by Donna Alam
‘Kiss—kissing, you mean?’ My words were soft; almost as soft as my lips I discovered, suddenly finding my fingers there. His gaze followed the motion and my heart literally stopped as I thought of him kissing me again. When he didn’t move, it became apparent he was waiting for me to answer. In the absence of words, I’d shaken my head.
‘I fucking hate bullies.’ His hand stretched out, cupping the side of my face, and either his hand was scorching or I’d turned beet red. In truth, I was burning all over, and right at that moment I’d wanted him to continue touching me. For his hand to touch me everywhere.
As experiences go, this one was both wonderful and terrifying.
‘Do you want to go somewhere? With me, I mean?’
‘Where?’
My response was barely a whisper. Hot for the guy or not—my would-be rescuer—this still gave me pause. I’d always been a good girl. A sensible one. Cautious to the point of bordering on tediousness. Wasn’t I looking to ditch that version of me? I was going travelling and it looked, right then, as though my adventure had already begun.
As though sensing my internal dialogue, he answered, ‘Din’nae fash. You’ll be fine.’
‘Wow,’ I’d replied, laughing at his reassurance. The prospect of being alone with him didn’t seem so frightening. ‘You’re laying that on real thick.’
‘What, the accent?’ he’d asked with faux surprise. ‘It usually does it for all the foreign lassies.’
‘Away an’ boil y’ heed!’ I might not have been raised purely in Scotland, but he wasn’t the only one familiar with the tongue.
Tongue. It was like he could read my thoughts, because as he laughed, his was suddenly visible, pink and wet. And sporting a silver piercing. I’d be lying if I said that thought didn’t still cause me a little tickle between my thighs.
It wasn’t much longer before we’d found ourselves running through the gate of a nearby cottage, the sudden inclement weather catching us by surprise. Summer evenings the sun is late to set in Scotland, and as we’d strolled through the darkening village exchanging names and small talk, the heavens had opened, rain suddenly lashing down. Wet and laughing, Rory had pulled me to his chest under the old tiled porch. The garden was fragrant with the smell of summer flowers, and though shivering, I was content to stay there, pondering that tongue piercing and wondering if he’d kiss me again. Content, that is, until he pulled out a key.
‘You can trust me.’ His eyes were solemn under wet, spiked lashes.
‘But trust you to do what?’ I’d whispered, unable to look away.
‘Whatever you want.’
And whatever I want turned out to be more than I’d bargained for.
‘There’s no one home.’ Grabbing my hand, he’d led me inside and down a dim hallway that smelled of beeswax polish and into a country-style kitchen. Looking back, I’ve often wondered if the cottage had been his intended destination all along.
‘Here, dry off.’ He’d handed me a towel pulled from the dryer. ‘You’ll catch your death.’
‘You’re not from around here.’ I ran the towel down my bare forearms, cold not the only reason for my shivering.
His brow furrowed briefly and he shook his head. ‘On holiday.’
We were still both drying our hair when, with a start, I’d noticed his eyes were glued to my chest and I glanced down to where my nipples stood like stiff points behind the wet fabric of my dress. I pulled the edges of the towel closer across my chest, suffering a flash of discomfort, though not from his looking, rather the lack there to show.
‘Don’t do that.’ I opened my mouth to answer but no sound came out. ‘Don’t hide yourself.’ His voice was soft, though it wasn’t kindness he was offering, if the pulse jumping in his throat was any sign.
For a moment, I didn’t move—I didn’t dare to. All I’d known was I needed him to touch me or I’d burst. Over twenty years old and I’d never known yearning until that point. That tickle between my legs when someone cute flirted with me? Sure. But this? This was more like a deluge.
Inhaling deeply, I’d folded the towel over my forearm before dropping it onto a kitchen chair, his voice turning rougher as he’d said, ‘Come here.’
