by Kendall Ryan
She’s eager, that's for sure, but she doesn’t quite have the finer points down. Her lips open and close against mine almost randomly. Her tongue darts in and out, not sure where to find the happy medium between “timid” and “forceful.” I cup her chin and caress her tongue with mine, coaxing it into a slow, sensual dance instead of a game of hide-and-seek. I nip at her lower lip and hear her breath hitch. I teach her by example, and I'm pleased to find that she's a fast learner. In five minutes I'm rock-hard and she's almost panting.
I let my free hand fall to her heaving chest. I gently squeeze one perky tit through the dress, my cock twitching when the stiff peak of her nipple grazes my palm. She rewards me with a soft moan. Time to really get started. I reach around her neck for the halter top's tie and she immediately mumbles, “There's a hook under the bow.” I smirk a little; she's clearly ready to get this show on the road, and I'm all too happy to oblige.
The top of the dress falls down to reveal her naked chest. I knew she wasn't wearing a bra, because of the halter top and the way her breast fit into my hand—but fuck, it's a whole different deal seeing them in front of me. Gracie Oliver's tits, at long last. All my teenage fantasies come to life. They're perfect, creamy firm mounds topped by a cherry nipple, and I'm powerless to do anything but lean down for a taste.
She gasps aloud when my mouth closes around one peak. I quickly learn what draws the best noises out of her, and soon, her hips quiver against my stomach with every lick and suck. With one arm behind her back, I pull her closer to straddle me. I rub the heel of my free hand over her clothed crotch; she makes a swallowed noise of helpless eagerness. Wow, she's sensitive. Or maybe just pent up. Well, I'll take good care of that.
Looking up at her face, I reach down to caress her slim, smooth calf. She nods and I slip my hand further under her skirt, pushing aside the folds of cloth. Her hips quiver again when I stroke her inner thigh; she gasps again, even louder and more throaty this time, when I rub through her panties. The cotton slides easily over her pussy, soaking wet, and I can feel her heat right through the fabric.
“Are you ready?” I ask. Her body definitely is, but if she's going to get cold feet, now would be the most likely time.
Instead of the shy nod I expected, she pants, “Yes. I want you inside me.”
Fuck me running. What man could refuse that? Just the sound of Gracie's voice saying those words makes my cock throb. I stand up—as best I can with no blood left in my head—and take her hand, then lead her to the bedroom.
Not bothering to shut the door, I help her shimmy out of her dress. It pools on the floor and leaves her standing in only a pair of white cotton briefs. “Panties off,” I say, already drinking in the view. She's a goddess. Her body is even more perfect than I'd imagined. Every detail from her firm C-cups to her soft flat stomach, from the gentle curve of her hips and cute butt to her long, shapely legs.
After a minute of my admiration, she fidgets a little. “H-hey, this isn't fair. I'm naked and you still have all your clothes on.”
“We can do something about that. Undress me.”
Her lips part slightly in surprise. Maybe arousal, too. “Guys like that?”
“Sure they do. It shows them how much you want them.” Any idiot who's too insecure to let a hot girl undress him isn't a guy Gracie should bother with. And giving her control over this part of the process should help boost her confidence.
She only hesitates for a second, then stands on tiptoe to pull my shirt over my head. Then she unbuttons and unzips my jeans and lets them fall. Her eyes widen with amazement. She wasn't the only one who skipped a critical piece of underwear today.
“Jesus,” she exclaims, “how is this thing supposed to fit inside me?”
“You'll stretch. And I'll go as slow as you want.” Even if it's sheer torture. “Gracie...” I almost groan when she pets the head, curious about the slickness that has beaded there. “You want to learn how to jerk me off, baby?” The pet name slips out of nowhere.
This time her mouth drops further open. Like everything else, it's a good look for her. “W-what? I was just...” she stammers. Then her desire and boldness reassert themselves, and she nods with a resolute pout. “Sure. Teach me.”
