Sixteen #4
Moans of pleasure reverberate in his throat.
I love having this kind of effect on him.
I love feeling him lose control. I love watching him at the peak of pleasure with his head tossed back, eyes closed, and his mouth slightly open.
But above all else, I love him . Captivated by all these feelings, I accept every one of his thrusts, and a hot gush soaks my inner thighs.
The urge to touch myself, to soothe the heat that burns between my legs is becoming more intense, more desperate.
I bring my fingers to my clit and start moving them in small circles.
Thomas gropes my breast, pinching my nipple hard between his thumb and forefinger.
He does it a second time and a third. Every nerve ending explodes as an ecstatic orgasm overwhelms me, shattering me.
I squint my eyes, and for a moment, my knees turn watery.
He holds my hair in an iron grip, urging me to keep going.
“I’m gonna come…” he gasps breathlessly.
“If you don’t want to…” he mutters, his brow furrowed in an almost pained expression.
I won’t take my mouth off him. I want to feel him burst inside me.
I want to taste it. I shake my head, keeping my eyes on his because I want to watch him come apart and relish every part of him.
I continue sucking, never slowing until the hot, thick proof of his orgasm pours right down my throat.
“Fuck…” A sound of pure satisfaction comes out of his mouth, and a dizzying heat spreads through my body.
I swallow every last drop while his fist in my hair continues to move as his orgasm winds down.
Still kneeling on the floor, I wipe the corner of my mouth and stare up at him, waiting for him to catch his breath. I’m suddenly nervous. Did he think it was good? I have no yardstick with which to measure, while he, on the other hand, has way too many.
Thomas lowers himself down to me. He’s panting.
He’s all sweaty, disheveled hair and crimson cheekbones.
He’s simply magnificent. He moves some damp strands of hair off my forehead and kisses me deeply, moaning into me, “Your mouth is gonna be the death of me.” That gets me up on my feet.
He takes me in his arms and kisses me again, chasing away all of my insecurities.
When he pulls back, however, I watch his expression turn serious and frowning.
“How many times have you done that?” He looks at me, waiting for an answer, while I think I might actually die of shame.
Why is he asking me this? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he didn’t actually like it.
“Just once…with you.” My voice comes out trembly and unsure. All my boldness is gone.
He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Bullshit.”
“No, it’s the truth,” I answer, embarrassed, wringing my hands and hoping to move quickly past this topic.
“How is that possible?” he demands.
I shrug, not sure what to say. “I’ve never felt the urge to do it with anyone before you.”
“Are you telling me that I was your first blowjob?” he says loudly, with all his innate refinement and a smug grin flitting around his mouth.
“That makes you feel pretty pleased with yourself, doesn’t it?” I move closer, wrapping my arms around his neck.
He smiles, absolutely full of himself. “So pleased.”
***
After we got ourselves back together, we left the room and headed downstairs with the full intention of having fun.
Instead, we wound up sneaking away again to a different corner of the house, teasing and provoking each other like a couple of hormonal kids.
I think I’ve developed a sort of “Thomas addiction.” The more I’m with him, the more I seem to need him.
And when he’s not around, it feels like I’m going through withdrawal.
When our ardor seems to have finally cooled a bit, he gives me a pat on the butt, and we go back to the kitchen to get some more of that leftover pizza, which no one else has touched since we left. He sits me on the kitchen counter and positions himself between my legs.
“Have you decided anything about that dinner with your mother?” he asks me suddenly.
“No, not yet. Basically, there’s a part of me that wants to go.
But I know her too well; she’s definitely going to end up saying or doing something that will make me feel bad.
It’s always been like that between us. One step forward, ten steps back.
Only, this time, I don’t think I have the strength to make it through another battle. ”
“That doesn’t mean it has to happen that way.
Maybe this time is the right time,” he suggests.
It always surprises me to hear him trying to negotiate for a reconciliation between my mother and me.
And it makes my heart ache a little bit too.
He, more than anyone else, knows how painful a parent’s absence can be.
“If you want, I can be there,” he adds in the face of my silence, playing with the ends of my hair.
I give him a confused look. “You mean at the dinner?”
He nods confidently.
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “You’d really come to my house to have dinner with my mother?”
He looks unhesitatingly into my eyes. “Do you want me to be there?”