Wholly unoriginal, but finding the courage to move was like taking a step from a cliff, not knowing what I’d find over the edge. But he didn’t leave me pin wheeling; no, pressing me flush against him, he pushed me over that edge. Kissing and touching—I was so turned on by his silverware—and, within moments, he had me backed against the countertops, his hand slipping into the waistband of my panties. I was like a cat in heat, rubbing my slick self against him. I thought I’d pass out when he lowered himself to his haunches, trailing his fingers across my hips. Shaking and delirious with longing, I’d exhaled a long breath as he’d slid the plain white cotton down my legs.
‘Not blue.’
Though his eyes were levelled between my thighs, the smile was evident in his words, and as his gaze slowly tracked up my body, I could see the wicked glint there.
His soft lips parted, blowing warm breath against my damp curls, heat coursing through my veins like the path of wildfire through dry grass. I burned like never before. God, I ached for him to touch me again, and as he slid his fingers inside me, my ragged gasp sounded like an expletive in the room. I gripped the edge of the countertop, suddenly fearing for the stability of my knees as his fingers worked me slowly, building into a teasing rhythm, his free hand bunching the fabric of my dress tight at my hip.
I was freefalling; the reality of the kitchen slipping away as my hips jerked, delirious and desperate.
‘You’re so wet.’ His voice was just a whisper, but still my head jolted me back to the moment, my body stiffening. Was that normal? No one, and by that I meant neither of the two boys whose fingers were familiar with that particular region of my body had ever mentioned anything like that.
‘What—’ My teeth clamped against my lip before I tried again. ‘I’ve never. I haven’t—’
I sucked in a breath as his fingers slipped wetly from between my legs.
‘You’ve never what?’ he asked, sitting back, his hand still holding my bunched dress. I felt myself shrugging in response, only answering when it became clear those fingers weren’t going anyplace I wanted them to.
‘I’ve never gone any further. Than this.’
‘You’ve never had sex before?’ His brows pulled together. Was he confused? Annoyed? It was hard to tell.
‘Well, technically, no. But I want to. Now. W-with you, I mean.’ And I think we both heard the mixture of panic and desperation right then.
In an almost fluid motion, Rory stood, taking my hand. Tears pricked against my eyes and all I could think was he’s making me leave and my panties are still in his kitchen; I have a wet, bare assed and teary walk home ahead of me.
But then we paused at a door in the hallway where his hands found my face.
‘You want to do this?’
I nodded, my face still in his hands. Fingers I could smell myself on. ‘I want you, but I need to hear you’re sure. That you want this. That you want me, too.’
I swallowed deeply and nodded again. ‘Yes, please.’
The bed was unmade and clothes hung over the back of a chair. Dark blue soft furnishings and a swirling black rug. The rain beat heavily against the window as he led me to the bed, my hand shaking in his as he peeled back the wrinkled covers while apologising for the mess.
Perched on the edge of the mattress, I’d kicked off my ballet flats, placing my hands primly against my knees and watched from under my lashes as Rory slid a hand to the back of his neck to pull off his damp t-shirt. It was such a masculine movement, yet a simple one, and very effective as far as my libido was concerned.
His body was all hard angles and slopes and my heart began to beat like runaway hooves as he stepped closer, popping the button on his dark jeans.
‘Take off your dress.’
Was it wrong to feel a little thr
ill at his throaty direction, especially as his eyes were so avidly watching me?
I began loosening the buttons of my light summer dress, while considering leaving on the cropped top I wore in place of a bra. Bravery won over ridiculousness, though the urge to cover myself was hard fought.
‘I want you to touch me.’ He stepped closer, the husky tone of his voice sending shivers across my skin.
Without speaking, I reached out, trailing my hands down his smooth chest and the flat planes of his stomach, past the trail of downy hair to where it grew a little more wiry. Rory gasped softly as I took his cock in my hand. Explored him. Not the first I’d ever held, but easily the most beautiful. It was difficult to know where to look; his face and its sweet mixture of agony and relief, or the vulgar gorgeousness I held in my hand.
