by Shae Ross
“You tell me if I go too fast, okay?”
“Okay.” The word floats out in a rasp, and I’m confident it’s the last coherent syllable I’ll speak. His hand sinks lower, spreading over my stomach and skimming my panties. He twists the lace gently around his fingers, drawing the thong deeper and sliding it gently between my legs. Alternating the stroke of his fingers with the feel of the twisted lace, he teases the sensitive skin, while his other hand continues tracing my nipple with a calloused finger, squeezing and plucking, the exquisite pressure sending small shivers down my spine. Heat is building between my legs, working its way up my body.
He slides one finger slowly inside of me, and my soft moan carries until he’s deep within me. The pad of his thumb touches my clit, and I jolt at the intensity. His mouth lowers, brushing the top of my ear with the faint feel of stubble when he speaks. “Can you feel me?” he asks, using his hands to pull me closer and increasing the pressure of his touch. His hips shift against my backside, and I smile and nod my head. Hell yes, I can feel him. He’s big and hard and I feel him in the curl of my toes, and the spinning of my head—like I’m hanging off the end of a merry-go-round with my face turned to the sun. I move my hips in a slow swirl against the hard bulge of his cock at my back.
“God…Priscilla,” his words drag through a groan. I reach a hand back, grip the sides of his legs, and slide them toward his cock, but he locks his arms and shakes his head. “Not yet, baby.” My hands stop moving. I feel a ping of disappointment, but I move back to massaging the hard muscles in his thighs, drawing pleasure from the deep humming sound vibrating over his throat.
His hand withdraws slowly from between my legs. My knees feel weak as he turns me to face him and lifts my sweater, grazing my sides with his knuckles. His thumbs dip into the waistband of my jeans and push them down. His hands look so big against the shallow curve of my waist, holding me as I wiggle out, kicking. I help him take his shirt off, stopping to run my fingers up the smooth ridges of abdominal muscle and he skims a hand up my back and unfastens my bra. A nervous shiver shakes my spine as his focus dips and lingers. His big perfect body is almost enough to make me forget I’m standing in front of him naked. He sucks in a breath, and his pecs expand as his gaze moves over me. A small euphoric feeling twirls in my head. My arms and legs feel weak just from watching his reaction to my body. Suddenly, I’m desperate to touch him.
I reach for his waistband, and he turns me so that my back is to his chest again, facing the window. “Not yet,” he says, squeezing me until my lungs tighten. “I want to…so, so bad, but we’re going to go slow. We have to go slow.” I bite the inside of my lip. His deflection of my touch, for the second time now, jams the signals in my head.
One arm tightens against my waist while he lowers a hand to my ass, cupping and squeezing as he kisses my neck, whispering to me. “Fuck, I love your ass, Priscilla.” His body curves over me as he lowers his mouth, kissing my back and breathing fire into my veins. “Spread your legs for me, baby.” His thigh lifts, parting my knees. Cool air teases the sensitive skin between my legs. I’m dying, waiting for his hot touch, squirming and bending against his arm. I let out a rush of breath when his finger slides deep inside of me, and I clench around him, numb in every other area of my body. My back arches, moving against his touch, and he groans.
“You like that?” he asks, kissing my neck, but I can’t answer him with anything other than the rocking motion of my hips.
“More?” Slowly he slides another finger inside of me, an exquisite stretching that makes me gasp, and I raise my fingertips to balance on the glass window.
A breathless beat is trapped inside of me as his fingers tease. “Preston…I…I’m so…ready.” My voice carries a plea, but there’s something else I’m feeling, too—it’s the lingering worry that he doesn’t want this to end the same way I do. He hasn’t let me touch him yet, and even though what happened between us at Thanksgiving was amazing, I want more. I want all of him. I don’t want to feel like he’s holding something back. I stiffen and stop moving against his fingers as the invasion of emotion caves in on me. He slows then stops, reading my body and turning me in his arms.
Concern laces his heady expression. “What’s wrong?”
I swallow and hesitate. Can I really ask him this? How desperate will I sound? But I am desperate. I feel desperate, and in the minute I’ve paused to question the politically correct way to ask, the concern in his expression has doubled.
