‘Oh, fuck.Fuckme.’ Balanced on his elbows, he pushed a little deeper, his eyes closing as though in pain.
I closed my own as he’d slid deeper, biting my lip in the place of a grunt. It wasn’t painful—not exactly—but I’d definitely had more fun times.And I’d never been as far as this before.
Drawing back, Rory then pushed a little harder, my insides feeling the punch. He added a little more; advance and retreat, but as he lowered himself on his forearms, the change of angle sent residual sparks flying across my clit.
He exhaled a long curse as I jerked, my fingers now on his ass, silently urging him to repeat the motion.Just repeat. My fingers wandered and my hips rolled, and as he pushed himself up onto his hands, working himself deeper, faster, I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began.
The first time you come by the power of someone else is special, but nothing compared to coming filled by someone. He looked so beautiful.Over me. His face a mixture of absorption and joy.Of sweet agony. I was filled to bursting at that moment, fresh, emotional tears spilling. And the knowledge of his wanting—his wanting me—mixed with our joint pleasure was enough to push me over the edge.
Eyes screwed tight, I exhaled tiny, short breaths.
‘I... I... I...’ I could barely breathe as he began to undulate and grind against me, my hands grasping his hips as though to make sure he didn’t stop.
As he pushed me over the edge and into delirium, his movements became uncoordinated and clumsy.
‘Fuck—that’s. Oh,Jesus Christ!’ Breathless moments passed where I learned viscerally what the wordaftershockmeant. ‘Holy fuck. That was—’ Peering down at me, his face morphed from unmitigated joy into concern. ‘Fin, did I hurt you?’
Reaching out to touch his cheek with one hand, I shook my head, using my free hand to wipe away the mixture of tears.Not unhappy, just shocked. Emotional.
‘I’m so going to give you a glowing review, assuming you have a website.’ My words were watery, though we both laughed, causing aftershocks of pleasure to mangle my brain again.
I’d never envisioned how it would be, losing my virginity. Not truly. I’d thought about it, sure. Even came close once or twice, but something had always held me back. Perhaps if I’d known it could be like this, I wouldn’t have waited so long.
Later, after we’d hung out and made plans for the following day, Rory walked me to the end of my street, on my request. I didn’t want to provoke any unnecessary parental questioning by arriving at the front door with a boy in tow.
I’d hopped into bed that night with a light heart and shaky legs.
The rain had done nothing to quell the summer humidity, and I’d spent most of the night reliving fragments of the evening in my head. The smell and the feel of him. The sounds he made as he came. Awake early the next day, I’d breakfasted quickly, dressed even quicker, and hurried out of the door, because the impression of Rory’s hands and mouth—the delicious sensations they’d created in me—left me yearning for more.
Imagine my surprise when I’d gotten to his house and pushed open the garden gate to see, through the window, a girl in his arms. Not a friend or a sister. I’d stood long enough to make sure of that. They were smiling, though I was not, particularly when Rory reached out to twine his finger around a lock of her hair. She giggled and he’d stared at her ample chest, right before pulling her in for a deep kiss. The rest, as they say, is history. By the time I’d left for Thailand, I couldn’t bear to think of him anymore, my memories tarnished, like a cheap Christmas ornament when the glitter wears off.
But I’d been burnt. Hurt. And foolishly, I promised myself I wasn’t going to allow it to happen again.
It was childishness taken to the extreme.
Leaving my memories, I place the picture frame back sensing Ivy’s entrance to the room behind me, judging by the sound of her spoon clanking against the side of her cereal bowl. I saycereal bowl, but it’s most probably a dish containing all kinds of sugar substitutes and additives and possibly around 2% cereal. Good job sugar isn’t an animal derivative. I doubt she’d survive.
‘I think it’s time you and I had a wee chat,’ she says, crunching the yuck.
That’s not exactly a hangover cure.
Great.
