“May I?”
She nods. I slip my fingers under the waistband, peeling them down slowly. She lifts her hips to help, then covers her face with her hands, embarrassed.
“Hey,” I say, “look at me.”
She peeks out from between her fingers.
I settle between her legs, kissing the inside of each thigh. Her body is a lattice of nerves, and every inch of her skin shudders at my touch. She smells like soap and sweat and the sharp, metallic tang of arousal. I bury my face in her, pressing my lips to her heat, and her entire body arches off the bed.
“Oh,” she says, and claps a hand over her mouth.
I want her to be loud, to own this, but I don’t push. I lick her, slow and deliberate, finding the rhythm that makes her shudder, then double back on itself. She’s so wet already, it surprises me. I taste her, savoring every response.
Her hands find my hair, tangling in the strands, tugging me closer. Her thighs clamp around my ears, and I let it happen. I let her use me as leverage. She doesn’t last long. Her body tenses, feet kicking at the mattress, and then she’s coming, gasping my name.
I ride out every aftershock, kissing her until she’s too sensitive and pushes me away. I crawl up the bed, kissing her cheeks, her eyelids, the tip of her nose.
She’s crying a little, but smiling.
“I didn’t know it could be like that,” she says, then laughs.
“It can always be like that,” I say, voice low. “For you.”
She tugs at my waistband, a silent plea. “Can I?”
“Anything you want.”
I let her pull my sweatpants down. My cock is hard enough to hurt, the head crimson and glossy. She looks at it like she’s not sure what to do, but I guide her hand, wrapping her fingers around the shaft. She strokes, cautious at first, then firmer as she feels me buck against her grip.
She leans in, kissing the tip, tentative, then bolder, taking the head into her mouth. The sight nearly breaks me. I groan, unable to hide it, and she smiles around me, pleased with herself.
“Sarah, stop,” I say, “unless you want me to finish.”
She pulls back, eyes shining.
“Not yet,” she says, and I could die for her.
I line up my tip at her entrance, rubbing through her folds. Her eyes are wide with anticipation and fear. She’s so wet it makes a noise, obscene and perfect.
I look directly into her eyes.
“If it hurts, tell me. We can go slow.”
She nods, hands gripping my biceps.
I press in, just the tip, and her breath catches. I stop and wait for her to adjust. She tilts her hips, angling for more. I slide in, a fraction at a time, watching her face for any sign of pain. When I’m fully inside, we both go still, breathing each other in.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
She grins. “More than.”
I start to move, slow at first, then deeper, harder as she urges me on. Her nails rake my back, her teeth graze my neck. She is wild and wonderful and absolutely real.
I last longer than I expect, but not much. When I come, it’s with a violence that leaves me shaking, my forehead pressed to hers. She kisses me through it, her hands stroking my hair, my back, grounding me.
We collapse together, sticky and spent. I roll to the side, pulling her into my arms. She laughs, a sound of pure relief.
“Do you regret it?” she asks.
