by Ivy Jordan
“She can’t buy food?” I asked.
“No, and they never go out to eat. It’s pathetic. She’s going to be working like that for the rest of her life, and there’s no retirement, no vacation. If she gets too sick to work, she loses her job. Most people like her end up working until their joints give out, and they can barely stand. That’s what’s going to happen to her.”
“That’s why you’re doing this.”
“Oh, definitely,” she said. “I’m already sending money home to her.”
“That’s awesome. You know, most people would just walk away.”
“I never thought of it like that. Anyone that could just walk away from their family doesn’t deserve to succeed. If I have to, I’ll move them in and take over the burden. I won’t let them live like that.”
“You’re an amazing person, Ava.” She had her hand resting next to the salt shaker between us. I laid my hand on top of hers. Her skin was soft, and her touch firm.
She looked down at the table.
“I like you.” Maybe I didn’t have to use her. I could fall into this, and see where it led. She was worth the effort. “And I don’t think you’re a shut-in. You should know that. You’re doing the right thing by sticking to your studies. It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks. You’ve got dedication. That’s a rare quality to find in a person. Nobody is genuine anymore, not in my world.”
“What is your world?” she asked. “What’s it like?”
“I have a lot of freedom. My parents give me whatever I want, and they take care of me. They send me things when I need them, and they keep track of my grades, so I have everything set out for me. I don’t think I could make it if I didn’t.”
“It keeps you disciplined.”
“Yeah, but I rely on everyone else for that. You don’t have anyone propping you up. You do that yourself. You’re your own support system.”
“You’re too nice to me, Channing.” She met my eyes. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’m not your kind of girl.”
“How do you know?” She trembled when I brushed my finger over her jawline. I didn’t know what my intentions were either. I just wanted to taste her lips and feel her peppermint breath flow down my face. Was it wrong to kiss her?
I didn’t care.
Her kiss was a thousand times better than I could’ve imagined. The breath was drained out of her, she gasped, and I slid my tongue through her lips. She had to hold onto my neck just to keep from sliding back into her chair. When I pulled away, the blood had rushed into her cheeks. She looked back down at the table.
“I’d like to be with you for now. Is that enough?”
“It’s a distraction,” she said, “and it worries me. I don’t know if I want to take the risk.”
“But you don’t want to walk away, either.”
“No,” she smiled, “not after that kiss.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
The server brought out two steaming plates of veal with a light tomato sauce and pasta. It was traditional Italian in every sense, with fresh-made bread and soft, homemade noodles. The food wasn’t the main attraction, though. Neither of us could pull away. We naturally gravitated to one another. Our eyes met, our legs touched under the table, and the energy flowing between us was electric.
I rested my hand on hers when she finished her food, then took a moment to take her in. She was stunning, even without the makeup or the curled hair. She was naturally beautiful. It was refreshing to meet a woman that didn’t have to spend six hours in front of the mirror or inject herself with poison to boost her self-confidence.
She looked up at me, and I felt how vulnerable she was. I knew that she’d go with me; I could smell it, but I couldn’t do anything that would hurt her. If I took her virginity, I was making a silent promise not to just walk away. I couldn’t let her think of me as that guy. I didn’t want to be that guy. At the very least, I wanted to make this moment special, and in order to do that, I’d have to commit to following this through.
I couldn’t go into this without knowing that my intentions were pure. I had to want her, not just her body, but her mind, and I did. I wanted to spend all night on that patio learning everything about her.
I traced my finger down her arm and felt a shiver move down my body. She seemed to tense up, so I moved my hand away. “That’s not too much, is it?”
She didn’t answer.
“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. You don’t, do you? I could take you home if you want.” Maybe it would be better not to do it.
“Okay.” She stood up, and I led her back to the car. The second we got in, I felt the tension seething off her. She couldn’t look me in the eye. Instead, she stared out the window.
