Only Love
Page 19
“Okay. First, your body is beyond perfect.”
“It’s not.”
“Fuck off, yes it is.” He took my wrists and held my arms out. “Absolutely perfect. I’ve been thinking about it for two full days. I can’t believe I managed to get anything done at all. And if this is as far as we go tonight, and you want to get dressed and go home, I will go to bed feeling like the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet because I got to see you naked.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I don’t want to go home.”
“Good. Because there are so many things I want to do to you,” he said, moving close to me again. He ran his hands up the sides of my ribs and down over my hips. “And as long as you’re enjoying this, there’s no wrong way to move.” Suddenly he lifted me up and set me on the counter. Gently pushed my legs apart. Dropped down on his knees.
“What are you doing?” I whispered as he moved his mouth along the inside of one thigh.
“I’m testing a theory.” He switched to the other side.
“What theory is that?” I could barely speak as his lips edged closer to my center.
“That you taste even sweeter than that apple pie.”
“Oh—oh!” I cried as his tongue stroked me from bottom to top and moved in slow, sensuous circles over my clit. “Oh, God, that feels good.”
“I was right,” he murmured, hooking his hands beneath my thighs and pulling me toward him. He moaned as he buried his face between my legs. “Sweetest thing I ever tasted.”
If it had been anyone else—someone less sexy, less patient, less talented, less able to put me at ease with his deep, soft voice and his hot, firm tongue—I’d probably have been too panicked to enjoy what he was doing to me. Other guys had done this before, but none of them had ever been so good at it, and either I’d stopped their pointless puttering around down there before it grew tiresome or they gave up.
But after a minute of his sweet, slow attention, I started to relax. It was almost like getting drunk—words began to slur in my head, my skin grew warm and slick all over, my entire body started to tingle. All my inhibitions began to disappear.
I leaned back on my hands, mouth open, and watched in aroused disbelief as he used his mouth on me but somehow seemed to enjoy it so much it felt like it was for him. Then he started to go a little faster, a little harder, sucking my clit into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue.
I closed my eyes and let the orgasm build, willing myself to stay out of my head and follow the urges of my body. “Yes,” I whispered, my breath coming in quick, hot pants. The muscles in my lower body began to tighten. My toes pointed. My stomach flexed. I wished he were fucking me because I wanted to know what it would feel like to be this turned on during sex, but I never wanted him to stop what he was doing with his mouth.
Suddenly the words in my head were being said out loud. “Don’t stop,” I begged between gasps. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t …” And then my entire body was plunged into ecstasy, the tension releasing as he moaned right along with me.
Yes, I had an orgasm without battery-operated assistance. In his kitchen. On the counter.
Before I could even process the thought, he was standing up and undoing his jeans.
“Let me,” I demanded, replacing his hands with mine. I unbuttoned and unzipped and pushed everything down, and an erection sprang free, so massive I had second thoughts. “Jesus.” I stared down at it.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. I mean maybe. I mean …” I swallowed hard and looked up at him. “You’re really big.”
“We don’t have to do anything more.”
I reached for him, wrapping my fingers around hot, hard flesh. “I want to. Don’t stop.”
I worked my hand up and down his length, shocked by the way it continued to thicken in my fist. He kissed me again, slipping one finger inside me, and I found myself aroused by the taste of my own body, mingled with the taste of his tongue. “I can’t believe how much I want you,” I whispered, amazed at the way he’d been able to lower all my defenses, move past my walls. I felt loose and liquid in my skin, and I wanted to wrap my body around his, feel him moving inside me.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, backing off and pulling up his pants.
I panicked. “No! Don’t go.” I grabbed his arm and tugged him back to me, worried that if I was left alone, I’d start to think.
“I promise to come back. I just have to run to my room and get protection.”
“But if you go, I’ll be alone with my brain.”
He laughed. “Is your brain going to fuck you before I get back with a condom?”
“It might.”
“Okay then. You’re coming with me.” Without any warning, he swept me off the counter and into his arms.
I held on tight and squealed when he backed through the swinging door to the dining room. From there he burst into the downstairs bedroom. There were no curtains on the windows, and pale gray moonlight spilled through the glass onto a lone mattress covered with white sheets and a simple quilt.
The bed was made.
Why that broke my heart a little I don’t know—it was probably just a holdover from his military days. But it told me even more about him.
He knelt on the mattress and set me down on my back. “I’m sorry I don’t have a real bed.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
He ditched his jeans and grabbed something from a duffel bag on the floor. Facing away from me, he tore open the condom and put it on. Then he stretched out above me, and I opened my knees, spreading my feet wide.
He rubbed me with the tip of his cock—cooler now—and placing himself between my thighs. “Tell me if it hurts.”
He pushed inside me about an inch.
