6) Be tied up or blindfolded…maybe?
7) Receive oral sex. (If the other participant is willing, of course.)
“This is good.” I nod, then turn my head to see her. She’s got her fingernail between her teeth, studying my reaction. “Does having a list make you feel”—I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words when I so often don’t—“more confident?”
“I guess?” she says, her eyes looking up to the ceiling as she scrunches up her features. “I, um, I don’t have thebestrelationship with trying new things. I like to be good at everything the first time and I can get frustrated if…Well, if I’m not. I thought having a list of things I can check off would make me feel like I’m accomplishing something even if I’m terrible at it.”
I sit up, leaning onto my elbows as I drop the notebook onto the mattress between us. I take a moment, choosing my next words carefully as Prue seems to squirm following her admission—looking everywherebutmy face.
“Hey.” I get her eyes on me. “You cannot be terrible at sex, that’s a myth. Humans are intrinsically designed to enjoy physical intimacy. If the sex is bad, it is almost always the fault of all the participants, equally. Most likely, if someone wasn’t having fun, it’s because there’s a communication issue. We,” I pause, gesturing between us, “will not have that issue,” I say, nodding, so she does the same. “I promise.”
“No?” she asks softly, tilting her head.
“No. You and I are going to communicate. We are going to tell each other what feels good, and what doesn’t, and how hard or how soft or to the left or to the right until we’re both writhing, pleading, and fuckinglostin it. Youronlyjob in this, the only thing youhaveto do, is to tell me what feels good.”
Her bottom lip flicks out, now free from her teeth. “I-I just…I haven’t done anything but kissing before and, yeah, the other night with you…was the…mostI’ve done. And it’d been awhile too…”
“I’d never have guessed you were out of practice.” I wink at her, smiling. “And this list is a good starting place. If you feel like you need to check off boxes—we will.”
“I think…” She sighs, then swallows. Her eyes shut as she appears to chastise herself.
“Tell me.”
“I think, also, it will help me not get…notfeel…” She looks at me with a hopeful expression, as if I’ll finish her sentences for her. I won’t; she needs to do this herself.
“Use your words, Killer.”
She blushes before shaking herself. She runs both hands over her head and holds the back of her neck. “I think having a list makes me worry less about us developingfeelingsfor each other. It feels more structured, practical, in a way.”
“Understood,” I say, feeling my nostrils flare with the effort it takes to form a smile.
“You don’t do anything but casual,” she reminds me, her face curious as her eyes dance across my features. “I want to respect that boundary and, also, protect myself.”
I chuckle dryly. “You don’t have to worry about falling in love with me, Prudence. No one ever has.”
“Doubtful,” she says, too quickly for my heart not to take notice.
I shake my head, pouting. “Nah, I think I’m immune to it.”
A thousand words pass between Prue and me as neither of us speaks. We stare again, for what could be minutes if time existed in such a moment. Emotions run between us, settling into our expressions as if conversation accompanies them. Eyes turn accusing, then understanding. Mouths contort into frowns, thenturn to half-lifted smiles. Our breathing syncs, chests lifting and lowering in tandem. It’s too much and yet somehow not enough either.
“We’ll be fine,” I tell her, breaking the heavy silence.
It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once, to be seen by her.
“We’ll be fine,” she agrees, her lips falling open on a jagged breath.
I go to my knees on the center of the bed at the exact same moment Prue does too. In one quick movement, before our lips have even touched, she lifts her arms above her head and I tug off her sweater.
“You tell me atanypoint if you need me to stop, okay? And I will. I will stop,” I promise, diving at her tits with my mouth. Her nipples pucker through the thin, soft lace of her white bra and I immediately clasp my lips around one and flick my tongue over it.
“Oh,” she moans, arching so I can take more of her into my mouth. “Fuck,” she whispers, gripping my hair.
I wrap both of my arms around her back and lift her until I can lay her flat down onto the mattress. Once on top of her I make quick work of slotting my hips between her thighs, not taking my mouth or tongue off her for a single second.
Prue gasps when I slip the strap of her bra off her left shoulder and tug the fabric down so my mouth can find uncovered flesh and skin. Prue’s tits areperfectand begging to be worshipped—covered in goosebumps that I lick as if reading braille with my tongue. If I had to translate, it would read an awful lot like the illicit moans flowing through Prue’s lips.
Running my hand up her rib cage, I tighten my grip around her breast, squeezing it to a narrow peak that I can fit inside of my mouth. I’ve always liked breasts, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve never had damn-near cannibalistic desires before—wishing I could dislocate my jaw like afuckingsnake to take it whole.
