Chapter 6
Chapter Six
It doesn’t feel like his first kiss. It feels explosive.
Clint’s lips are soft and searching, then hard and desperate.
His need brings fire to my chest; to everywhere, all over, all at once.
Sensations of heat and need and…rightness, like this is the only place I should be, ripple through me all at once, threatening to knock me off my feet.
I need to get closer to him.
I wrap my arms around his neck and rise on tiptoe.
Clint slides his hands down until they reach my ribs, then lower, where he grasps my waist, tugging me closer, some instinctive knowledge guiding him.
His bulge throbs against my stomach, and a low grunt comes out of him, sending a bolt of pleasure between my legs.
After a moment I break the kiss, needing to breathe. Needing to see him.
His expression is one of pure, molten desire.
“Oh God, Clint,” I say. There’s no stopping this now. My body won’t let me.
I pull his coveralls off his shoulders, revealing a form-fitting white undershirt.
It leaves none of his thickly muscled torso to the imagination.
His body is toned from hard work, not from endless repetitions at a gym.
Not that there’s anything wrong with the gym, it’s just that there’s not an ounce of vanity with this man. Not even any self-awareness.
He has no idea how intoxicatingly attractive he is. The rough edges; the intense eyes; the hugeness of his form.
“Take it off,” I whisper.
He peels his T-shirt off without a second thought.
In the flesh, he’s even more beautiful. I draw my fingers down his body, from collarbone to sternum, ribs to belly. His skin is smooth and scorching under my touch, the light hair running down his stomach soft.
Clint trembles as I touch him. I wonder if he dreamed about doing this—how the real thing compares. But all questions leave my mind when he tightens his grip on my ribs to gently push me away.
He looks down at my lingerie, then back up to my face.
“You want me to take this off?” I ask innocently, looking down at my bra.
He looks embarrassed.
I grin. “It’s okay.”
There’s a certain thrill in knowing I’m his first. He’s never seen any of this in the flesh.
When I unhook my bra, letting myself spill out for him, he doesn’t breathe.
He just stares, mesmerized. Lust widens his eyes, making his breathing shallow.
“You want to touch me?” I ask.
He doesn’t hear me, of course. So I reach for his hands and bring them to my breasts.
His touch is tentative at first, a soft cupping of flesh. But he moves naturally, his thumbs coming up and brushing against the hard peaks of my nipples.
This is the modern age; he’s obviously seen this in pictures or videos. He’s right—he knows what to do, even if he’s never done it himself.
Clint drops to his knees, and with a brief glance up at me, he kisses my collarbone. He’s tall enough to reach without straining. He works his way lower, to the tops of my breasts. Then, with surprisingly little hesitation, he takes one into his mouth.
He’s hot and wet, and the curl of his tongue over my sensitive skin sends shockwaves through me. I moan, threading my hands through his hair. I tug at him, bringing him closer and pulling him away, guiding him where I want.
He’s a quick learner.
But a few seconds later, he backs up, breathing hard. There’s panic in his expression. He looks down. His jumpsuit’s fallen, and his shorts are fully tented, a small damp circle where the tip of his cock presses hard against the fabric.
He’s worried he’s going to come.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Come on.”
I lead Clint to the bed, sitting him down.
Then I reach down and pop off my garters, sliding out of my stockings.
When I’m standing only in my underwear, Clint reaches for me, pulling me close to him.
He presses his face into my stomach, kissing me there.
His lips are so sweet, but also so close to where I’m already throbbing.
He hooks his fingers in my underwear, slipping it down my hips.
Clint takes me in, then closes his eyes, breathing deeply as if to gain strength. After a moment, he opens his eyes again, getting up while keeping his hands on my hips. He touches his forehead to mine, then abruptly gets up and reaches for his clothes on the ground.
He pulls out his notebook, writing something down.
He turns it to me. I want to make you feel good.
I smile. “I do too. You, I mean.”
I already feel good. You don’t have to do anything.
I sit him down again and straddle his lap.
He groans. Even though it’s not really a sound—it’s more of a breath—it’s audible. Throaty. Deep.
He grips my thighs, his bulge pressing against my center. The cloth gently brushing against my clit has me whimpering already.
Clint removes his hands from me only to pick up the notebook.
Will you let me kiss you there?
I nearly come right then.
“Are you sure?” I ask him.
Never been more sure of anything in my life.
I bite my lip and his eyes darken. He kisses me again, deep and sure. When he pulls away, and when I nod, he lies back on the bed and urges me onto his face.
At the first lick of his tongue on me, he grips my hips tight with his fingers as I cry out his name.
He’s fumbling at first, but I realize this is the best position to be in, since I can guide him where to go.
