Then Declan's voice, low in my ear: "I've got you. I'm right here."
And his hands are on me and the head of his cock is pressing against my entrance and the weight of everything else recedes to somewhere manageable because he is right here and I wanted him right here and that's enough for right now. I say his name.
He goes slowly.
He goesso slowly.
I'm a virgin. That's the piece of information that I have been carrying around with considerable dignity for twenty-one years and that nobody in my life suspects because I run a successful adult content platform and own more vibrators than some retail stores. I know my body. I know what I like. I have just never wanted a man enough to bother finding out what the real thingfelt like, which is a sentence I could only say out loud to about three people without getting a lecture, and one of those people is currently inside me.
There is a fullness. There is a moment where my whole body goes quiet around the reality of him, and it's more than I expected. Not pain, not exactly. Just a lot. A new sensation my body is working out what to do with. His hand comes up to cradle my jaw.
"Okay?" Low. Close.
"Keep going," I say. "Declan. Please keep going."
He does.
He finds a rhythm, careful at first, then deeper when my hips start moving to meet him, and his hand moves between us, his thumb working my clit while his cock pushes in, and the sensation makes me gasp. He's thick enough that I feel every shift in angle. When he rolls his hips a certain way I make a sound that I have never made on camera, not once, because I didn't know it existed until right now.
Oh,says my brain, which has remained operational throughout all of this with the tenacity of a Duracell bunny in a crisis.So that's what all the fuss is about.
"That's it," he says against my ear. Low and certain. "Right there. You feel that?"
"Yes!"
"Good girl. Take it."
I take it. My whole body is wound tight and climbing and he knows exactly how to keep me there, right at the edge, his thumb relentless and his cock filling me and his voice in my ear. He watches me figure out what I need and gives it to me, adjusting when I adjust, following when I move. The patience isn't passive. It's active, it's him paying total attention in real time, and there is nothing about this that is what I expected. I expected good. I was unprepared forknown.
The silver at his temples in the lamp light when he looks down at me.
His dark eyes on my face.
He has looked at me like this across a hundred Sunday dinner tables and I thought it was just how he looked at people and it wasn't. It was always me.
"God.Declan."
"Good girl."
The praise moves through me and my hips snap forward before I've decided they should and he groans. Low and real. The first uncontrolled sound he's made. The sound of a man whose composure has cracked, and I did that, I took the composure of Declan Maguire and I broke it, and hearing it is the single most satisfying thing I've experienced in my twenty-one years on this planet.
I grab his face and kiss him and he makes the sound again into my mouth and I decide right then that I am going to spend considerable time and energy making him make that sound on a regular basis. This is now a life goal. I'm putting it on the vision board.
He comes apart first. Pressing deep, his forehead dropping to my shoulder, and I feel every second of it, the pulse of him, his hands tightening on my hips, the rough sound against my skin. Then his hand is between us again and he is thorough. Extremely thorough. His thumb on my clit, pressing and circling, his cock still inside me, and I follow him over the edge with my thighs shaking and my face pressed into his neck and the sound I make is mine.
I’m his.
9
Billie
My father’s best friend is in my kitchen making coffee. He’s in my kitchen because last night I gave him my v-card and he stayed the night. What is my life right now?
Declan Maguire has made my coffee perfectly and he's leaning against my kitchen counter like he's been doing it for years.
He hands me a mug when I come out of my bedroom. His hands. The same hands that were holding my wrists while he fucked my brains out.
It's early. I'm in my oversized Pokémon shirt and yesterday's mascara. He's fully dressed, jacket and everything, like a man who has already calculated his exit and is just waiting for the polite window to use it. The power imbalance is mainly cosmetic but it still registers.
