When I dare look at him, I see the full scale of his confusion. “B-but I thought…I thought you said you were in the height of your slut era?”
“Oh, I definitely am. I’ve had a ton of sex, aton. It’s just that I haven’t done that before. See, usually, I’m the one who—”
“I get it, Elliot. I understand. Why haven’t you done it before?” His eyes go soft, and he takes my hand in his. “Are you scared, baby? Are you afraid it will hurt? ‘Cause it doesn’t have to, I can be gentl—”
“No, Daddy.” My voice is strong. Clear and true. “I’m scared it won’t.”
He grabs me and crushes me to him, puffing heavy, shaky breaths into my hair. I feel the powerful beat of his heart and mine.
Two separate organs.
Two very different people.
Two sides of the same coin.
18
Elliot
“Elliot,areyouuphere?” he calls.
“I’m in my room,” I yell. “I’m butt naked, and I’m not coming out until you’ve fucked me.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence and then a low cackle. I hear him move around his room. The sound of the water heater coming on makes the pipes between his room and mine clank.
The man’s taking a shower.
Jesus.
He really is a sadist.
By the time I hear him at my bedroom door, I’ve lived a lifetime of emotions. Nerves and apprehension in abundance, of course, and yeah, a little fear, but mainly a thick, suffocating sense of longing wrapped tightly around agitated impatience. My dick is rock hard, straining and pulsing in my hand. I stroke it lightly, gently trying to break the news to it that this fuck isn’t going to involve it the way my other fucks have. It doesn’t care.
The door swings open at last, and Stuart’s large frame fills the doorway. His hair is damp, towel-dried and unruly. His eyes are soft with a sheen of something that looks like acceptance. A knowing, almost, that this was always going to happen. That he’d be here, and I’d be here.
A quiet hiss fizzes through his lips when he sees me. I’m on my back with my arms raised above my head and my legs crossed at the ankles. His gaze travels up my legs slowly, pouring warm, liquid lust over my skin. I let my legs uncross and my knees fall open. He hisses again, but not softly this time. He moves from the doorway to my bed so fast that I’m not sure how it happens. By the time he’s within touching distance, he’s pulled his T-shirt off and is wearing nothing but a soft pair of navy track pants that hang low on his hips. His body is beautiful. Hard and sun-kissed. Muscle earned from hard work, not bought at the gym. Hairy from his chest all the way down his belly.
God, I swear he looks even bigger without his shirt on.
He sits beside me on the bed, and my heart picks up the pace. I want to reach for him and feel the heat of his skin. I want to stroke it and grab it and taste it, but I can’t because he hasn’t told me to do it. He runs a hand down the side of my face, trailing it down my neck and torso, moving slowly. Slowly and deliberately. I try not to shiver when his hand gets to my navel, but I can’t help it. His hand has been on me so many times before. It’s been on me hard. It’s spanked me and hurt me. Disciplined me and put me in my place, but it’s never been on me like this. Soft. Sensual. A caress from a lover.
He doesn’t slow or hesitate. He lets his fingertips dance lightly down the V that leads to my dick. I twitch and jerk up when he gets close. His eyes narrow and one side of his mouth turns up. He handles my dick almost impersonally, inspecting it, squeezing it, rolling the foreskin down to expose the head fully, ignoring me when I squirm under his touch.
He parts my legs wider, big hands on the soft skin of my inner thighs. He uses a little more roughness than I was expecting, and Jesus, that turns me on hard. He moves so he’s kneeling between my legs. He strokes the underside of my balls gently, heavy and full, puckered and pulled up close to my body. Fingernails dance across sensitive skin. He lifts them, still gentle, and tilts his head to take in my hole.
I meant what I said. I’ve had a lot of sex. Alot, a lot. I’ve found myself in situations you wouldn’t believe, but I’ve never felt anything like this. Naked isn’t the word. Bare doesn’t begin to describe it either. I feel stripped down, paired back. Completely exposed.
It’s so intense I have the same reaction I have to pain—I love it, but it isn’t easy to take.
He pushes my knees back onto my chest, keeping them open and almost folding me in half. Big hands dig into the flesh on my hips, holding firmly, lifting me up and leaning down at the same time.
Holy shit, is he going to…?
Ungh.
Oh God, yes!
He holds my hips in his hands as if lifting a bowl to his lips. He dips his face down and licks a hot strip across my hole. He does it hard and decisively. Nerve endings sing, and I splutter and gasp, legs kicking in jerky surprise. He looks up at me and smiles, eyes blazing blue hot, and then licks me again. He does it slowly, savoring it. Savoring me. Torturing me with lashings of bliss. I scratch at the bedding, clawing desperately to find something to hold on to. Something that will contain me. Something that will keep me sane. I find nothing at all.
