Chapter 11 #5
I bury my face in the side of his throat, too embarrassed to look at him as I hesitate…
slip my hand beneath the elastic of his underwear…
and cup the hot, taut bubble of his buttock.
Which is, unsurprisingly, hard as rock, yet the skin is so soft and so hot.
I squeeze, whimpering in shocked delight at how much I enjoy the feel of him in my hand.
I palm his other buttock, and then worm my other hand around his waist and fill both hands with his buttocks.
He simply lets me touch him. His palm rests on my hip, in the intimate, tender juncture where hip, thigh, and sex meet.
The constriction of his jeans and underwear is abruptly infuriating, and I growl my annoyance—shove them both down out of the way so I may play with the wonderfulness that is his backside unrestricted.
He laughs at my impatience, his body shaking. "Hey, easy. No rush."
"You are clothed and I am not," I point out. "This feels inequitable."
"Whaddya gonna do about it?" he murmurs, his voice rough and amused.
I feel his feet working, moving—toeing off his shoes and socks. I push at his jeans and underwear, but they catch at his belly. Or, rather…near there. A bit lower, perhaps.
"Careful, there," he whispers. "Certain parts of me don't exactly bend in their current state."
I squeak as I realize what he means—his…um…manhood…is erect, and his underwear is catching on it. "Did I…hurt you?"
"No, honey. No. You didn't hurt me."
Relief is a sweet rush of breath in my frozen lungs. "You are…um…aroused."
"Yeah, babe."
"I have not touched you…there."
"No." He pulls his face away to look into my eyes. "You turn me on, Cadence. Just looking at you turns me on—you letting me play with these?" He scoops my breast in his hand, lowers his mouth to it, suckles softly. "Hard as a fuckin' rock, sweetheart."
"Oh," I breathe. "My breasts are an acceptable size and shape to you, then?"
"Fishin' for compliments, are you?" he growls. "Cadence, honey, you have perfect tits."
"You insist on perfection as your favored descriptor, Riley," I murmur. "But surely perfection is a myth."
"Subjective, not a myth." He growls, palming both of my breasts and bringing them together and then burying his face between them. His stubble is scratchy and rough…and inordinately titillating. Pun very much intended.
See? I have jokes.
"I think you're perfect," he says, letting go and returning to lay beside me, half-above me. "Every part of you."
His hand soars down my belly and rests dangerously close to my privates.
At the proximity of his hand, arousal pulses in me all over again, and the only way I can bear it is to clasp him by the nape and pull his mouth to mine and kiss him until I moan my desire.
He growls an answering sound of need, and his hand slips lower, covering my mons pubis again.
I gasp into his mouth and stop breathing when his drifting hand does not stop, but moves lower yet.
I squeeze my thighs together helplessly against the pressure within me and the billowing heat of arousal and the slow seep of arousal's wetness.
Another shrill gasp seethes past my teeth when he turns his hand to point toward my feet; my thighs squeeze together tighter than ever, blocking him from going any further.
Except…that is not what I wish to happen.
I open my eyes and look at him, frantic with need yet in an agony of uncertainty and anticipation. "Riley, I…"
"Cadence, honey, if you're not ready, that's okay. It's perfectly alright. You can change your mind about anything at any time."
I grip his nape with trembling fingers. "I have not changed my mind."
"I don't want you to be scared."
I squeeze my eyes shut, press my forehead to his, panting raggedly.
I focus my will on my legs, force them to unclench.
"I am afraid, Riley. And I am allowed to be. This is new for me. I have never been naked with a man. I have never kissed a man until you. I have never been touched by a man with any amount of intimacy.” I exhale shakily.
"I am afraid, and it is okay. I am not afraid of you; I am not afraid of this.
I want this. I want you. My fear is of the unknown, the anticipated. "
"Brave girl," he whispers. "Just tell me what you need."
"Only a bit of patience." I open my eyes and meet his gaze. "And maybe…more kisses?"
"More kisses?" he echoes. "As you wish, sweetest girl."
I turn my mouth up to his, gasping with desire, open-mouthed and greedy for his kiss. He slashes his mouth against mine and slides his tongue against mine, and now I throw myself into the kiss, whimpering in my throat as our kiss deepens, soars, expands, and my arousal billows and pulses.
My thighs relax by degrees, and his hand remains where it is, covering my mons with a single long middle finger millimeters above my sex, where the hood of my labia guards my clitoris—that aching, throbbing bundle of nerves.