“Are we going to…are you going to…to fuck me?” I whisper, as heat burns my cheeks.
His brows shoot high, and a slow grin grows behind the shock. “Well, I thought I might,” he responds. I narrow my eyes, unable to shake the feeling and he reaches for my arms. “Jesus, Priscilla, of course I’m going to fuck you.”
“Then why aren’t you letting me touch you?”
The humor disappears, replaced by a serious expression as he considers me. He raises one of my hands and kisses my curled fingers, moving my palm to his bare chest and holding it against his hot skin. Without shifting his gaze from mine, his other hand works over his waist, unbuttoning his jeans and loosening them on his hips. He guides my touch slowly down his chest, over the ridges of abdominal muscle, and into his jeans. He’s warm and smooth, thick and long, and he shudders when my hand moves on its own, closing around him.
Sliding a hand to the back of my neck and pulling me close, he leans over my ear. “I’m going to fuck you, Priscilla. Not with my fingers. Not with my tongue. I’m going to bury every inch of my cock inside of you.” His words send a tingling wave up my body and a breath releases from my mouth. “I’m trying to go slow because you’re small and tight, and I’m…well, because I’m me,” he says, flashing the hint of a dimple. “I want to make sure you’re ready.”
His explanation douses one worry but plants another tendril of anxiety. If he’s worried, should I be worried? I take a breath and push the thought away, knowing I can trust him. I tighten my grip and stroke him, tugging his jeans lower on his hips and pushing him against the glass window. His shoulders ease, and he drops his head, leaning back. “That’s it, baby,” he says, as I explore, gripping and sliding my fingers over the hard, silky skin. I love the way that his body reacts to my touch and the low sensual sounds rumbling from the back of his throat. He hisses in a breath then exhales a low growl and moves quickly.
He kicks his jeans off, then bends and picks me up, settling my legs around his waist and holding my thighs with two big hands. I moan and tighten my arms around his shoulders as he slides against me. I squeeze my legs around him, trying to ease the pressure building as he carries me to the bed and lowers my body, kneeling over me. Goose bumps fan over my skin.
“Preston…” My voice is a whimper at the sight of his head lowering between my legs.
“Shh,” he murmurs, kissing my inner thighs and moving lower until he’s caressing the sensitive skin with torturous strokes, the ends of his soft curls brushing against me. My whole body is tingling, running hot and cold at the same time and I’m lost in a haze of bliss.
He moves, rising above me, and a small shiver escapes as the warmth of his body leaves me. I’m trying to catch my breath, vaguely aware of the sound of foil tearing. I open my eyes to see him rolling on a condom, and my heart pounds in my chest.
His eyes are luminous, almost platinum in the dark, and I watch him move back to the bed. He lowers his hot skin against mine. I wrap my arms around his shoulders as his thighs spread me, and I feel the edge of him pressing hard, easing forward. He’s raised above me, watching my face, kissing me after every small forward motion…my cheek, my brow, the tip of my nose. He fills me deeper, driving new sensations into areas I’ve never felt before.
I gasp as a pinching feeling overrides the pleasure, and he stills.
“Too much?” he asks. I’m wrapped tight around every inch of him, and my head is pounding with blood.
He kisses my cheek and smooths my hair. I don’t answer h
im but I know he sees it. My eyes are closed, and I’m wholly focused on dousing the pain and recovering my happy place. “Easy, baby. Just breathe,” he coaxes. I do as he says, concentrating on the sound of his voice and the discomfort begins to fade.
His mouth trails down my neck, kissing and whispering, and the first wave of pleasure returns. “I’m going to move you on top of me,” he says, slipping a strong hand under my back and rolling.
My breasts press against my inner arms as I brace my hands on his hard abdomen and adjust to the position, straddling him. He raises his torso off the bed, bearing his weight on his elbows. I hold his face in my hands and kiss his mouth.
“Go slow, baby,” he says. “Take me as deep as you can.” A thin sheen of perspiration mists his brow, and his face is stoic. I know he’s doing this for me, allowing me to control the force with which he enters my body.