What I really wanted to do was pull the car over and take her right there. I could see myself shredding her shirt, and ripping off her panties. I needed to have her, but she didn’t look like she was up to it. She was too afraid, so I stayed quiet until we pulled up to her complex.
Then, when she started to get out, my hand lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. I didn’t even mean to do it. She froze, like she thought she was going to die, so I decided to move slow. I kneaded her shoulder just a bit to ease her tension until she softened up.
Her head fell, so I lifted her chin, and turned her head so that she was facing me. Her eyes were slammed shut, and she winced like she was about to take a punch, so I dropped her head. “If you’re not into it,” I said, “it’s okay.”
She pulled me forward and crashed her lips to mine. Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and drove her tongue through my mouth. I could feel her nails tracing the skin on the back of my neck, leaving goosebumps behind as she moved her finger down my neck and over my chest, exploring the mountains and valleys. Then she grabbed my crotch and slipped her hand up my shaft.
Chapter Sixteen
Ava
I had my hand wrapped around Channing’s bulge and his lips brushing across mine while his tongue pressed through. He wasn’t a gentle person, but he was tentative. He moved fast, and caught every detail, like the tips of my teeth and my palette. Then he set his hand on my thigh, and I felt myself tensing up.
“Let’s go.” I pulled away and started to get out.
He pulled me back down and crashed our lips together, then opened his door and got out of the car. Our bodies naturally came together. Somehow, we found our way to the courtyard gate, and into the elevator up to my apartment.
Mostly I walked backward while he led me through. I couldn’t focus on where I was going, just the way his lips moved down my neck when the elevator door opened. “Come on.” I pulled away and walked back down the hall towards my apartment.
I could feel him stalking me, like a lion about to tear into a zebra’s leg. He was on me the second we reached the door. He slammed his body into mine and rose his knee up between my legs while his lips moved down, leaving a wet trail across my neck, then behind my ear.
Something was moving inside me. The soft, fluttering jolt in my stomach had changed into a ripple that flowed down my face, over my chest, and into my gut where it settled. Every touch was another ripple, another raindrop in the storm.
I reached into my pocket to pull out my keys. I needed a breath, so I pulled away and turned back so that I could open the door. That was a mistake. He pressed his crotch up against my butt and ran his shaft down my crack.
The weight of his body threw me inside when I opened the door. He caught me and wrapped his arms around my waist while he dug his teeth into the spot behind my ear. His lips were wild, pulling at the skin, twisting, sending warmth down my body.
I made my way towards the bedroom while he nibbled at me and pressed himself up against me. He whipped me around when we walked in. Then he threw me onto the bed and lowered himself on top of me. His hands moved down my sides, and his lips over my neck, while he fingered the hem of my shirt.
Fire met ice. His lips were warm against the cold air, and s
oft when he pulled up on my shirt and moved down so he could focus on my stomach. As he pulled my shirt higher, and the air moved its way in, I felt a chill forming, driven by the mounting pressure between my legs.
His cock was rubbing up against my calf. I could feel the outline of the head through the denim. He lifted my shirt over my head and threw it aside, while he pushed his finger under my bra. He met my eyes, then looked back down, bringing my attention to my cup. His finger grazed the nipple, and I gasped. It was like cold fire. It burned so sweet—I couldn’t take it, especially with his arm reaching around my back to unhook my bra.
His wicked grin did nothing to make things easier. It was terrifying, predatory. The act became something more than just a connection between two people. When he ripped off my bra, we became animals.
He dove in with a growl and tore at my nipple with his teeth. “Ah,” I gasped.
His deep laugh seemed to roll through me. His lips poured in, cupping one nipple while he moved his finger over the other areola. The seething, relentless touch was luring me into a frenzy, while his cock moved further and further up my leg.
He was devouring me, taking me in, pulling my nipple through his lips and back again. Every movement was another jolt, and another drop of rain in the growing storm that was pulsing through me. The pressure between my legs was starting to become unmanageable, and he wasn’t stopping.
