“I’ll use my safe words if I need to,” he promises.
I sniff. “I never thought wanting to make love to someone would make me cry.”
“Are they happy tears?”
I nod. “Are yours?”
“Yes.” He caresses my beard. “I want to make love, Rory. I want to try.”
Try. That’s all I’ll ever ask of him.
Wax cracks and rustles as I retrieve lube and a condom from the drawer. I lie beside him, on my side, with my knee raised. I start to squeeze lube onto my fingers.
Callan catches hold of my hand. “Teach me.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods.
I smear the small amount of lube on my fingers onto his and then add more. I put my hand over his and guide his hand to my arsehole. I watch his face and stare into his eyes as I press his fingertips against my pucker. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth. His eyes dart from mine to my arse and back again. His pupils are small. His eyebrows are ever so slightly raised. I wait until his hand relaxes beneath mine before slowly pushing his finger inside me. My eyelashes flutter as I groan and tip my head back. Callan’s finger is inside me, and it feels incredible.
“Are you okay?” I manage.
“Yeah. Are you?”
“Yes.”
“It feels…?”
“Good. So good.” I encourage him to work his finger a little deeper and let out a whining gasp.
I force myself to lower my head, open my eyes, and focus on him again. It’s too easy to get lost in the ecstasy of having his finger inside me, but he’s the one I need to take care of. I need to make sure he’s okay.
I let go of his hand and cup his cheek. “I love you.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Oh, Cal, you’re not. You could never hurt me. It feels amazing.”
“What do I do?”
“Move your finger back and forth, slowly and gently.”
Has he fingered a woman before? He must have. I doubt it feels the same. I imagine an arse is much tighter, but I can’t be sure. I know it’s not the physical differences that are making him tremble, even as he does as I’ve asked. He moves his finger achingly slowly, which is amazingly erotic. I’m used to men who want to get the warm-up phase over and done with. Hell, I’m guilty of it too. Whether it’s through fascination or fear, Callan’s movements are unhurried and gentle. My stomach quivers as his finger explores deeper inside me. I kiss him—small fluttering motions of my lips against his. My tongue flicks out to caress his, and I stroke his jaw tenderly. He moans into my mouth. The movement of his finger becomes bolder but no less amazing. I grind against it, slowly fucking myself.
“Two fingers.” It’s somewhere between a command and a desperate request.
“Two?”
“You sound surprised.” I nip at his jaw and then slam my mouth against his. “I need more, Cal. I want more. Two fingers.” That time, it was a command.
He trembles as he obeys.
“Oh, fuck, Cal.” I kiss him harder than ever. I wrap my arms around his back, holding and caressing him as my hips move in time with the motion of his fingers. “Are you okay?” I’ll check in with him a thousand times if I have to.
“Yeah. It’s just…I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Like what?”
