The Firsts Series Box Set

by M. J. Fields

  When Keeka shoots me a message, I go back to the girls’ place where London and Fletcher are running lines while the girls are giving them feedback.

  London smiles when she sees me, and it’s not a weary one, an exhausted one, or a sad one. She’s in her element, and my God, she’s even more beautiful.

  “Break?” Fletcher asks.

  London nods but doesn’t look away from me. She’s still smiling.

  I nod, she nods, and then I open the fridge. “Anyone want a drink?”

  “Water please,” the girls and Fletcher answer.

  “Let me help,” London says, walking up beside me. Then she whispers, “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, everything is good,” I tell her as I stand up straight with six water bottles in my hands. “I got this. You go do your thing.”

  She wraps her arms around me and hugs me. I bend down and kiss the top of her head. When she then looks up and sighs, I look at her, really fucking look at her.

  “You’re fucking beautiful.”

  She presses her head to my chest and squeezes me. “So are you.”

  When she steps back, I see tears in her eyes.

  “What’s that for?”

  “I don’t ever want to fight with you again. It hurts, you know?” she whispers.

  “Yeah, pretty, I know.” I nod to her friends. “Go.”

  She smiles and grabs two of the bottles.

  I legit wait to see who she gives them to, like it’s some fucking sign. Keeka gets the first, Jamie the next, and my dumbass feels much better as I hand Fletcher, Lisa, and Christy theirs. Then I open London’s and hand it to her.

  “You guys have a good night,” I say, turning to leave.

  “Stay and watch?” London asks.

  I look back at her.

  “Please?”

  How can I say no to that?

  §

  It’s two in the morning, and I can’t sleep knowing she’s so fucking close. I look out the window, see a light on, and her silhouette. Clearly, she can’t sleep either.

  I watch her and realize she’s dancing. I see her turn and stop. Then she raises her leg behind her, toes pointed at the damn ceiling. Her lean body appears to be in a straight line.

  It’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. It’s also making me fucking hard knowing she’s that damn flexible.

  I sigh, knowing I’m going to be rubbing one out more than once a day if she keeps that shit up.

  I walk out of my room, grab a bottle of Jack, and laugh, thinking I’m about to have a date with my fucking hand while watching a private performance by the girl I love.

  I watch her move, stretch, and twirl as I drink, wishing I had bought a pair of binoculars like she mentioned.

  When my dick is so hard I can’t stand it, I push down my boxers and stand at the window, gripping the base tightly and stroking it slowly up to the head. When she stops and walks away, I groan, thinking I’m going to have to finish myself off without the visual.

  I see the reflection of my phone light up and walk over to grab it.

  London.

  I sent a text saying goodnight and you didn’t reply. So, goodnight again.

  I reply immediately.

  Phone was dead. Can’t sleep?

  I look out the window as she sits on the bed, holding her phone. The floating bubbles start to appear as she types, then they stop. I look up as she flops back on the bed, seemingly frustrated.

  I’m okay.

  I saw you dancing.

  The bubbles immediately appear.

  How did you see me?

  Look out the window.

  She gets up and walks over. I hold up my phone so she sees the light.

  Was watching you dance. You looked amazing.

  Are you okay?

  I’m good.

  Do you want me to come over?

  No, London, watching you dance and having a couple drinks made things real hard over here. Stay put.

  Hard?

  Yeah, I’ve got it handled.

  After I send it, I regret it.

  Does that mean you’re...

  Jerking off while I watch you dance? Yeah.

  I watch her cover her mouth as she reads my text then looks out the window.

  Binoculars are now being added to my shopping list.

  I could come over and cuddle.

  Not a good idea right now. I’m on a date with Jack and Rosie.

  I look at the window as she receives my text.

  She walks away and turns on the light. Now I can see her.

  You’re missing out, and so am I.

  You need sleep. So do I.

  I slept better than I ever have after the last time we cuddled.

  You mean after you came?

  I grip my cock, picturing her face as she fell apart.

  You’re lucky you’re a guy.

  I get an idea. A great idea.

  I take a picture of my hand gripping my cock. Then I crop it so you don’t see my dick, just my hand gripping it. I send it and then start typing.

  Lie on your bed. I need you to do something for me.

  What?

  Do it.

  When I see her lie down, I hit call, and she answers immediately.

  “Run your hand down that sexy as fuck belly of yours and push your hand under your waistband.”

  “Logan, I’d rather you do that,” she whispers.

  “And I’d rather you know how to get yourself off, so when I let that genie out of the bottle, your insatiable appetite can be curbed even when I’m not around.”

  “What do you mean, when you’re not around?” she whispers.

  “I mean, when you’re at school and you’re thinking of how much you want my cock, you can go and suppress the need in just a few seconds.”

