Chapter 18 #2
The fact that you could put it down to religious reasons rather than anything else is…
well, thank you for thinking that could be the reason.
But the truth is - and I don’t want to dwell on this too much because I don’t want to ruin the mood - I was meant to lose my virginity with my steady girlfriend on prom night, and then I was caught up in the grief, and wanted to keep to myself and ignore the world except for my family.
I guess I’ve just never really put myself out there or been receptive to anything with anyone.
Until you.
I melt. My eyes actually prick with unexpected tears, and I swallow hard past a lump in my throat.
I toss the tablet onto the sofa and damn near leap at him, spilling his water all over my carpet in the process and not caring in the least, lifting up on my tiptoes to cup his face and smooth back his hair.
He closes his eyes and faintly leans into my touch, and I am gone for this man.
Right now, I am so his that if he asked me to take a flying leap over a cliff, I’d ask him if he had any preference as to which one.
“Are you sure you want to do this? Because we don’t have to.
We can go at your pace, I promise. Whatever you want,” I tell him, filled to bursting with a tenderness I’ve never felt for anyone else.
His eyes burn into mine. I’m very sure , he mouths, before switching to sign language.
I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you .
I barely have time to register what he said before he pulls me back to him so he can kiss me again.
This is a kiss that consumes us both, our mouths fucking each other before our bodies get down to it, a kiss that rearranges my brain and permanently etches into my bones like the footprints on the moon.
He breathes out a silent moan, one hand pressing on my lower back to bring me closer still, and so I can feel how badly he’s wanting me; his other hand has a fistful of my hair, which he gently tugs in a way that sets my ladyclam to tingling.
He rests his forehead on mine, looking both lost and found, nervous and desperate and enchanted. Where’s your bedroom? He asks with his hands.
Whatever happens now is going to change me. I can feel it, like a benign warning, and I want to run to it with open arms. I want to be changed. I want to turn myself inside out giving him the best experience I possibly can, and I don’t ever want to go back to the same person I was before.
Wordlessly, I take his hand and lead him to my room.
I’ve had my four poster bed for years because I love the carvings of fleur de lys surrounded by delicate vines.
I had it when I lived in America, and I’ve painstakingly shipped it everywhere I’ve lived ever since, no matter the expense.
I’m not sure why I’m so attached to it, but I find myself foolishly glad to have this to share with him, too - to also associate this bed with him.
His eyes soften, and he runs a finger over the wood. Symbol of New Orleans , he tells me.
“So it is.”Small world.
The red and white cotton bed sheets are brand new.
My window is open to let a fresh breeze in, and I wonder if I should put some music on.
But then, what if I don’t pick a band he likes, or he finds it distracting…
Inwardly slapping myself for being such a flibbertigibbet, I try to remember the carefree, pragmatic woman I used to be when faced with a new lover.
But she’s not here. And I’m all that’s left in her absence.
“Whatever you say, goes,” I assure him, because I want that to be very clear.
One corner of his mouth pulls upwards. I was going to say the same thing to you . I giggle, and he seems to like it, because he bites his lip before taking me into his arms again. He’s hesitating, so I’m guessing he’s waiting for me to kick things off.
Well, OK, then.
I lift his henley tentatively, establishing permission, and he nods, lifting his arms so it’s easier for me to take it off him.
He has a black tank top on underneath, showcasing his broad shoulders and wiry strength, to say nothing of the myriad tattoos decorating his skin.
Pictures and words, and on his forearm a group of discordant letters: YKWYDMFNF.
I’ll ask him what it means later. The tattoos he showed me when we first met greet me like old friends, and the ones I hoped I’d see one day calling for my attention.
What else is there… I start to lift his top, but he catches my wrist and shakes his head .
I’d rather keep that on, if that’s OK? A shadow of unease passes across his face, and I must chase it away.
“Not a problem,” I assure him, brushing off any disappointment I feel.
I’m sorry. It’s just… You’ll see my scars, and then I’ll get self-conscious, and then I’ll start thinking about how I got them, and… I’m fascinated by how he trails off with his hands as clearly as if he was speaking aloud from his throat. I don’t want anything to ruin this, least of all that.