He parts, panting, and then goes in for more, and he twists my nipple until I gasp, a sudden shot of arousal spasming through me, making me gasp and twitch.
My thighs fall open, then, and I open my eyes and find his and stare into his wild pale blue eyes and I slide my legs further apart until the night air bathes my wet, exposed sex.
I cannot hold eye contact any longer, but I can continue searching his face and letting him see me, my expression, my need. I part my legs until they are splayed open for him. I cannot give him any clearer an invitation.
His eyes scan and search my face, my eyes—and then flick down, stuttering and lingering at my breasts before tripping down to my sex. His expression shifts into wonder and awe and male appreciation as he gazes down at my sex.
He trails one fingertip up my seam. "Look at this perfect, pretty, pink little pussy."
I can only whimper wordlessly.
Another ghostly soft touch, that same finger sliding up my skin, smearing through the wetness. "Soaked for me, aren't you?"
"Yes," I gasp, and then whine at a third trailing touch.
"You ever touch yourself, Cadence?"
I shake my head.
"No?" Another hot line of scorching touch, and now, perhaps, his fingertip presses in ever so slightly. "Never touched yourself? Not even once?"
I whimper. "Once. I did...once."
"Tell me. Please."
My cheeks flame. "I finished an exam early and went home to my dorm room.
I was alone. I read a book…a modern Regency romance which contained, unbeknownst to me when I purchased it, some rather graphic…
erm…scenes. which…ahhhh…caused me to feel…
discomfited. I…" I cover my face with my hands.
"I touched myself…there. It sent a sensation through me that was far too intense, and I…
I panicked and stopped. I returned the book unfinished. "
"So you've never had an orgasm?"
"No. Certainly not."
"You want one?"
"Yes," I whisper. "I do. I…I believe it is the only way to assuage the intense feelings your attentions have engendered within me."
"Intense feelings, huh? Like what?"
"Desire. Arousal."
"Desire for what?”
"I…I do not know how to put it. Um?" I swallow hard as he covers my sex with his hand. "Desire for…relief. Desire for…for intimacy with you. Desire to be touched." I gulp. "Desire to touch."
He traces his finger over my seam again. “How's that feel?"
"Good," I breathe.
He does it again, but this time his fingertip presses in a bit, and now when he traces his finger up my seam, it is between my labia. "And that?"
I can only gasp. "Yes," I manage.
A chuckle. “Yes?"
"Again," I breathe; he complies, and his finger slips a little more inside me. "Oh…oh my!”
He nips my lower lip between his teeth, and then kisses me until I lose my breath and whimper and feel myself rush with arousal yet again—this time with his finger inside me.
He growls. "Fuck, honey, I felt that."
I whine in mortification—and then watch in something like horror when he brings the finger that was inside me to his mouth…
And licks it clean as if he'd dipped it in brownie batter.
"RILEY!" I hiss.
"Sweet as sugar, darlin'," he murmurs, and traces my seam again and again, and now his finger is between my labia again and I cannot breathe from the sensation—his touch is inside me.
I shake all over as he slides that finger up, up…and brushes against my clit. A jolting, searing rush of intense sensation makes me shudder and shriek, and my spine arches.
"So fucking sensitive," he growls. "So fucking sexy." He nips my earlobe. Whispers hot words I feel as much as hear. "Ready, sweetheart?"
Panting, I can only nod.
He slowly, carefully, gently plunges his finger inside me, deep inside my vaginal channel, which pulses around his finger. I try to gasp, to whimper, but no sound emerges—I am arched, my whole body taut as a violin string.
I feel a slight twinge of something—a slight discomfort, and then the sensation is gone as if it never was, and he is sliding his finger out of me and then back in, and it is the only sensation in the world, in the universe.
Him. His touch. I am more vulnerable now than I have ever been in my entire life—by an exponential amount.
I am shaking, but not with fear. His touch inside me causes waves of sensation: a shuddering, a shifting, a billowing of heat and a throbbing of pressure. I am shaking from the intensity.
I am wild with it.
I feel a drive…a need; I need to…I do not know. Do something.
I need more.
I just do not know what.
"Riley," I breathe. "I need…"
"What, baby?"
"I do not know."
"I think I do." He rolls toward me and now he is almost above me, and he lifts my breast to his descending mouth, and a sharp bolt of arousal strikes like lightning as he flicks my nipple with his tongue, causing me to shriek, shrill and breathless.
His finger moves upward, slipping almost out of me, and I feel the absence acutely.
There is no warning.