Instead, he met my eyes and bit down on my nipple. “A-ah,” I shuddered, and he pulled off.
“You like that?” His fingers traveled down my stomach.
“Dear God, yes.”
“Yeah?” He slid his hand into my pants and swept his finger over my lips. It was like having an open wire pulled over the skin. Tiny strands of electricity tore through my body. Blood was pulsing, coursing into me.
He pressed his finger in deeper, and a wave poured out, drenching my panties.
“Wait,” I said.
He still had his hand down my pants. He pulled them out and asked, “It’s okay?” He met my eyes. “I’ll be gentle.” He leaned over and kissed me, pressing his tongue deeper. Then he reached up and cupped my breast, not too hard. Just gently enough that I barely noticed it when he unbuttoned my jeans.
I felt the cold move in, and he pulled his body down, taking my pants and panties with him. It was a slow, careful gesture, and just like he said, he was gentle when he got onto his knees and pulled me forward, resting his head between my legs.
“Channing…”
“It’s okay.” He looked at me again.
“But I’ve never…o-o-oh,” I sighed.
He dove his head in, and his breath poured in between my legs. The heat brought with it a ripple, and his tongue—like a violinist’s bow, tracing up my lips, then over my clit. I gasped, and he grabbed my hand.
He was flicking his thumb over the tip now, back and forth, pulling me into the rhythm, while his finger moved up my calf, then onto my thigh. His tongue swept over the opening, and he let go of my hand.
One hand was tracing down my side; the other was moving closer to the spot between my legs. His tongue pressed in deeper, and I felt the moisture building up inside me. Another swipe of his tongue along the back of my clit, and my head pulled back.
I was struggling to keep the moisture from pouring out, but his hands were getting closer. One was moving down my thigh. The other was resting between my legs. He pinched my clit, and I cried out. Moisture was building up. I wasn’t sure if I could hold it, especially with him pressing my clit between his thumb and forefinger. It was a scorching brand, roaring up my body, bringing with it a tight, shrill shudder.
His finger was outstretched, and I could see it moving closer to my opening. I could see a hint of anticipation in the way he looked at me, as to warn me of what was coming. I wanted to pull away. I knew that it would hurt when he put his finger inside me. I wasn’t ignorant to the reality of what I was facing. It wouldn’t be easy, which was why it infuriated me so much when he pulled me open and rested his finger on my opening.
“Just get it over with,” I said.
“No.” He kept his finger there without adding any pressure at all. Then he dove his head in between my lips and circled my opening with his tongue. He tapped his finger over it, up and down, again and again, while his tongue moved closer and closer. It swept over my clit, and I sighed.
He was still tapping his finger on my opening. I could feel myself throbbing, like I was grasping at him. I needed to feel him, not just his finger. That wasn’t enough, but it would be a thousand times more satisfying than this demented tease.
He kept tapping and moving his tongue closer and closer. I could feel the tip swipe my opening, and a trickle of moisture shoved its way out. Another flick of his tongue, and another drop. My legs were trembling. If he didn’t stop, I was going to erupt, and this would all be over.
His tongue pressed through, and I jolted. It tingled and burned, a shocking effect that nearly crashed through the tenuous hold I had on myself. He laughed, and his breath flew in, like fire and sharp mint. His tongue pressed in a little deeper while his finger flitted up and down, over the tip of my clit.
Something was sliding through me now, making its way to the surface. He pressed his tongue through just a little deeper, and a shock tore through me. It spread out, over my arms, my legs, into the tips of my fingers.
He was pressing in deeper and deeper, but he could only go so far. My clit was on fire, pulsing and throbbing. The moisture, his tongue, and the heat all combined, sending a shock tearing up my body when he pressed his finger in. It wasn’t far, just up to the first knuckle, but it was enough to rejoice over.