He groaned as my grasp tightened, exhaling a whispered fuck, silently urging me with his body, his hand on my shoulder as the other moved to my breast. His thumb slid electrically across my nipple causing me to jerk with the unexpected sensation, drawing my nerve endings in tight knots. In my hand, Rory’s movements became hot and urgent, fierce breath and whispered curses expelled from his mouth. Then, sliding my hand away by the wrist, he’d knelt in front of me.
My heart was wild in my chest, my hands unable to hold me up as his fingers trailed up the sensitive insides of my thighs, gently pressing them outward, spreading them wide enough to settle himself there.
‘You’re sure?’ His voice was low and rough, like it’d taken some control to ask. The thought made me smile, though not for long as his fingers parted me, his thumb lightly brushing my clit. Everything became blurry as his fingers worked me, his next words little more than background noise. ‘It might hurt a little bit.’
Slowly, as his words sank in, I wondered abstractly how he would know. ‘You’ve done this before?’ I’d asked, raising my head at the smug tone of his answer.
‘Tonnes of times.’
‘Deflowering virgins is your specialty?’
‘Sure. I can go and get my business card, if you like?’
I definitely didn’t want him to move, and all my thoughts suddenly halted as he slid down my body and began kissing his way up my thigh.
‘Deflowering comes with a guarantee.’ His voice was soft though insistent, the subtle press of his teeth grazing my skin.
‘So I can expect to be satisfied?’ My words were part whisper, part plea, and as he reached my centre, breath stuttered from my chest as he blew a breath over me.
‘I really fucking hope so.’
Oh, God, that tone.
I’d expected to feel his fingers, not his lips, my body jolting as his mouth touched my already wet flesh; one kiss and another until it felt like he was making out with me. I was so swollen, so desperate, my body moving of its own volition, pushing up against him as my fingers clawed at the sheets.
‘You’re still good?’ I didn’t register it as a question, but I replied in a burst of garbled words as he lapped and slid a finger inside.
‘Sofuckinggood.’
I ached, every inch of me. I’d never wanted so badly, never felt so greedy, so desperate for more as his lips suddenly became frantic, his fingers fast. I wanted to watch—really I did, but couldn’t find the motor function to prop myself up as he devoured me. So wet. I can still almost hear our sounds; the vibration of his groans, my heavy breath, and the wet slide of his mouth. My limbs grew tight and my back arched as I tried to close my legs, climbing these new heights of pleasure almost reaching the boundaries of too much, too fast.
‘Such a pretty pussy,’ he’d whispered. ‘I want you to come on my tongue.’
And moments later, and for the very first time in my life, I came by some means other than my own hand.
‘God. Oh, God. I’m—I’m—’
I couldn’t process anything but the waves of pleasure, probably crying out multiple times. A rush of sensation and heat spread through me so quickly I thought I’d surely burst. So much pleasure, the room filled with intelligible sounds, and when I finally came to, panting and weak, I had his head in my hands.
‘I should probably write you an endorsement . . .’ My words were hoarse, trailing off at the end as he climbed up my body, pressing wet kisses against my naked skin.
I was naked in more ways than one. And under him.
‘Hang off just yet. I’m not done.’
I don’t think I’d ever heard a man growl, before or since.
He sat, legs either side of mine, grasping a condom that he’d deposited on the bed. And I’ve never forgotten the image of him towering above me in the semi-darkness, the heavy weight of his cock in his hand, his mouth wet and glistening.
But a sudden jolt of nerves tightened my stomach as he began sliding the rubber over his length. Mostly.
‘I’m suddenly not sure this is such a good idea.’ My nervous smile earned me a cocky one in return.
‘We’ll go slow.’ As he settled on his knees, he’d leaned down to kiss me and I could taste myself on his lips. It was strange, but not unpleasant, his words rumbling as he’d said, ‘I’ll make it nice.’ Only nice didn’t cover it as he shifted, sliding his head along my slit and I let out a breathy gasp. ‘So nice.’
And then he was there, inside me—just a little—our chests exhaling an almost synchronized breath.
‘Oh, fuck. Fuck me.’ Balanced on his elbows, he pushed a little deeper, his eyes closing as though in pain.