“Oh God,” I said.
“Want me to stop?”
I took his head in my hands and pulled his lips to mine. “Don’t you dare.”
He went slow, easing into me inch by inch, pausing to kiss my lips, my breasts, my throat. He whispered things to me—how beautiful I was, how warm, how wet, how tempting. It was hard to hold back, he said. It was near torture.
When he was buried deep inside me, I was stretched so tight and filled so fully I could barely breathe, let alone speak or think. Tears were a possibility. Screaming was imminent.
But oh, how I wanted him.
He began to move, a gentle rolling of his hips at first, a rippling of his body over mine. He captured my hands and pinned my wrists in an X over my head, rendering me helpless in a way I never even realized I craved. He made me want to touch him, then took away the power to do it, which only made me want him more. I focused on the contact points of our bodies—his cock inside me, his pelvic bone sliding against my clit, his stomach flush with mine, and his eyes.
More than anything, it was the eye contact that felt so intense. I knew, as a therapist, how powerful eye contact could be, but I don’t know if I ever realized how intimate it was—as intimate as him inside me. I felt him opening up, allowing me in, baring all.
Yes, it was my dream—my subconscious fucking his.
(Just let me have it, okay? Even if it wasn’t true, even if it was just a run-of the-mill lay between two lonely people on a mattress on the floor, lit by the moon because the windows were as bare as the rest of the house, I needed this moment.)
Our bodies fit together perfectly. Both tall, both strong, both long-limbed and agile. It was as if they spoke a language beyond words. When his hips moved faster, mine answered in kind. When his breathing grew ragged, mine echoed its sharp inhalations and shuddering sighs. When his body reached the breaking point, and he was unable to hold back for wanting me, I strained against him and put my lips to his ear, whispering words I’d only read in books.
“Come for me. I want to feel it. I want to—”
That was as far as I got before he groaned long and hard, his body going stiff above me. He buried his face in my neck, and I felt his cock pulse over and over again inside me. At first I was surprised it happened so quickly, too quickly for me to come again, but the next second, I was smiling. I was glad he couldn’t hold back. For the first time since I could remember, I liked feeling someone else’s orgasm. It hadn’t felt like a foreign thing happening in my body. It hadn’t felt like something I merely witnessed or tolerated. And it hadn’t come at the expense of my own. I’d been close this time. If we did it again tomorrow night—and I hoped we would—I felt like it might be possible.
“It’s not.”
“Fuck off, yes it is.” He took my wrists and held my arms out. “Absolutely perfect. I’ve been thinking about it for two full days. I can’t believe I managed to get anything done at all. And if this is as far as we go tonight, and you want to get dressed and go home, I will go to bed feeling like the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet because I got to see you naked.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I don’t want to go home.”
“Good. Because there are so many things I want to do to you,” he said, moving close to me again. He ran his hands up the sides of my ribs and down over my hips. “And as long as you’re enjoying this, there’s no wrong way to move.” Suddenly he lifted me up and set me on the counter. Gently pushed my legs apart. Dropped down on his knees.
“What are you doing?” I whispered as he moved his mouth along the inside of one thigh.
“I’m testing a theory.” He switched to the other side.
“What theory is that?” I could barely speak as his lips edged closer to my center.
“That you taste even sweeter than that apple pie.”
“Oh—oh!” I cried as his tongue stroked me from bottom to top and moved in slow, sensuous circles over my clit. “Oh, God, that feels good.”
“I was right,” he murmured, hooking his hands beneath my thighs and pulling me toward him. He moaned as he buried his face between my legs. “Sweetest thing I ever tasted.”
If it had been anyone else—someone less sexy, less patient, less talented, less able to put me at ease with his deep, soft voice and his hot, firm tongue—I’d probably have been too panicked to enjoy what he was doing to me. Other guys had done this before, but none of them had ever been so good at it, and either I’d stopped their pointless puttering around down there before it grew tiresome or they gave up.
But after a minute of his sweet, slow attention, I started to relax. It was almost like getting drunk—words began to slur in my head, my skin grew warm and slick all over, my entire body started to tingle. All my inhibitions began to disappear.
I leaned back on my hands, mouth open, and watched in aroused disbelief as he used his mouth on me but somehow seemed to enjoy it so much it felt like it was for him. Then he started to go a little faster, a little harder, sucking my clit into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue.
I closed my eyes and let the orgasm build, willing myself to stay out of my head and follow the urges of my body. “Yes,” I whispered, my breath coming in quick, hot pants. The muscles in my lower body began to tighten. My toes pointed. My stomach flexed. I wished he were fucking me because I wanted to know what it would feel like to be this turned on during sex, but I never wanted him to stop what he was doing with his mouth.
