Beautiful Player
Page 32
I knew with absolute certainty where this was going, and murmured, “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
“You don’t know what I’m asking.”
Laughing, I whispered, “So ask.”
She stepped a little closer, put her hand on my chest, and I closed my eyes as her warm palm slid down to my stomach. I wondered for a beat if she could feel my heart hammering all the way down my torso. I felt my pulse everywhere, slamming through my chest and all along my skin.
“I watched another movie,” she said. “A p**n y one.”
“I see.”
“Those movies are actually pretty bad.” She said this quietly, as if she was worried she might be offending my male, p**n -loving sensibilities.
With a quiet laugh, I agreed, “They are.”
“The women are so over-the-top. Actually,” she said, considering, “so are the guys for most of it.”
“Most of it?” I asked.
“Not at the end,” she said, her voice dropping to barely a decibel. “When the guy came? He pulled out of her and did it on her.” Her fingers moved beneath my shirt, tickling over the line of hair that went from my navel and beneath the waist of my pants. She sucked in a breath, running her hand up higher and over my pectorals, exploring.
Fuck. I was so worked up I could barely keep my hands from reaching for her hips. But I wanted her to lead this conversation. She’d pulled me in here, started this. I wanted her to get it all out before she turned it over to me. And then I wouldn’t hold back.
“That’s pretty common in p**n ,” I said. “The guys don’t come inside the women.”
She looked up at me. “I liked that part.”
I felt myself grow rigid in my pants, and swallowed thickly. “Yeah?”
“I liked it because it felt real. I feel like I’m just figuring these things out. I haven’t really tried before . . . or maybe I haven’t wanted to explore it with the guys I’ve been with. But ever since I started hanging out with you, I can’t stop thinking about these things. I want to figure out what I like.”
“That’s good.” I winced in the dark room, wishing I hadn’t answered so quickly, sounded so desperate. I wanted more than anything for her to ask me to carry her over to the bed and f**k her so loud the entire party knew where we’d gone and what she was getting.
“I don’t really know what feels good to men. I know you say guys are easy, but they aren’t. To me, they aren’t.” She took my hand, and with her eyes trained on my face, she brought it to her breast. Beneath my palm, she was exactly how I’d imagined a hundred f**king times. So full and soft, all lush curves and creamy skin. It was all I could do to keep from lifting her, and crushing her between my body and the wall.
“I want you to show me how,” she said.
“What do you mean ‘show you how’?”
She closed her eyes for a beat, swallowing. “I want to touch you, and make you come.”
I took a deep breath and glanced over at the bed in the middle of the room. “Here?”
She followed the path my eyes had taken, and shook her head. “Not there. Not a bed yet. Just . . .” She hesitated and then very quietly asked, “Are you saying yes?”
“Um, of course I’m saying yes. I’m not sure I could say no to you even if I should.”
She bit back a smile, slid my hand down to her hip.
“You want to give me a hand job? Is that what you’re asking?” I bent my knees to look her in the eyes. I felt like an ass**le being so blunt, and this whole conversation felt completely surreal, but I had to be clear what was actually happening before I let go of my tenuous self-control and took it too far. “I’m just making sure I understand.”
She swallowed again, suddenly shy, and nodded. “Yeah.”
I stepped closer and when the light botanical smell of her shampoo hit me, I grew aware of how amped up I was. I’d never been nervous before, but right then I was terrified. I didn’t care so much about how good it was for me—it could be awkward and fumbling, too slow or fast, too soft or too hard—I knew I’d fall apart in her hands. I just wanted her to keep feeling this open with me, every second. I wanted sex to be fun for her.
“It’s okay to touch me,” I told her, trying to carefully balance my need to be gentle with my tendency to be demanding.
She reached for my belt, unfastening it, and I moved my fingers from her hips, sliding up her waist to the top button of her shirt. Her smile was giddy, and she tried to duck her head to hide it but failed. I had no idea what I looked like, but I imagined my eyes were wide, mouth parted, hands shaking on her tiny buttons. Slipping her shirt from her shoulders, I noticed the way she hesitated on my fly, fingers unsure, before she moved away to let her shirt fall to the floor.
