“Is it fucked up that I like that?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.
“Yes,” I say, stepping closer to him, letting my fingersskip through the soft brown curls of his chest, and resting them there. “But I like it, too.”
He descends on me with thinly veiled restraint, but once our lips touch it’s an explosion of desire, carnal and intense and demanding. He grips my ass with both hands and an unwitting gasp is pulled from my throat and into his as we kiss. I’m just a feeling; one big feeling with a million nerve endings, and every brush and scrape and grip and stroke has me falling deeper and deeper into this endless pit of desire with him. It seems like there’s no end, each coming together feeling more and better than the last one.
He picks me up with ease and I coast through the air, his arms bracing me behind my back and beneath my knees, before he gently lays me back on the green comforter. When his hands go to his waistband, my stomach bottoms out, adrenaline rocketing through me. His jeans fall to the floor, then his underwear, and it’s just him, taking my breath away. I crawl my way to the edge of the bed, wanting so badly to make him feel the way he’s made me feel.
He catches my chin between his fingers, lifts my face so that I’m looking up at him.
“Lay back, sweetheart.” The endearment does something to me and I bite my lip to stop my grin from spreading too wide.
I do as he says and watch as he rolls a condom down his length, wondering if it really is painful that first time. He catches the contemplative glint in my gaze.
“If you want me to stop, you say stop. Okay?”
“What if Idon’twant you to stop?” I say, my grin winning out.
“You’re impossible,” he says, the ghost of a smile peaking through the single-mindedness of his expression,the mattress dipping slightly as he comes to hover above me. And it has my breathing harder, has my heart beating at an impossible rate, almost having him like this.
I press my hands into the muscled terrain of his back, feeling the tendons twitch under my touch, and urge him near me, just as he dips his head to my neck. And suddenly, I feel him everywhere—between my thighs, against my chest—and the restrained weight of him has me arching into him, leaning into the way he’s worshipping my neck. He curves his hand under me, sliding up my thigh, and hoists my leg up and around his back.
There’s renewed distance between us as he rests on a forearm and gazes so deeply into my eyes before pulling us on our side. He caresses the length of my thigh, reaffirming the way it’s still wrapped around him, and I squeeze him tighter.
“Just like that,” he tells me, kissing me with searing intensity. I use my leg to pull us closer, my naked, sensitive center brushing against the hard heat of him, and I swallow hard. “Take a breath for me, okay?”
I pull in an exhilarated breath and feel it immediately: the stretch and the burn. I pull the breath in deeper, seek his lips, feel them claim mine, inch myself toward him, and then: the stretch becomes a tingle, transforms into this itch. The pressure and heat coiling around itself like before, but different. Because there’s him, pressing into me so slowly it’s driving me crazy.
“Tell me you’re okay, Gen,” he says, and I’m unable to look away. Everything about this feels raw, feels too much, feels over exposed. And somehow, I want it to be more.
“I’m okay,” I say on a panted breath as I rotate my hips, seeking more friction. “Stop being so careful.”
His chest rumbles with laughter and he presses me ontomy back, drives deeper into me. The fullness is euphoric, the intensity everything I didn’t know I needed. I’ve never felt as whole as this. Moonlit beams filter through the window, leave parts of Grant illuminated, parts of him shaded. He brushes this thumb across my nipple, strumming until it’s painfully pebbled, and shivers run across my skin as I constrict around him.
“It’s your first time,” he says, dragging out of me before gliding back in.
I try my best to steady my breath but instead gasp at the intoxicating friction.
“Don’t worry about me,” I tell him, his lips falling on mine. And everything’s wet and sleek and hot—this kiss, his tongue, his lips on mine, the slip of my skin against his, the pleasure pooling between us. He thrusts harder, his free hand palming my breast, his mouth ruining mine and the force of it has me quivering.
“Fuck,” he says against my neck, and kissing the sensitive skin there. “You’re taking me so well. Look at you.” He lifts back and gingerly caresses me, looks at me like he’s seeing a seventh wonder of the world. But he is looking at me, telling me how perfectly we fit, how I was made for him, and I feel the pressure build, the tantalizing itch of my climax just barely out of reach, and it’s too much. I shut my eyes against the feeling, and it softens, still there, but less.
“Eyes on me, Genevieve.” The command, the way he says my name, his tortured breaths—they have me opening them. And I feel something tighten in my core all over again, the intensity of our locked gazes like gasoline. His heated stare touches me right where I need it most, and I feel myself climbing higher and higher, each thrust pushing me closer and closer.
“That it’s,” he tells me, his affirmation making mewhimper, my breaths coming out short as I start to shatter around him. Every sensation I’ve experienced with him collapses into me, pleasure rippling through me with such ferocity as I dig my nails into his back. He kisses me with such reverence, I wonder if I’m going to cry. When his hands grip my hips, lifting them slightly, it’s like he’s wringing the last of my orgasm from this new angle. And I watch as his climax overcomes him, the muscle of his chest rippling as the waves of pleasure roll through him. His head falls to mine as it subsides, and he pulls out, and we lay there.
He wraps me in his arms, settling me against his chest, his breath warm against my shoulder as he presses the sweetest kisses to my skin.
“I’m sweaty,” I laugh, wondering what the typical post-sex protocol is, any of the self-consciousness I felt earlier nowhere to be found. Instead, I feel adored. It’s not something I think I’ve ever felt before.
“Big fan of you sweaty,” he says, sucking the skin at the crook of my neck. “Like when you came over that day, after rehearsal.”
“So youwerechecking out my ass.” I spin around in his hold, turn over to face him. We’re inches apart, lying there naked in his childhood bedroom, breathing in each other’s air.
“Never said I wasn’t.” His smirk sends a flash of heat, and I wonder if all I’m ever going to want is this feeling, with him.
Footsteps sound in the hallway, and I remember we’re not the only ones here.
“Oh my god.” I drop my head in my hands like it’ll erase any possible audio leakage from the past thirty minutes. Grant’s laugh reverberates through me as he pullsme closer and nudges my hands out of the way with his. When I peek through them, his smile reflects none of my concern.
