Chapter 5 Andrea #4
His tongue continued to circle, up and down, on either side. Slick, light. Not stopping. He moved his hands on either side of my center, holding me delicately and deliberately, swirling his thumbs over me while his tongue continued to tug and taste.
Then he focused on the center, right where I needed him. My clit was almost too sensitive to bear it, but at the same time, I wanted it.
I want more.
I glanced down and saw the top of his head moving gently as he flicked his tongue left and right, then circled over the top, the pressure firm.
I can hardly breathe.
I pulled him up on top of me. He was still wearing his sweatpants, and I scrabbled to push them off him.
I wanted to lift my hips and feel him against me, nothing but skin against skin.
He reached behind himself to help me, sliding the gray pants down his legs, his underpants and socks slipping off with them.
Then, he was free, his cock thick and hard, falling down onto me so unexpectedly it made me gasp.
The condom. If we didn’t get it on now, I couldn’t be responsible for what might happen.
Liam was already tearing the foil and sliding it on.
Thank God.
A few seconds and he was back, his torso hovering over me. I ran my hands down his sides, my fingertips pausing briefly over something rough—what was that? A scar?
It barely registered as the weight of his cock dropped down onto me.
I needed to feel him in me—now—but he held back.
The tip slipped lower, resting right where every nerve was exposed, where his mouth had been only seconds before.
He stilled for a second, and I slid myself against him as a low sound came from his throat.
Then he moved with me, his hardness gliding easily between my legs.
I needed to move, to reposition my hips so he was in me, but he stopped and looked into my eyes.
“Wait,” he whispered, then leaned down and bit my lip gently, tugging at the skin as his hips moved up and down over me, his full length against me, the end pushing, pushing, until I felt like I might explode.
He pulled back slightly, and I felt the weight drop lower, right against me, at my entrance. If he pressed now, he’d be inside me, where I needed him. I moved up to meet him, but he pulled back, keeping the tip there and not letting me have it.
A whimper. Mine.
I dropped my head backward, and it fell to the side. He pinned my wrists against the mattress, his face against my neck, kissing and nibbling.
I felt him, firm against me, pressure and heat everywhere at once, but still he didn’t push in, just deliberately pressed and eased back, over and over.
“Please,” I whispered.
And then—I gasped. He was in. The sudden fullness was more than I’d expected. A thrill ran between my legs and around my back, up into my hair. He stayed there, deep, pressing against my clit with his body, then pulled back slowly, before thrusting into me again.
Everything in me screamed for more. More pressure. More speed. More of him.
Now.
His knees pushed my legs farther apart like he couldn’t get deep enough, and I opened, finally feeling what I’d wanted, the rhythmic movement teasing, coaxing, taking me from completeness to absence over and over.
Another thrust. He was still.
And then he pushed deeper.
I held him inside me like that was exactly where he belonged.
“Liam—”
Too much. Not enough.
Please.
He slowly withdrew until it was almost unbearable, then sank into me again, moaning deep and soft against my ear.
A tipping feeling.
My hips lifted and tensed. Everything tensed—taut, poised. Waiting.
My back arched. I couldn’t—
“Don’t—oh, don’t stop.”
He didn’t.
Then I was shuddering, shaking, everything tightening and releasing at the same time, like it was out of my control.
I pulled him down onto me, my hands clawing at his back, his hips. He moved more slowly now as I shook under him, jagged breaths against his neck.
And then I couldn’t move anymore. He stayed on top of me, as if he knew I needed the weight. The world slowly found its way back in, the sound of his breathing against my neck, his warm body heavy against me, anchoring me back into reality.
For a moment, I just lay there, staring at the faint light leaking through the curtains, my heart still racing like I’d run up too many stairs.
Something inside me felt different. Not just the loose, humming warmth in my limbs or the steady weight of Liam over me, but the strange, quiet aftershock still rippling through my body.
I’d had sex before. Plenty of times, technically.
But that—what had just happened—had never happened.
Not like that. Not the sudden, uncontrollable rush that had taken over my whole body and left me clutching him like the bed might tip sideways without him there.
A small, almost disbelieving laugh bubbled up in my chest. Twenty-six years old, and apparently, I’d been doing it wrong the entire time.
And of course the first man who’d ever managed it was the one I’d met five hours ago in a broken lift.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.