I arrange her fingers to grip my shaft. Her delicate hand looks almost obscene on the thick, reddened flesh. Closing my hand around hers, I move it up and down to show her the best way to pump without tiring her arm. It feels fucking incredible and her tits bounce lightly with each stroke. Remembering I’m supposed to be actually imparting some wisdom, not just getting my cock jacked, I take a deep breath and try to cool down. “See that little bridge of skin there, right under the head?” I point out. “It's called the frenulum. That and the tip are the most sensitive places.”
Without any prompting, she adds a little flick to her motion that rubs over the spot with every stroke, sending sparks of heat straight through me. Fuuuck. Tension quickly starts building in my groin. Soon I have to grip her wrist to stop her.
“Let's leave the rest for next time,” I say, a little unsteadily. It's good to let her practice, but if she keeps touching me like that, I'll have to take a break before the main event. And I don't want to make her wait a single second longer. She clearly has the handjob basics down anyway.
She blinks and then gives me a cheeky grin. “Next time...okay. You're the professor here.” She sounds like she's looking forward to it as much as I am.
I take a condom packet from my bedside drawer, tear it open, and hold it up. “I'm sure you know what this is. The side with the lube on it and the reservoir tip sticking out is the side that goes outward. Now...” Holding out the condom, I let my voice drop a little lower. “I want to see you put it on me.”
Cheeks crimson, she accepts the condom, looking back and forth between my face and my rock-hard cock. Finally she gets down on her knees. My cock twitches at the sight, at the thought of her sweet pink mouth on me.
Concentrating with a cute crease between her brows, she rolls the condom on correctly and I bend down to reward her with a quick kiss. “You're a natural. Lie down on the bed when you're ready.”
I chuckle when she immediately jumps up. I was worried about her being a nervous virgin and psyching herself out of a good experience, but hardly any of her earlier shyness is left. Am I that good or is she just that horny? I decide I don't care. All that matters right now is giving her the time of her life.
I follow her onto the bed and prompt her let her legs fall open. She parts her knees, showing herself to me. Kneeling before her, I take a moment to inspect her pussy with care. She’s shaved bare, and I part her plump lips and using the pad of my thumb, stroke her clit in little circles. A helpless whimper rises in her throat.
“You’re nice and wet for me,” I say, my voice coming out too hoarse. “And very pretty down here.” She really is. Soft bubblegum pink dewy folds, a little swollen clit I want to suck on, and a tiny opening I can’t wait to fit myself inside of. Jesus. Is this really about to happen?
Pushing one finger inside her slowly, Gracie goes quiet and still. Her wide eyes are locked on mine as I draw my finger slowly in and out. She’s so tight and hot that her pussy sucks at my finger, greedily drawing me in up to my last knuckle. My cock twitches in jealously.
“Okay so far?” I breathe.
“Yeah,” she whispers.
My finger is slick with her wet heat and I can’t stop watching the way her tight opening looks taking me, parting for me. The scent of her – sweet feminine arousal – is almost too much for me to handle. I want to bury my face in her cunt and eat her for hours. But something tells me I should mind my manners and get on with the lesson instead of indulging in my own fantasies.
Deciding it’s time to get on with the show, I bring her legs up to rest around my waist. As I press a deep kiss to her mouth, I guide myself toward her core. When my cock nestles right up against her hot folds, I stop. “Are you sure?” I ask, giving her one last chance to change her mind.
“Very,” Gracie says, sliding her wet pussy over me as we continue to kiss, our mouths unable to stay apart for long.
As clouded as my brain is by arousal, I try to focus in on everything. The way her breathing hitches when I push forward the tiniest bit. The pulse I can feel rioting in her throat when I press my mouth there. The way her tight channel grips me as I rock forward again—deeper this time.
Gracie groans, her discomfort mixed with pleasure. I slow down, kissing her deeply as I let her body adjust to the brand new invasion.
Even slick and soft with arousal, she's still tight as hell. I slip in millimeter by millimeter, stopping whenever she stiffens or squeaks. When I feel her begin to relax and accept me, I thrust further in and bite back a groan. No one has ever felt this good before. Our moans mix in the pheromone-heavy air and our heartbeats slam together.