But I realize we need to work out a system. As much as I don’t want him to stop, I gently tap his head.
When he lifts his face up I say, “Can we try…this means more?” I grasp his hair and tug. “And this faster?” I tug twice.
He gives me a wicked grin, nodding.
“What should mean slower? Or less?” I ask.
He takes my hand and gently presses my palm to his forehead.
“Okay,” I say. Then I tug his hair.
He grins and gets back to work.
“More,” I tell him when he moves with a pressure I like. “Faster” when I need him to.
He figures it out soon enough, looking up at me with each shift in movement. I nod, my mouth dropping open when he hits a flickering rhythm that makes me melt.
Soon I’m grinding myself against him, crying out his name, and in what feels like seconds, I’m coming hard, gripping his hair as I tell him not to stop.
When I’m done, panting, Clint’s eyes are heavy-lidded. He pulls his hands out and signs, “Keep going.”
The next time he knows just what to do, moving the way he did to make me scream.
I do it again and come again, stars in my eyes as I shudder over him.
When I fall off him, panting, he gets up on his elbow, wiping his hand over his mouth. I’m worried he’s going to be frowning when he removes his fingers, but he’s grinning so hard I laugh.
“Okay,” I say. “I want more.”
I know he’s not going to last if we take it slow. Plus, some part of me knows we don’t have all the time in the world. So I reach down, into his shorts. His erection is so hard it has to hurt.
When I grip it in my hand Clint looks like he might pass out. I let go to sign, “Stop?”
He shakes his head vigorously.
I get off him just long enough to slip his shorts off. He’s thick and long, and I throb with the need to feel him.
I wish I had more time. I wish I could teach him everything there is to know. I think about how he tended to his roses, with deft fingers and perfect, gentle skill. How he must have perfected everything he does with time and patience.
But we only have this moment, so I press him back onto the bed.
“I haven’t slept with anyone except Jeff in the past few years,” I say. I’ve been tested, and I’m on birth control. So…this is not smart, what we’re going to do, but it’s relatively safe, especially considering he’s never been with anyone.
“Keep going?” I sign.
He nods.
I reach back and grasp his length. He lifts his hands up, not reaching for my breasts like I thought he might, but for my face. He looks into my eyes as I guide him to me. And when I notch him at my entrance, he looks me in the eye and says my name.
“Maggie,” he says, like it’s not the first time. Like my name has always lived on the tip of his tongue.
I slide down his length, and his eyes open with wonder, his mouth going slack. He feels so fucking good. My face does the same thing.
“Oh my God, Clint,” I say, stunned at how perfectly we fit. It feels so natural. Like we’re the first two people on earth discovering this for the first time.
I lift up, and Clint’s hands glide down to my hips, pulling me gently onto him, lifting his hips to meet me until he’s in to the hilt.
The breath that comes out of him is primal. Sweat sheens across his forehead, and I can tell he’s holding back.
I brush his hair back from his face as I lift off him and slide down again.
Soon we find a rhythm, and the whole time, he doesn’t take his eyes from mine.
Heat builds quickly, but I know myself, and I know I won’t come again unless I touch myself too, so I bring my hand down between us, my fingers gliding over my clit.
I press my other hand on his chest, closing my eyes as I feel the pressure build.
Then I feel his hand lifting mine away, and I look down to see his thumb pressing where my fingers just were, mimicking my strokes.
He is a fast learner. He gives me just the right amount of pressure.
“I’m going to come if you keep doing that,” I say.
He smiles a big, broad, glorious smile.
I laugh, loving that smile almost more than what we’re doing.
But when I rock against him, he strains hard. He’s trying hard not to come. He furrows his brow with concentration.
“Faster,” I whisper, touching his hand, and he complies, increasing the speed of his thumb as I increase the speed of my thrusting hips.
That’s all it takes. Between the sensation of him gliding into my body hard and fast and his thumb working my clit, I come almost violently, crying out loud, my body shaking, my hand on his wrist to make sure he doesn’t let go.
I open my eyes.
He looks like he’s holding up the whole world.
“Come, Clint,” I say, breathless. “Come right now. Inside me.”
With great relief on his features, he does, with the same intensity as I just did. His jaw pops, his teeth clenched together, his whole body tense as he explodes into me. I feel all of it, and using his fingers on my clit, I come again too, this one deep and low, like an aftershock.
We’re slick now, with sweat and with his release gliding where we’re joined.
I slide off him, feeling like I’m floating as I roll onto my back next to him.
I turn toward him, checking to make sure he’s okay.
Clint’s eyes are closed, his breathing heavy. But he senses me looking.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He nods. Then he reaches up, brushing hair from my cheek. And he kisses me. So tenderly I could cry.
So I do.