“Does that feel good, Mags?” I ask as I watch her coming undone from the vibrations and my touch. Her legs shake with pleasure as she nods her head eagerly.
“It feels sooo good Clay. Move faster, please.”
I move, picking up my pace with my thrusts, turning up the speed on the toothbrush, and removing my fingers from her other hole so I can hold her hips in place. I can’t stop staring between us, the way she’s stretched all around me as I take her so perfectly. I reflect on all the ways Maggie has opened herself up to me and feel a fervent desire to express that I want this to be real, not just a façade. But every time I do, I hesitate—she’s young, and my confession might overwhelm her.
“Clay,” she’s breathless now as she tosses her hair over her shoulder, looking like a fucking beautiful, torturous mess that’s been created just for me to care for, to protect and to love and I intend on doing exactly that for as long as she’ll let me.
“Clay!” she cries out, and I feel her orgasm hit. She’s shuddering, clenching and shaking while I hold her tight.
I’d been on the precept of coming ever since I slid inside of her raw, holding out painfully, but as soon as I feel her body start to contract, I let go, burying myself deeply inside and unleashing. Once I know she’s satisfied, I pull out carefully and flip her around, holding her firmly against my chest.
She’s panting, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm as I kiss her damp cheeks, her chin, her lips, murmuring praises about how amazing she was, because she is.
“How did that feel?” I ask.
Her doe brown eyes turn up to meet mine in raptured awe. “Ithink I’d like to have every first with you all over again, Clay.”
And my heart splinters and breaks because I know I’d like that too. And I’m not just referring to sexual things.
First love.
First engagement.
First marriage.
First baby.
But I can’t rush things, so I stay silent, focusing on cleaning her up with the napkins I've brought instead.
I need to take it slow and show her that I’m here for the long haul. I have to get through this wedding weekend with my ex, and then I’ll demonstrate why every first with me outside of the sexual is exactly what she truly needs...
Chapter 27 – Maggie
“I can’t believe you’re dating Clay Cameron. Hot cowboy. Chiseled firefighter.Pussy whisperer.” Lucy flops onto my bed with a dramatic sigh as I slip into my silk, fitted, pale yellow dress for Savannah’s wedding that’s in only an hour.
It’s one of my favorite dresses, a go-to when I need something special to wear, and always reminds me of my mother. Though I hardly remember her now, my dad has always told me that her favorite color was yellow. Just like the dandelions and daffodils that cover Texas during the warm summer days.
“Pussy whisperer? Really?”
She nods, “That’s what I heard from Kelly at work. She said that when they slept together three years ago, the orgasm was so good that she’s never had one like it since.”
I shake my head, because that’s thelastthing I want to hear before I go on a date with Clay to his ex-girlfriend’s wedding. I wonder if Savannah’s had an orgasm as good as the one’s that Clay surely delivered her since she left him.
I shake my head again as if I can clear that fucked up thoughtfrom my mind. But of course, now I’m thinking about how this whole thing ispainfullytemporary and there’s a chance I’ll never have an orgasm like Clay’s again with someone else.
Shit. What if my future husband isn’t this good at sex?!
I roll my eyes at myself.
I’m being ridiculous.
I perch on the edge of my bed to tug on my navy-blue wedges that match the flowers in my dress.
“Clay said the wedding party is wearing pink, and he’s going with navy blue, but he didn’t care what I wore tonight. Does this look okay?” I stand and give a little twirl.
The dress is pale yellow, midi-length, with navy blue flowers on the bodice, hugging me exactly right. I’ve paired it with matching wedges, and my curls have been blown out into loose waves, half pinned up and secured with faux diamond encrusted barrettes. My makeup is natural, soft neutral tones, and I’m wearing the simple diamond earrings my dad gave me for my eighteenth birthday.
I know Clay said it didn’t matter what I wore tonight, that he’d like me in anything, but I can’t help but feel like it matters alittleconsidering it’s his ex’s wedding.
