“I’ll work on crossword puzzles with you until we’re old and grey if you let me.” His cheek rides high on one side.
“I like the old and grey part.” I pick up his hand and intertwine our fingers. “But, right now, I think we should stick to the original plan of action, and I do mean action.” I pull his hand to my mouth and graze over his fingers.
“Sounds like you’re pretty focused.” His teeth illuminate in the dark like mirrors.
“I’m focused one hundred percent on you, Bryson Edwards.” I brush away any apprehension I might have and hold him by the back of the neck. “Will you love me tonight?”
He swallows hard never losing our stare. “I’ll love you every night for the rest of your life if you let me, Baya Brighton.” Bryson lands his lips over mine with a series of boiling kisses that promise a thousand tomorrows all their own. Bryson gently removes the towel from around me and peels off his shorts without his lips ever losing touch with mine.
My insides squeeze until it feels as if I’m going to be sick. I pull back and look at him like this, naked as he bears himself to me. The quiet light of the moon settles over his skin, and I can see the ripples in his cut abs, his chest, the cut V just below his abs, then below that, every last inch— Oh. My. God.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh myGod!
Bryson Edwards has a beam between his legs. AnOlympicsized balance beam, and I half-expect to see an entire string of gymnasts burst into the room with team USA leotards on and break out into a routine over it.
Just fuck. There is no way in hell he’s ever going to fit inside me. He’s going to impale me if he tries. One good thrust, and he’ll shoot right out my throat. I can just see the paramedic ride to hospital now. Crap. I’m going to end up on YouTube and Instagram, Vine, and all sorts of social network sites as the girl who cracked in half while trying to lose her virginity. I’ll be the poster child for abstinence at Catholic schools the world over. I’ll be on Reddit, then the news, and my mother will see me and kill me, no wait, Cole will beat her to it right after he snaps off that branch hanging from Bryson’s body.
I take a breath in sheer terror at the thought of what might come next. I must be deformed. Other girls must have a ditch you could back a dump truck in. And poor me, I have a hell of a time just inserting a slender tampon. This is never going to work. If I knew there was anything wrong with me, I would never have gotten his hopes, or his tree limb up, in the first place.
Bryson takes my hand and runs my fingers over the length of it. He’s hot to the touch, hard as steel, more rigid than I imagined, and a little skin cap sits at the top like a crown.
I’d say something that plays into our big bad wolf meme likemy what a long penis you have.But I’m deathly afraid he’d come back with something like,the better to spear you with.
My fingers tighten around him, and Bryson bends his head back and sucks in a quick breath. I can make out the ridge of his Adam’s apple rising and falling like a shadow.
“Did I hurt you?” I let go as if snatching it back from a rattle snake.
“No.” His lips curl as he says it, and he returns my hand to the foot-long splitting the difference between us. “I could come right now if I’m not careful.” He presses the words out with an ache as if he were in pain on some level. Bryson reaches over and unties my bathing suit top, extra slow, as if he were reveling in the moment. My body flinches as he whips it away. Here I am, on my knees, in front of Bryson Edwards the king of mattress tag at Whitney Briggs, and I’m ready to take that next step with him. Well, most of me is ready. My squeezebox is seriously reconsidering the idea.
Bryson reaches down and unties my bikini bottom and pulls it off slow through the front, and the fabric rubs along the most intimate part of me like a slick, wet tongue.
A moan works its way up my throat, and I try to cap it. I don’t want him to think this is all too much for me, that I’m overwhelmed in any way—of course, I am, but in everygoodway. The truth is the simple act of him stripping me nude is far more erotic than I could have ever imagined, and that vulnerable part of me is back on board with the idea.
“I’m going to make love to you, Baya.”
A tiny squeal escapes from me, more fear than cheer, but I doubt he heard over the bongo drum-like riot, taking place in my chest.
His fingers feather over my cheek, and I move toward him like a magnet. Bryson’s heated hands roam over my back. He rounds out the front and gives my nipples a gentle pinch before dipping a hand down to my thighs and finding his way into the warmth of my body. I seal a breath off in my lungs and let out a hearty, yet vocally impaired, groan as my sweet spot jumps up and down in his hand as if it were happy to finally meet him.
“Oh, yeah,” he groans. “You’re so wet.”
“That’s because we were in the hot tub,” I whisper through a smile.
A dull laugh pumps from him. “And here I thought you were ready for me.”
Ready for him. Right. Crap. I’m such a moron. Who the hell did I think I was sleeping with Bryson without at least brushing up on my sexual terminology? I’m beyond ridiculous to think I was just going to causally pick things up as we went along. I should have logged hours watching porn instead of reading Yates for Lit. It’s like I’ve got no fucking priorities. I should have read theKarma Sutra—shoved it in Cole’s face when he asked what I was reading. How do you like my book boyfriend now, bitch?
I shake my head, quickly chasing away the desire to inadvertently tell off my brother—fromthinkingof my brother while my newfound boyfriend’s hand is rubbing me the right way.
Bryson bows his head into me, his eyes close, his chest thumps with each breath. His fingers glide over my folds and I bury my lips in his neck as a dull cry rattles through me.
I let out a breath. Oh,hell,yes.
Bryson rubs over me slowly, methodically as if he had an entire game plan mapped out, and I am so loving the game plan. His fingers brush back until he carefully inserts one into me, and my hips writhe with pleasure right there in his hand. I crash my body against his and push my cheek into his shoulder with my mouth open and panting. My entire body demands to detonate over him. This is something far stronger than those pansy-like quivers I’ve been experiencing, and just the thought that he can elicit in me an excitement I had no idea existed makes my muscles twitch with ecstasy.
“You’re so tight,” he whispers close in my ear, gliding his finger in and out.
I try to agree with him, but I’m biting down over my lips, outright refusing to open my mouth in fear a viral scream will leap from my lungs. He’s loving me, touching me in ways that I could never imagine, and I’d hate to break the magic with the unearthly shriek begging to rip from my vocal cords.