When I finally bottom out, I look up at her—she's panting, eyes heavy-lidded, skin damp with sweat—and ask, “You okay? Want to stay like this for a little while?”
Her heels dig into the small of my back. “Just...keep moving...”
Slowly I pull out, and then ease back in again. “You're doing so good, baby,” I murmur into her silky hair. It smells like lavender shampoo. “I know you can take me. We'll do it together.”
She rocks her hips sharply and I take my cue to speed up. She makes little needy noises that shoot straight to my cock. I shift my angle, looking for her G-spot, and know I've found it when she gives a loud, guttural moan. I pull her hips to meet mine with every thrust, showing her how much better it feels when she moves, too. She immediately catches on.
“Your pussy feels so good around me,” I grunt.
Leaving one hand on her hip to guide her, I rub her clit with my thumb. She cries out again, ragged and desperate. Her beautiful sapphire eyes are wild with desire. Lost in them, I can't look away, can't do anything but push her higher into pleasure.
Her body tenses and shakes. Her nails dig into my back. Finally she cries, “Oh...oh, don't stop, Hudson...” Her pussy clamps down on my cock, pulsing with the waves of her orgasm. I groan and let myself fall over the edge with her.
Still inside her, I take a moment to catch my breath, resting above her on my elbows. She cranes her neck to kiss me: chaste, unhurried, affectionate, so different from the desperate passion of a few minutes ago. I return her soft kisses, enjoying the calm after the storm.
Her giggle is a subtle hum against my lips. “I did it,” she says. “Virginity no more.”
“Shall I alert the media?” I chuckle, and get a little bite on the chin for my teasing.
Half of me is already planning how to make our next date even better. The other half is still savoring this moment with Gracie, enveloped in her warmth, her exhausted satisfaction. Face to face.
Chapter Seven
Gracie
“Can you hand me that stack of copies?” Brandon asks.
I limp over to the copy machine and grab the stack of papers, thrusting them into my coworker’s hand before easing myself gently back down into the office chair.
“What’s wrong with you? Hurt yourself over the weekend?” he asks, watching me carefully.
“What? No.” Shit. Was I being that obvious? “It’s just the heels I’m wearing today,” I lie as coolly as I can. “I’m still breaking them in.” At least that part is true.
I’m pleasantly sore between my thighs. Nothing a little Tylenol can’t handle. But geez, how embarrassing. Crossing my legs, I concentrate on the pile of work in front of me, unable to keep a smile off my lips. I’ve been daydreaming about Hudson all morning and my brain feels like mush.
Focus, Gracie. I leaf through the design workbook for the commercial remodel we’re working on. Brandon’s the project leader, only a couple of years older than me; it gives me hope that with hard work and some luck on my side, I’ll be running my own projects in a few years.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and my lips curl into a smile. Hudson spent all morning and half the night sending me sweet messages. I read them all about twenty times. The first one, sent only hours after I left his place, was to check on me and see how I was feeling. At the time, I was still floating on cloud nine and didn’t even realize how sore I was. How my panties clung to my sensitive skin, or how my hips bore the markings of his fingertips.
I look down at a new text from him.
Hudson: How’s your day so far?
I chuckle to myself. Melanie was right about feeling a deeper connection to him after sex, but he also seems to be more connected to me, too. For all the years Hudson’s had my phone number for emergencies or whatever, he’s never texted me. Now he can’t seem to stop himself. Not that I’m complaining. I would've died of curiosity wondering what he was thinking about—specifically, whether or not he was still thinking of me after our night together.
Gracie: I’m feeling okay. Last night was kind of crazy.
Hudson: I had fun. His response arrives almost instantly.
I can’t believe we actually did it. I actually crossed the big V-card off my to-do list...and with Hudson Stone. A silly smile forms on my lips.
Once definitely isn't enough. I want to do that again. I’m not sure what he’ll think if I admit that I want to see him again so quickly. He said “three times” before...but now that he got what he wanted, is he done with me? He might refuse, but considering that I’m still on a happy buzz, I risk the letdown.