I settle lower, pushing myself down until the fullness is unbearable. I pause and take another breath. My inner thighs absorb the shudder that pulses through his abdominal muscles. His head tips back between his shoulder blades, and he exhales a breath. “Almost there, baby…so close,” he says. I ease off of him, wiggle my hips, and settle lower. “Yeah, that’s it…so damn good,” he bites out, and I continue rocking my hips, starting a slow rhythm. I know he’s holding back for me—I reach for him, and he sits up slowly.
“Oh my God, Preston.” His forehead is on mine, and all I can see are his eyes, swirling charcoal with flecks of blue at the center. “I never thought it would feel like this,” I say, arching and squeezing him tighter with my legs.
He pushes my hair aside, closing a tender grip behind my neck and sending a ripple of heat down my spine. “You’re so fucking sweet Priscilla.” He holds my thighs and arches underneath me, stealing my breath.
“You still with me?” he rasps.
I nod and smile, rocking slowly against him. “I’m with you.”
He pushes me lightly back with his fingertips. I moan, as he squeezes my breast and sucks my nipple into his hot mouth. His free hand moves between my legs, circling the most sensitive spot. My body jolts and my eyes fly wide. I could cry it feels so good. I’m raising and lowering my body on his cock, building torturously divine sensations.
“Slow baby…slow.”
My mind is somersaulting in a meadow somewhere, and then, floating on a cloud. “I knew it would feel like this when I’m inside of you,” he whispers low, and I’m losing my ability to think about anything other than the feel of him between my legs. “I knew you’d be sweet, and hot, and wild for me.”
His husky voice draws me deeper. The soft hair on his thighs brushes the backs and insides of my legs as I rock on top of him. My fingertips dig into his skin, riding a knot of intense pleasure, craving something only he can reach. I gasp his name, and the knot bursts apart, a mind-blowing explosion pulsing up my belly and shooting a million tingling pieces into my head. My skin is so hot, it feels like it’s melting from my bones, shedding everything except the euphoric feeling of being connected to him. He lets loose a low growl and grips my thighs, holding them tight as he arches, pressing deeper and pulsing hard. The strained expression on his features eases and his dimples appear.
Soft panting fills the dark space—in my fog, I can’t tell what’s coming from me and what’s coming from him. My head hangs over my shoulders, and I’m basking in the heavy, glowing feeling that’s holding my limbs captive. He collapses back against the bed, lifting my hand from his chest and kissing my tingling fingertips.
“C’mere,” he says, reaching for me. I lift my head and he pulls me gently down until I’m lying on top of him. His fingers thread and tangle, playing absently with my hair.
“Did I hurt you, Peep?”
I smile and raise a brow. “Do I look hurt?”
He lifts his head to look at me lying in a puddle of bliss. “It’s kind of hard to tell,” he says, squeezing my ass.
I huff out a small laugh. “Did I hurt you? I feel like I should apologize for something.”
A burst of deep laughter fills me with warmth. “For what?” he asks, still laughing, his eyes alight with playfulness. “For riding my cock like a…”
My hand cups his mouth, cutting him off. “God, don’t say it. I’m already embarrassed enough.”
“Never,” he says, kissing my hand and chuckling. “You should never be embarrassed about letting go. That’s what great sex is all about—trusting your partner enough to let go.”
“Umm,” I murmur, smiling. “Now that I know what sex is like, I’m going to want it all the time.”
Through the strands of hair covering my cheek I watch the slant of his sexy mouth moving in the darkness. “As your partner I’m committed to helping you through this difficult period,” he says, his lips curling into a sensual smile that warms my heart.
I fall asleep in his arms knowing that no matter what happens between us, I’ll always be thankful that he was my first.
It’s five thirty, and Preston is picking me up in a half an hour. We’re going to the season’s end Athletic Banquet along with Jace and Ian.
“Do not make my hair Texas big,” I say to Jace. She’s standing behind me, twisting sections around wide purple rollers.
“Quit squawking. Sweet Baby Cheez-its!” she snaps. “You’re worse than Sweeney when I color his hair. You’re not supposed to look until I’m finished.”