  “Seconds?”

  “Pretty, I’m gonna teach you everything I’ve learned while trying to get a girl off fast so I could bust a nut and get them out the door, because I didn’t want any of them in my bed, because they weren’t you.”

  “Logan...” she sighs.

  “Do it. Push your hand under your waistband and run a finger up and down the seam of your pussy lips.”

  “This seems wrong,” she whispers.

  “I’m over here, stroking my cock, watching a private ballet; is that wrong?”

  “Uh-uh,” she says in barely a whisper.

  “Tell me how wet you are,” I demand, fisting my cock, looking out the window at London lying on a bed.

  “I don’t know. I’m just—”

  “I bet those sweet lips are soft.” I rub down my cock and back up. “God, I can’t wait to fucking taste them.”

  “Logan.” Her voice quivers, and my balls tighten.

  “Put your feet flat on the bed and let your knees fall apart.”

  I groan.as I watch her do as I asked.

  “Christ, that’s hot. Fuck, London,” I hiss.

  “Now what?”

  “Push a finger inside your pussy.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You might want to practice now before you’re spread out on my bed, and I want to see you own that gorgeous body of yours.”

  “I want you to own it,” she whispers.

  “I wanna make sure you know what the fuck it feels like to take control of yourself, baby, so do it.”

  I hear a sharp intake of breath, and it makes me hiss.

  “Tell me how wet your pussy is?”

  “Wet,” she whispers.

  “I can’t wait to have my cock buried inside you. I’m so fucking hard right now,” I groan out as I stroke a little faster.

  “Are you?”

  “Fuck yes, I am. I’ve been for a while. You need to get there with me. Come with me.”

  “I don’t know if I can.” Her voice quivers with desire.

  “I know damn well you can if you listen to me.”

  “I’m listening,” she whispers.

  “Good girl.” I groan again, stro
king faster. “Curl your finger up and rub around in that pussy until you feel a spot that’s so fucking sensitive, a bit swollen, and rougher than any place else inside you. That’s your G-spot.”

  She takes in a deep breath, and my balls tighten even more.

  “That’s it, baby. Fuck yes, that’s it.”

  “O...kay,” is said a quiver.

  “Push another finger inside and rub the walls while you mine for fucking gold.”

  “What?”

  “Your G-spot, London. That’s gold, baby. Mine for gold. Curl your finger over and over gently like you’re mining for gold.”

  I swallow back the flood of salvia in my mouth, thinking about her pussy and how wet she’s getting.

  I hear her moan.

  “That’s it, baby. Mine and rub. Mine and fucking rub until you’re so goddamn wet for me. Shit, I mean for you.”

  “You,” she pants. “For you.”

  “No, baby, that’s all for you, by you. The next is for me.”

  “The next?”

  “Keep fingering that sweet, little pussy,” I groan.

  “Are you still, um—”

  “Fuck yes, I am. I’m close, too, so this is where you give me mine,” I hiss.

  “Uh-huh,” she breathes out.

  “Don’t stop mining and rubbing. Keep going.”

  “Okay...” she moans.

  I watch her body arch and her knees quiver a bit, wishing I could see the entire fucking performance as I grip my cock tighter and stroke faster. I’m close, so fucking close.

  “Squeeze a tit with your hand.” I watch and see her doing exactly what I ask. That’s so fucking hot. “Now run that hand down your body and shove it in your waistband. That burn you feel that you’ve yet to touch, that’s mine. I need you to tap that clit while still fucking yourself with those beautiful fingers.”

  “Oh, God,” she groans.

  “Yeah, right there.” I squeeze the head of my cock and groan.

  “I can’t,” she pants.

  “Give it to me, London,” I hiss as I stroke faster. “I don’t want to come alone, baby.”

  “Mine, rub, tap,” she breathes out my instructions.

  “All that. And you keep going until you come.”

  “Okay. Oh, oh, okay.”

  I hold the phone to my shoulder with my ear and reach down to my balls as I stroke my cock faster and harder.

  “Fuck yes,” I hiss.

  “Yes?” Her voice quivers.

  “Yeah, fuck. Yes.”

  “Oh, oh, oh…” She takes in a sharp breath and whimpers, and I fucking come hard, knowing she’s done the same.

  We are both silent for a few moments.

  “You feel better?”

  She sighs. “I’m not sure.”

  “I’m imagining your cheeks being red right now from embarrassment.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t you dare be. That was so fucking hot.”

  She doesn’t say anything, and I can’t help picturing her blushing more.

  I want to make her feel better, less embarrassed.

  “To ease that awkward feeling, I’ll tell you that I have cum on my window and my floor that needs to be cleaned up. Some on my stomach, too.”

