I turned my head towards him and his lips caught mine in a kiss that was slow and deep. It was a promise, not a demand and I turned around to face him, his hands on my hips, helping me straddle him. I remembered before we’d first slept together how innocent our touches were, both of us cautious about the line we wanted to cross, him because I was his best friend’s little sister and me because that was how I was.
It was like that now. The lines were there for the crossing, both of us knowing that once he was buried inside me we wouldn’t be able to go back. It would be all or nothing and the nothing had the power to break both of us.
Killian lay back on the bed and I followed, facing him. Our limbs tangled with each other, my lips swollen with his kisses and the occasional nip of his teeth. Our hands were still, holding on so we needn’t explore further although I ached to feel his skin under my fingers and trace the hills and valleys of his muscled body. He was big and firm and everything.
Abruptly, he pulled away and moved me onto my back, straddling over me. “You look beautiful,” he said quietly, as if trying to stop the walls from hearing, his eyes wandering over my face, my chest exposed to my stomach. “Can I take your trousers off? I want to see you.”
My hands dropped to the zip and I undid them as an answer until he took over. I lifted my hips and he pulled them away. His eyes fixed onto my chest as I undid the rest of my shirt and dropped it off my shoulders. He looked hungry and and a little afraid, as if I’d erupt into dust if he did more than just look. Heat pooled between my legs and my body seemed to remember what it was like to be filled by him, for him to possess me fully and how he made my body sing.
“I won’t break,” I said, my whisper sounded loud in the quiet of the house. The room was on the top floor, along with the bathroom and the safe room where I had indeed stored some of my shoes.
“I know,” he said. “But I might. You’re so fucking beautiful.” My hands found him, touching him from his shoulders, over his chest through his t-shirt and down to his hip, my right hand going to where his cock was tenting his sweatpants and grazing over it, feeling its hardness. I licked my lips and heard him groan, then he moved his body down and kissed me, harder now, his mouth moving from my lips to my neck to my shoulder and down. One of my hands felt his ass, the other stayed on his erection, taking the power he was giving me.
He left a wet trail as his mouth moved to my breasts, kissing and sucking the exposed skin at the top of my bra. “Take it off,” I said. “I want your mouth on me.”
“You have a headache,” he said, looking up, his expression both concerned and guilty.
“This is the best cure.”
His fingers expertly undid the front clasp, freeing my tits, one hand immediately cupping my left breast, his mouth going straight to my nipple where he began to lick and suck. My hips jutted forward and I greedily reached inside his sweatpants and grabbed his cock, thankful he’d left off his underwear.
Killian switched to the other breast, his hand still at my left, pinching the nipple hard and then soft and I knew I had soaked my panties and probably the sheet under me.
“I want to make you come,” he said. “I want to taste your pussy on my tongue.”
“Do it,” I said, my voice sounding calm. “That’ll get rid of my headache.”
His mouth carried on down my body, kissing the skin over my stomach and down to my panties, pushing them down and down until I lifted my hips again and he pulled them down, throwing them on to the floor.
I wasn’t bare, but I was tidier, tidier than I had been when I was at college. I heard him take a sharp breath and look up at me. “You smell fucking amazing.” Then his mouth moved back down and his gave me one long lick from my soaking centre to my clit before I felt his teeth graze me and he started to suck. My hips jerked and my hands went to his head, fingers pulling at his hair, encouraging him to keep going, to apply more pressure to make me come.
He took back control, bringing my legs over his shoulders, completely opening me up to him. His tongue dipped inside me and I wished it was his cock.
“Later,” he said. “You can have my cock later or tomorrow.” I hadn’t realised I’d said the words aloud and then I felt the scruff of his beard tickle the top of my thighs and he carried on licking and sucking my clit, short little licks that never missed a beat and I felt my orgasm build and build until I fractured, my body convulsing as my insides clenched and I lost my mind a little.
He waited until I’d still before looming over me. Cognizant of the hard cock in his pants, I managed to gain the use of my limbs and pushed his sweat pants down, exposing the hand thick length of his cock. He’d been my first and my biggest. When I’d first seen him, I’d been scared at how much he would hurt or whether I’d be able to fit him all in. Ironically, he’d never caused me too much pain, only the pleasant stretch that I’d enjoyed. Other lovers since, ones who hadn’t been as big as him, had hurt more sometimes, not having made me wet enough first. He’d never had that problem.
One of my hands wasn’t big enough to go all the way round him, so I used both, the technique never having been forgotten. I guided him between my legs to the wetness that was smeared around me.
“I’m not fucking you yet,” he said, almost a growl. “Fuck knows how much I want to be in you though.”
“Just wet the head,” I said, guiding his cock against my clit, spreading my legs wider. I liked him seeing me open like this, liked having his eyes over the most intimate parts of me and the reaction it prompted in him.
He groaned and I felt his resolve slipping, his cock hard and throbbing between my hands. I started to move my fingers, up and down, encouraging his hips to move further up over me.
My eyes moved from his cock to his face, his hips controlling the pace at which we moved. “That feels so good,” he said. “You going to let me come on your tits?”
“Yes,” I said. He’d loved doing this before we first had sex, seeing his come over me, over my nipples and dripping down onto my stomach. My pussy clenched again and I itched to slop a hand between my legs and make myself come again.
“You need to come again?” he said, and I realised my legs had spread further.
“Yes,” I said. The way he was kneeling freed up his hands and I wasn’t one to turn down an opportunity. “Please use your fingers.”
He moved a hand back and put his fingers on my wet centre, then pushed two into my pussy. “You’re still so tight,” he said, his thumb starting to massage my clit.
My hands slowed on his cock while he fingered me, my legs tensing as another orgasm approached. I came around his hand, crying out into the quiet of the house. As soon as I was done he moved higher up my body again and started to thrust quicker into my hand, his back straightening and bracing as he came, shooting strings of white semen across my tits and my stomach, his eyes transfixed on where he was marking.
And then he relaxed, sitting back on his heels, still straddling me. I started to feel where he’d come, moving it into my skin and he caught the back of one of my hands, guiding it down to my pussy. “Rub it in here,” he ordered. I did, mixing his wetness with my own. It felt slightly forbidden, an erotic act. I was on the Pill, not that it had done me much good when I was nineteen, but since then I’d always used condoms too, never wanting to take a chance with anyone who wasn’t Killian.