“Are you sure this lipstick isn’t too vampish?” I ask, sliding my lips back and forth. Her fingertips catch my shoulder, and she spins me away from the mirror, jabbing a Cosmo Magazine into my chest.
Ten minutes later, she reverses the spin and I’m blinking at my reflection. Wow. I actually look kind of…glamorous. Long waves sweep low over one side of my face, bouncing around my shoulders and settling at the mid point of my arms. My eyes are accented with deep smoky liner, soft shadow, and a touch of… I squint. Is that glitter? Hmmm. I don’t look like me, but I think that’s the goal. “Thanks…I think.”
“Wait ’til Mr. Football playaaa sees that,” she says, holding flat fingers under my chin, as if she’s serving my head on a platter. “Bon appetite, Monsieur. That’s French for ‘eat your heart out.’” She yanks the cord of her hot rollers out of the wall as I stand.
“All right, I just need to put my dress on. What time is it?”
She plucks her phone from the cosmetics lying on her dresser and sucks in a breath.
“What? What’s wrong?”
Her eyes squeeze shut as if she’s in pain—it’s a look I rarely see from Jace, and it sends a pang of anxiety into my stomach as I watch her sink to the bed.
“What is it?”
“Ian cancelled on me.”
“For the banquet? Tonight? Are you serious?” I walk to the bed and sit next to her. She hands me the phone, and I read his message.
Hey, something’s come up and I have to head back home for the weekend—not going to be able to make it tonight. Have a good time, Sweet T.
“Sweet T?”
“Yeah, that’s what he calls me. He didn’t even say he was sorry.”
“What a complete shit in the punch bowl,” I mutter.
She flops back on the bed, looking lost. My heart sinks. “I’m sorry,” I say, flopping next to her.
“Another one bites the dust,” she mumbles. We lay there for a minute staring at the ceiling together. Excited as I am to have this night with Preston, it won’t be the same without her.
“Why don’t you just come with us? Seriously, since when have you or I ever needed a date to do anything? Come with us.”
She sighs and drops a fainting hand over her forehead. “The thought of explaining to all my friends that Ian dumped me an hour before the event—by text—doesn’t sound that appealing. I’ll get over it—eventually.” She nudges my arm. “Sit up, you’re going to crush your waves, and you need to get your dress on before Lover Boy gets here.”
I hesitate to leave her. I’d like to kick a soccer ball
up Ian’s cowardly ass.
“Go,” she says, pushing me to a stand.
I stop at her door and look back. “Think about it. You could still come with us.”
“Beat it!” she says, nodding me out of her room.
Cracking her door, I check for Marcus then antelope leap across the hall in my bra and underwear.
I tear the thin plastic packaging clinging to the sleeveless bordeaux sheath, lift the hem, and bury my hands inside. It slides down my body, settling like a slip. Twisting an arm, I inch the exposed zipper up as far as I can then head back to Jace’s room for help.
“Wow.” Marcus is stepping into the hallway, and he looks me up and down. “Damn, girl, I know you don’t like to wear that kind of stuff, but it sure does like to wear you.”
“Hey,” I say, lowering my voice and steering him away from her door. I want to tell him the scoop with Jace so he won’t drill her with questions when she doesn’t leave with us. “Ian texted Jace a few minutes ago and stood her up.”
His brow rises, and he glances back.
“I don’t know how she didn’t see it coming—he’s a douchebag, but she’s upset.”
Jace’s door opens and she walks out. She’s changed into her sweats, but her eyes are still heavily smoked with liner, and her hair’s pageant ready. She pauses a beat, focusing on Marcus. The doorbell rings, and a flood of butterflies take flight in my stomach. “I’ll get some pictures before you leave,” she says, pushing past us. I shrug at Marcus and follow her into the living room.
Preston’s handsome profile is smiling in the doorway. He’s wearing a black suit and tie with a gray shirt—I’ve never seen him dressed up before, and he looks so distinguished…and hot. Light catches the tips of his finger-length waves as he smiles at Jace’s announcement. “Be prepared to be astounded.”