It was big, and my body was tight. I wasn’t even sure that I could take it, but he was slow. He pulled his finger out, and swept his tongue over my opening, circling it, then diving in to acclimate me further.
He didn’t press in all the way. He knew that would be too much. Instead, he anticipated my needs and pressed his finger in just enough for me to feel it. Then he pulled it back and focused with his tongue. He went back and forth like this, each time teasing the moisture out of me. I could feel it pooling up under my hips.
He couldn’t seem to move fast enough. Every time he pressed through, I wanted more. I wanted him to feel me up and press deep into that spot where no man had ever gone. There would be nothing sweeter, but my body had to be ready.
I felt like I could trust him. He knew how to move, where to push, and when to pull out, but that didn’t mean he could stop the pain. It was going to hurt. It always hurt, and nothing he did could change that. I knew it was coming. I felt myself start to tense up, but he was easing his finger in further, and the muscles were beginning to release.
I was beginning to realize that there was no getting ready for this. I was going to have to go through the full initiation, and I was going to feel it. He could ease his finger through all he wanted, but he was just making it worse.
The pressure was maddening. It was moisture pressing out from between my legs, and the fire from his breath pouring in, fueling the storm, and the torrent that was building up inside me. He was pressing his finger deep now. I had to bite my bottom lip and hold onto the covers for support.
It wasn’t enough. I felt like I was falling into him, taking him in then reaching out for more. He wasn’t on a schedule. He was going to make sure that I knew that I was appreciated and that he didn’t want me to get hurt.
I’d cry out, and he’d make reassuring noises. He’d pull out when he saw the strain on my face, and he always distracted me with his finger circling my clit. Pleasure and pain combined into a mix so tantalizing, I started to forget where I was.
All that existed was his tongue, his lips, and fingers, this wild creature tearing through my body. He dove his finger in deep, and I jolted up. “Oh, shit.”
He laughed and stood up, then pressed me down on the bed. He was standing over me, unbuttoning his sky blue shirt. He looked like a wolf, stripping off his sheepski
n disguise. He seemed so benign and gentle with his clothes on, almost insignificant, but as he peeled back the cloth layering, his muscles came into view.
He was an athlete, with arms almost as thick as my waist, and shoulders that engulfed me when he fell on top of me. His vanilla scent flowed in, and the heat from his body radiated out, creating a bubble of warmth that surrounded us as his lips pressed against mine.
I couldn’t believe that he was so close, or how amazing it felt to have his bare chest press against mine. His hips slammed in, and I could feel the head of his cock resting on my opening. He pulled it away, and the denim scraped against my clit.
The space between us closing. There was just that denim barrier, and the scent of sex flowing between us. He was careful with his lips. He took things slow, pressed the tip of his tongue in, swiping it over my top lip as he did. Then he pulled it back and started over, this time a little farther in than the time before.
That was how he did things. He always gave me a taste, but he never gave me enough. It was meant to help my body acclimate to his, but all it did was leave me wanting more. He was pulling his cock back and forth over my lips now.
I felt his hands trace down my side. Then he stood up and met my eyes. His thumb was tracing up his shaft. Then his cock jumped in his pants, and I gasped.
He laughed. “That’s so fucking sexy.”
“Yeah?” I slipped my finger up my opening, then over my clit.
He nodded, then slid his hand down his stomach, over the ridges, to his belt. He slid it off and threw it aside, never once looking away while he fingered his zipper. “You want this?”
I nodded. He ripped his pants down, then fell on me. He slammed his cock through, and my head shot back. Something exploded. The air went cold, and a ball of fire erupted through me, scorching skin, muscle, and bone.
There was no preparing for the surge rolling through me, or the way his lips pressed into mine the second his cock hit my spot. He rested it there, then pulled out to dive it in again.
Every thrust was like the fulfillment of a dream. My desperate, maddening desire had transformed into a sense of nervous anticipation. He was pulling me closer and closer.