Seeing him start to fret, I quickly kiss him, pulling on his mouth with mine until he’s back in the moment. “It’s fine,” I promise, “genuinely.”
His eyes have stars in them. It hits me what a responsibility this is, to give him his first complete sexual experience. A kind of strengthening calm washes over me. He needs me to take the lead now. So I do.
I turn around and lift my hair. “Unzip me, please.”
I feel his hands on my waist, and he runs kisses along the back of my neck, bared to him by my own hands, in a way that makes me tremble. A little moan escapes from my lips, and his breath comes a little faster at the sound.
I turn my head, and we share one more kiss before he beams down at me, his smile a wonderful thing, as he slides my zip down.
Pulling my sleeves down, I let my dress pool at my legs and turn around, leaving me in sheer pink lace underwear.
His breath catches, and he swallows hard as he takes me in.
So beautiful, he says, his hands trembling as he signs.
I run my fingers down his covered abs until I reach the waistband of his jeans and his leather belt. “OK with you if I take your trousers off?” I ask against his lips, and he grins and nods. Very , he mouths.
I get to work, drawing the moment out, and gently bite his lower lip, until his jeans are loose enough to drop.
Holy fuck.
“WHOAH,” I burst out, staring at the undeniably enormous bulge pressing at the front of his black boxer briefs.
What’s wrong? He asks, looking alarmed .
Oops. “Nothing at all,” I assure him, my smile spreading across my face, “it’s just…wow, you have quite a lot to offer me there.” The outline of his shaft shows he has to be eight or nine inches at least, and he’s thick with it.
Right, he says, like it’s something awkward he’d forgotten about. Too big? He still looks worried. Because if it’s going to hurt you, we don’t have to -
I shake my head, feeling like jumping up and down and clapping my hands in delight.
While I don’t hold with the ridiculous size-is-everything dogma of male-centric society, the feel of being stretched by a large phallus always contributes to the strength and intensity of my orgasm.
It’s a kink I have. “No, absolutely perfect.” Whatever he sees in my happy face makes him smile in response, and I can’t resist running a lazy hand up his length.
His whole cock throbs, and he gasps, his ab muscles leaping. His eyes close slowly, and he bites his lip. How did I find this man? How did I get this fortunate? I lick the seam of his lips with the tip of my tongue, opening him to my kiss, my tongue stroking his, his stroking mine.
“Lie down on the bed,” I murmur, and he does, looking at me with amazement, letting me know I’m not alone in the way I feel right now.
Dean is irresistible, lying there, and I don’t even try to fight it. I crawl up the bed to him like a cat, and the mix of nerves and heated desire on his face is revving my engine.
Shifting him more to the middle of the bed so I can straddle him, I run kisses along his jaw.
He sighs, and I decide to go bolder, and run them down his chest, softly biting his nipples until he gasps, and then down his stomach to his happy trail, which I lick.
“Enjoy,” I murmur, and gently ease his boxers down.
Oh my word …
His erection is amazing. Long, so thick that my fingers can’t quite meet when I grasp him, and it’s pulsing like a heartbeat as I watch. “Your dick,” I say to him, staring at it, “is superlative.”
He huffs out a chuckle, and I get my own back by dipping my head and swirling my tongue luxuriantly over his helmet, teasing the frenulum with the tip of my tongue.
His reaction is immediate. He jerks under me, and from the gasp he lets out, I know that if he had working vocal chords, he’d be crying out.
I’ve never felt such a hard erection in my life; it must be aching fit to burst. I smile to myself and take him into my mouth once more, a little further this time.
I look up, and his head has lolled back, his jaw gritting and his eyes clenched shut as he fights to retain any control.
Oh, this is fun…
I start blowing him in earnest, slowly but a little deeper each time, sucking harder by increments.
His breathing is fitful and he’s losing control of the way his hips jerk under me, clearly trying not to go too fast but clearly gripped by the primal instinct to thrust. I’m at it for around thirty seconds when I feel him tapping frantically on my shoulder.
I look up, checking in with him. “Are you OK?”
He’s flushed, slightly sweaty, and fighting to catch his breath. A muscle jumps in his jaw. Far too OK , he signs, winded and wry. If you’d gone on one second more, I’d have come, and it…would have gone in your mouth...