I don’t even need a half second to think about it. Of course I want him there. Having him there would mean the world to me.
“Yes. Your presence would make me feel better.”
“Then I’ll be there,” he answers, and my heart threatens to burst from my chest.
He has no idea how much this gesture means to me.
I smile at him and hug him tightly. I want to say something more than just thank you, but suddenly, all I seem to feel is terrible guilt.
I remember my conversation with Logan, our encounter yesterday, and the fact that Thomas knows nothing about all of it.
I’ve kept it from him, and although I had a good reason, I know that I can’t make a relationship work with lies of omission.
He’s trying really hard to open up to me.
To let me feel a part of him, of his world.
It’s not fair; he needs to know about Logan, and he needs to know now.
I pull back just far enough to lock eyes with him and clear my throat. “Thomas, listen, I have something to tell you—”
His phone vibrates in his pocket. I can’t believe it. Excellent timing, as usual. He takes it out, checks the name on the display, and answers it. “Hey. What? No, wait, it’s too loud here; I can’t hear you.”
He puts the phone against his chest and brings his mouth close to my ear. “It’s my sister; I’m stepping out for a minute. Don’t disappear, okay?”
I nod, just a little apprehensively.
The moment Thomas walks out the door, I see Tiffany collapse on the sofa in the living room.
Her cheeks are slightly red, her hair is sweat soaked, and her mascara is smudged.
I head over and sit down next to her. “Hey, are you okay?” I try to hold back a laugh as I take in her not exactly pristine condition.
“Hell yeah, I am. I won four games! Then my head started spinning, and I realized it was time to throw in the towel. I’m thirsty. Thirsty for water, lots of water. Would you go get some water for me?” She straightens up a bit and tries to wipe the smeared makeup off with her fingers.
“Sure, I’ll be right back.” I pat her knee and go to the kitchen for a nice glass of cold water. When I get back, she drains it in one gulp. She’s tipsy, and it shows, but I’m relieved to see she’s not completely wasted.
“Who chose this terrible music?”
I cock an eyebrow as I hand her a tissue to dab herself dry. “You don’t like Hendrix?”
“Too noisy for my current condition,” she whines, squinting.
I laugh out loud, but in truth, I can’t shake off this creeping feeling of distress. I stay silent for a moment before deciding to speak. “Hey, Tiff? Do you think you have a little bit of sobriety left to dedicate to your best friend?”
My request seems to goad her a little, as she suddenly sits up straight. “Of course. Shoot!”
I sigh deeply, putting the tissues back on the coffee table in front of us, and sink back against the couch cushions, watching all the drunk people around us.
“On my way to the arena, I ran into Logan,” I confess. At the mere mention of his name, Tiffany screws up her mouth and rolls her eyes. She never liked him.
“What did he want?”
“To tell me some good news,” I say, devoid of enthusiasm.
“Which was…?”
“Long story short, I’m supposed to be his philosophy tutor.”
Tiffany puts her hand over her mouth in disbelief and utters a tiny whispered “No…”
“Yeah…” I answer apathetically.
“Does Thomas know?”
“No, not yet. Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m going to do…”
“Give up the tutoring,” she says immediately.
I give her a disconsolate look. “But do I want to give up the boost to my résumé, which might just get me through this semester without going completely insane?” I don’t think I’ve ever felt more helpless in my life. Whichever choice I make, I end up losing something.
“Then do it,” Tiffany says with the exact same conviction she just used a minute ago to suggest that I back out.
I shake my head. “Thomas will be furious.”
“Oh, sweetheart, of course he will. But it’s not like you can help it,” she says, giving me a sympathetic look. “Remember, you’re doing it for yourself, and if he really cares about you, he shouldn’t be able to do anything but support you.”
As hard as it is to believe all of that, I hope with all my heart that she’s right.
I scrub my hands over my face and start thinking of the hundred thousand ways I could tell Thomas that I’m going to have to start taking time away from him and dedicating it to Logan, when Tiffany alerts me.
“Uh-oh, trouble incoming.”
I take my hands away from my face and look at her uncomprehendingly.
Her eyes are fixed to the front door. “Sir Tedious himself has entered the room and is headed right for us.” I turn around quickly and see Logan advancing on us with long decisive strides.
My ears are ringing; all the voices around me seem muffled. All I can really hear is the sound of my own breathing as it gets heavier and heavier.