don’t need the grouchy jack wagon next door. Not now, not ever.