I closed my own as he’d slid deeper, biting my lip in the place of a grunt. It wasn’t painful—not exactly—but I’d definitely had more fun times. And I’d never been as far as this before.
Drawing back, Rory then pushed a little harder, my insides feeling the punch. He added a little more; advance and retreat, but as he lowered himself on his forearms, the change of angle sent residual sparks flying across my clit.
He exhaled a long curse as I jerked, my fingers now on his ass, silently urging him to repeat the motion. Just repeat. My fingers wandered and my hips rolled, and as he pushed himself up onto his hands, working himself deeper, faster, I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began.
The first time you come by the power of someone else is special, but nothing compared to coming filled by someone. He looked so beautiful. Over me. His face a mixture of absorption and joy. Of sweet agony. I was filled to bursting at that moment, fresh, emotional tears spilling. And the knowledge of his wanting—his wanting me—mixed with our joint pleasure was enough to push me over the edge.
Eyes screwed tight, I exhaled tiny, short breaths.
‘I . . . I . . . I . . .’ I could barely breathe as he began to undulate and grind against me, my hands grasping his hips as though to make sure he didn’t stop.
As he pushed me over the edge and into delirium, his movements became uncoordinated and clumsy.
‘Fuck—that’s. Oh, Jesus Christ!’ Breathless moments passed where I learned viscerally what the word aftershock meant. ‘Holy fuck. That was—’ Peering down at me, his face morphed from unmitigated joy into concern. ‘Fin, did I hurt you?’
Reaching out to touch his cheek with one hand, I shook my head, using my free hand to wipe away the mixture of tears. Not unhappy, just shocked. Emotional.
‘I’m so going to give you a glowing review, assuming you have a website.’ My words were watery, though we both laughed, causing aftershocks of pleasure to mangle my brain again.
I’d never envisioned how it would be, losing my virginity. Not truly. I’d thought about it, sure. Even came close once or twice, but something had always held me back. Perhaps if I’d known it could be like this, I wouldn’t have waited so long.
Later, after we’d hung out and made plans for the following day, Rory walked me to the end of my street, on my request. I didn’t want to provoke any unnecessary parental questioning by arriving at the front door with a boy in tow.
I’d hopped into bed that night with a light heart and shaky legs.
The rain had done nothing
to quell the summer humidity, and I’d spent most of the night reliving fragments of the evening in my head. The smell and the feel of him. The sounds he made as he came. Awake early the next day, I’d breakfasted quickly, dressed even quicker, and hurried out of the door, because the impression of Rory’s hands and mouth—the delicious sensations they’d created in me—left me yearning for more.
Imagine my surprise when I’d gotten to his house and pushed open the garden gate to see, through the window, a girl in his arms. Not a friend or a sister. I’d stood long enough to make sure of that. They were smiling, though I was not, particularly when Rory reached out to twine his finger around a lock of her hair. She giggled and he’d stared at her ample chest, right before pulling her in for a deep kiss. The rest, as they say, is history. By the time I’d left for Thailand, I couldn’t bear to think of him anymore, my memories tarnished, like a cheap Christmas ornament when the glitter wears off.
But I’d been burnt. Hurt. And foolishly, I promised myself I wasn’t going to allow it to happen again.
It was childishness taken to the extreme.
Leaving my memories, I place the picture frame back sensing Ivy’s entrance to the room behind me, judging by the sound of her spoon clanking against the side of her cereal bowl. I say cereal bowl, but it’s most probably a dish containing all kinds of sugar substitutes and additives and possibly around 2% cereal. Good job sugar isn’t an animal derivative. I doubt she’d survive.
‘I think it’s time you and I had a wee chat,’ she says, crunching the yuck.
That’s not exactly a hangover cure.
Great.
Chapter Six
Fin
Eurgh.
Pep-talk time and my coffee’s gone cold. As I look into her face, I realise it could be more serious. She’s been pretty quiet all week and I’d thought it was because she’d been busy, but now I’m wondering if she’s been brooding.
Looks like I’m getting the consequences of my actions talk.