Gracie: When can we meet up again?
I hold my breath, waiting to see what he’ll write back. Several minutes pass and my stomach sinks. Shit. Why did I have to push things too far? He offered to help me get rid of my virginity, not to become a regular occurrence in my life. Then my phone vibrates again and my heart jumps into my throat.
Hudson: Sorry, I was talking to your brother.
The feeling of ice-water rushing through my veins reminds me of what a terrible idea this is. I should just cut my losses now and move on. Then he texts again.
Hudson: Come over tonight.
My fingers can’t type fast enough.
Gracie: Okay. What time?
I peek up at Brandon, hoping he hasn’t noticed my new smartphone addiction. His furrowed brow as he stares down at a rendering says no.
Hudson: Any time after six. I can order in dinner.
Sex and a meal? My new favorite combination. With a smile on my lips, I get back to work, knowing my evening looks promising.
* * *
Knowing I had plans with Hudson tonight made the workday drag by incredibly slowly. Finally five o’clock rolls around, and I grab my purse and scurry to the exit. I want to go home first and freshen up before heading to his place. When I arrive at my apartment, I rush inside and fly through the small space like a crazed person. Brushing my teeth, and touching up my makeup so I look refreshed.
Now I’m waiting on his doorstep. As I bring my hand up to knock, terrified regret flashes through me. What am I doing here? Was Melanie right all along? Is this going to end in a terrible crash-and-burn scenario, where I’m just a heartbroken shell of my former self when it’s all over?
When Hudson opens the door, I’m greeted by the smell of roasting chicken and my stomach growls, perking right up. The stale peanut butter and jelly I had for lunch was a long time ago. And the sight of Hudson with a dishtowel slung over one shoulder, wearing a plain gray T-shirt and jeans, is a very nice one. Oddly sexy and domestic at the same time, like he's welcoming me home.
“Hi,” I offer, not sure why I’m suddenly feeling so shy.
Hudson’s features soften as he gazes down at me. “Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie smoothly. Honestly, I’m freaking confused about what this is. I had sex with my brother’s best friend, not even twenty-four hours ago, and now here I am again. I’ve never done anything remotely this crazy before. It has paranoid thoughts flying through my mind—like, what if my brother drives by and sees my car parked outside Hudson’s place? I’d h
ave no plausible explanation. And witnessing a murder is something I’d rather not do tonight.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he says, ushering me inside.
I follow him to the kitchen and my eyes widen. It’s an absolute mess. Bits of onion and potato peel are peppered all over the counter. A huge pan of roasted potatoes and a whole chicken rests on top of the stove. A dish of green beans and a plate of warmed dinner rolls sit on the kitchen island.
“Did your refrigerator explode?” I giggle.
He chuckles back. “I guess I was hungry. And I didn’t feel like ordering takeout.”
I step closer, surveying his work. Wow. He did all this for me? The chicken smells incredible and the potatoes are perfectly cooked, with little crispy edges just like I like. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”
He shrugs. “One of the benefits of being raised with a housekeeper who made us a big family dinner every night. I guess all those years doing my homework at the kitchen island while Greta cooked rubbed off on me.”
I knew Hudson’s family had money, but I guess I never paused to consider how different his upbringing was from mine. He opted to spend most of his free time over at our house, which is weird given that his parents' place boasted a pool, tennis court, and an in-home theater.
“Do you want to set the table while I finish up?”
I nod and he hands me two heavy porcelain plates. When he invited me over, I assumed we’d eat pizza off paper plates in front of the TV before heading into the bedroom. A home-cooked meal, served on real china, eaten while I cast nervous glances over at him from across the table...it feels a lot more serious. Intimate. I kind of like that, but it also bothers me, and I'm not sure why. Maybe because he’d said this was going to be just sex—strictly educational, nothing more—but this already feels like more. Ignoring the tightening in my belly, I dutifully take the plates and the silverware and set them on his dining table, where two glasses of ice water are sweating rings into the dark wood.