“You don’t know what I’m asking.”
Laughing, I whispered, “So ask.”
She stepped a little closer, put her hand on my chest, and I closed my eyes as her warm palm slid down to my stomach. I wondered for a beat if she could feel my heart hammering all the way down my torso. I felt my pulse everywhere, slamming through my chest and all along my skin.
“I watched another movie,” she said. “A p**n y one.”
“I see.”
“Those movies are actually pretty bad.” She said this quietly, as if she was worried she might be offending my male, p**n -loving sensibilities.
With a quiet laugh, I agreed, “They are.”
“The women are so over-the-top. Actually,” she said, considering, “so are the guys for most of it.”
“Most of it?” I asked.
“Not at the end,” she said, her voice dropping to barely a decibel. “When the guy came? He pulled out of her and did it on her.” Her fingers moved beneath my shirt, tickling over the line of hair that went from my navel and beneath the waist of my pants. She sucked in a breath, running her hand up higher and over my pectorals, exploring.
Fuck. I was so worked up I could barely keep my hands from reaching for her hips. But I wanted her to lead this conversation. She’d pulled me in here, started this. I wanted her to get it all out before she turned it over to me. And then I wouldn’t hold back.
“That’s pretty common in p**n ,” I said. “The guys don’t come inside the women.”
She looked up at me. “I liked that part.”
I felt myself grow rigid in my pants, and swallowed thickly. “Yeah?”
“I liked it because it felt real. I feel like I’m just figuring these things out. I haven’t really tried before . . . or maybe I haven’t wanted to explore it with the guys I’ve been with. But ever since I started hanging out with you, I can’t stop thinking about these things. I want to figure out what I like.”
“That’s good.” I winced in the dark room, wishing I hadn’t answered so quickly, sounded so desperate. I wanted more than anything for her to ask me to carry her over to the bed and f**k her so loud the entire party knew where we’d gone and what she was getting.
“I don’t really know what feels good to men. I know you say guys are easy, but they aren’t. To me, they aren’t.” She took my hand, and with her eyes trained on my face, she brought it to her breast. Beneath my palm, she was exactly how I’d imagined a hundred f**king times. So full and soft, all lush curves and creamy skin. It was all I could do to keep from lifting her, and crushing her between my body and the wall.
“I want you to show me how,” she said.
“What do you mean ‘show you how’?”
She closed her eyes for a beat, swallowing. “I want to touch you, and make you come.”
I took a deep breath and glanced over at the bed in the middle of the room. “Here?”
She followed the path my eyes had taken, and shook her head. “Not there. Not a bed yet. Just . . .” She hesitated and then very quietly asked, “Are you saying yes?”
“Um, of course I’m saying yes. I’m not sure I could say no to you even if I should.”
She bit back a smile, slid my hand down to her hip.
“You want to give me a hand job? Is that what you’re asking?” I bent my knees to look her in the eyes. I felt like an ass**le being so blunt, and this whole conversation felt completely surreal, but I had to be clear what was actually happening before I let go of my tenuous self-control and took it too far. “I’m just making sure I understand.”
She swallowed again, suddenly shy, and nodded. “Yeah.”
I stepped closer and when the light botanical smell of her shampoo hit me, I grew aware of how amped up I was. I’d never been nervous before, but right then I was terrified. I didn’t care so much about how good it was for me—it could be awkward and fumbling, too slow or fast, too soft or too hard—I knew I’d fall apart in her hands. I just wanted her to keep feeling this open with me, every second. I wanted sex to be fun for her.
“It’s okay to touch me,” I told her, trying to carefully balance my need to be gentle with my tendency to be demanding.
She reached for my belt, unfastening it, and I moved my fingers from her hips, sliding up her waist to the top button of her shirt. Her smile was giddy, and she tried to duck her head to hide it but failed. I had no idea what I looked like, but I imagined my eyes were wide, mouth parted, hands shaking on her tiny buttons. Slipping her shirt from her shoulders, I noticed the way she hesitated on my fly, fingers unsure, before she moved away to let her shirt fall to the floor.