Suddenly the words in my head were being said out loud. “Don’t stop,” I begged between gasps. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t …” And then my entire body was plunged into ecstasy, the tension releasing as he moaned right along with me.
Yes, I had an orgasm without battery-operated assistance. In his kitchen. On the counter.
Before I could even process the thought, he was standing up and undoing his jeans.
“Let me,” I demanded, replacing his hands with mine. I unbuttoned and unzipped and pushed everything down, and an erection sprang free, so massive I had second thoughts. “Jesus.” I stared down at it.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. I mean maybe. I mean …” I swallowed hard and looked up at him. “You’re really big.”
“We don’t have to do anything more.”
I reached for him, wrapping my fingers around hot, hard flesh. “I want to. Don’t stop.”
I worked my hand up and down his length, shocked by the way it continued to thicken in my fist. He kissed me again, slipping one finger inside me, and I found myself aroused by the taste of my own body, mingled with the taste of his tongue. “I can’t believe how much I want you,” I whispered, amazed at the way he’d been able to lower all my defenses, move past my walls. I felt loose and liquid in my skin, and I wanted to wrap my body around his, feel him moving inside me.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, backing off and pulling up his pants.
I panicked. “No! Don’t go.” I grabbed his arm and tugged him back to me, worried that if I was left alone, I’d start to think.
“I promise to come back. I just have to run to my room and get protection.”
“But if you go, I’ll be alone with my brain.”
He laughed. “Is your brain going to fuck you before I get back with a condom?”
“It might.”
“Okay then. You’re coming with me.” Without any warning, he swept me off the counter and into his arms.
I held on tight and squealed when he backed through the swinging door to the dining room. From there he burst into the downstairs bedroom. There were no curtains on the windows, and pale gray moonlight spilled through the glass onto a lone mattress covered with white sheets and a simple quilt.
The bed was made.
Why that broke my heart a little I don’t know—it was probably just a holdover from his military days. But it told me even more about him.
He knelt on the mattress and set me down on my back. “I’m sorry I don’t have a real bed.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
He ditched his jeans and grabbed something from a duffel bag on the floor. Facing away from me, he tore open the condom and put it on. Then he stretched out above me, and I opened my knees, spreading my feet wide.
He rubbed me with the tip of his cock—cooler now—and placing himself between my thighs. “Tell me if it hurts.”
He pushed inside me about an inch.
“Oh God,” I said.
“Want me to stop?”
I took his head in my hands and pulled his lips to mine. “Don’t you dare.”
He went slow, easing into me inch by inch, pausing to kiss my lips, my breasts, my throat. He whispered things to me—how beautiful I was, how warm, how wet, how tempting. It was hard to hold back, he said. It was near torture.
When he was buried deep inside me, I was stretched so tight and filled so fully I could barely breathe, let alone speak or think. Tears were a possibility. Screaming was imminent.
But oh, how I wanted him.
He began to move, a gentle rolling of his hips at first, a rippling of his body over mine. He captured my hands and pinned my wrists in an X over my head, rendering me helpless in a way I never even realized I craved. He made me want to touch him, then took away the power to do it, which only made me want him more. I focused on the contact points of our bodies—his cock inside me, his pelvic bone sliding against my clit, his stomach flush with mine, and his eyes.
More than anything, it was the eye contact that felt so intense. I knew, as a therapist, how powerful eye contact could be, but I don’t know if I ever realized how intimate it was—as intimate as him inside me. I felt him opening up, allowing me in, baring all.
Yes, it was my dream—my subconscious fucking his.
(Just let me have it, okay? Even if it wasn’t true, even if it was just a run-of the-mill lay between two lonely people on a mattress on the floor, lit by the moon because the windows were as bare as the rest of the house, I needed this moment.)
Our bodies fit together perfectly. Both tall, both strong, both long-limbed and agile. It was as if they spoke a language beyond words. When his hips moved faster, mine answered in kind. When his breathing grew ragged, mine echoed its sharp inhalations and shuddering sighs. When his body reached the breaking point, and he was unable to hold back for wanting me, I strained against him and put my lips to his ear, whispering words I’d only read in books.
“Come for me. I want to feel it. I want to—”
That was as far as I got before he groaned long and hard, his body going stiff above me. He buried his face in my neck, and I felt his cock pulse over and over again inside me. At first I was surprised it happened so quickly, too quickly for me to come again, but the next second, I was smiling. I was glad he couldn’t hold back. For the first time since I could remember, I liked feeling someone else’s orgasm. It hadn’t felt like a foreign thing happening in my body. It hadn’t felt like something I merely witnessed or tolerated. And it hadn’t come at the expense of my own. I’d been close this time. If we did it again tomorrow night—and I hoped we would—I felt like it might be possible.