  She giggles.

  “I love you, London. I’ll see you in a few hours. Get some sleep.”

  She yawns out, “Okay.”

  First Date

  Logan

  I stand at her door with flowers in my hands. Dancing buttercups, or Ranunculus—whatever the hell they are called. I know they are her favorites, and for some fucked up reason, they are now my favorites, too.

  I’m wearing dark gray dress pants, a lighter gray button down shirt, a pair of laced-up black leather dress shoes—not fucking loafers—and I almost wore a tie, but then I tossed it to the side because, even though it’s not a bow tie, it reminded me of some shit Fletcher would have worn if he ever got a chance to take her on a date, which he never will.

  I have slept with her in my bed for a solid five nights straight. I have made her come, listened to her make herself come, kissed her until both our fucking lips were nearly bruised, and I’m still a little nervous. Not the kind of nervous someone gets because they want to make sure the girl likes them enough for a second date. Actually, I don’t have a clue what that even feels like because I never gave a shit before.

  I’m nervous because I plan on making damn sure that every one of her firsts will be her lasts with me. I’m nervous because I need to not only meet, but exceed every expectation, every fantasy, and every romantic notion London Fields has ever daydreamed about. I plan on being every first she experiences from now until we are no longer breathing, because I’m a jealous and possessive asshole, and because, never in a million years could I have imagined the things she makes me feel on a daily basis, and I will make damn sure she feels that way, too.

  London may not be my first kiss, my first fuck, or my first date, but none of those firsts will ever compare to what I feel with her, and no more firsts will ever happen without her.

  Ever.

  So now, I’m on a fucking mission to make sure none of her experiences will ever leave her thinking, I wonder how Fletcher would be on a date? Yes, date. Because, if I allow myself to think of her in any other situation romantically with him, I will fucking kill the guy.

  I knock on the door, and it opens immediately.

  “Look at you!” Christy squeals.

  Jamie laughs. “Oh, London, you’re in so much trouble.”

  “The squad is going to lose a member tonight,” Lisa says on a sigh then turns away.

  This is fucking worse that meeting the parents, and that’s saying something, since Brody hated me for a few solid weeks.

  When London comes out of her room, she momentarily takes my breath away. Her hair is in loose waves, she’s wearing a dress and not leggings, or a tank top, or a wrap sweater, which I must say I fucking love her in.

  Her dress is burgundy and a wrap style like her sweaters, but there are no fucking tank tops or one-piece dance numbers under it. It’s low cut. Very...very low cut. Her shoes are black heels, and I have no fucking clue how she can walk in those things, but she doesn’t walk in them. She fucking floats.

  I think I’m fucking sweating, and getting hard, and—

  “You look amazing.” She smiles as she gets closer, and then I smell her.

  Done. I’m going to fuck her tonight.

  “You look alright.” I shrug then laugh as I lean in to give her a kiss on the cheek and hand her the flowers. I don’t pull back. I whisper in her ear, “By alright, I mean, what the fuck, London?”

  She leans her head back to look at me and smirks. “So, you like?”

  “I like, my dick likes, everyone who sees you is going to like.” I stop and shake my head as she beams at me. Damn, that smile. “You look amazing.”

  “I know.” She smirks then does some twirls. “Still amazing?”

  I can’t answer, not after seeing the black thong in the crack of that perfect ass.

  “I think the jaw on the floor is a resounding yes,” Christy answers for me as London hands her the flowers.

  “Can you put these in some water?”

  “Of course.” Christy smiles.

  “Let’s get out of here.” I grab her hand and pull her toward the door.

  “Have her home by midnight,” one of the girls calls behind us, and London laughs as I grab a black coat off the hook, knowing she will be cold.

  In the elevator, we simply look at each other. I keep my eyes locked with hers because, looking down, seeing the black lacey bralette slightly exposed, is doing shit to me. Shit that needs to not be doing in public.

  I let go of her hand and step behind her, looking at that perfect ass as I force myself to go against my natural instinct and drape the coat over her shoulders.

  She giggles. “You covering me up, Links?”

  “Either that or you aren’t going t
o make it out of this elevator a virgin.” I walk around in front of her, seeing her smirk. “Not a joke, London. You look so fucking sexy right now.”

  “All woman?”

  “Definitely.” I laugh as I take her hand.

  §

  I notice her looking out the window as we pass by the Dome.

  “It keeps getting bigger.”

  I glance over and see the memorial we started that night and how many more things have been added.

  Things, I think and shake my head. They aren’t just things. They are pieces of people’s memories of Jones. They are pieces of hope for Downs. They are not just things.

  “Yeah.” I take her hand and glance over at her at the stop light. She smiles sadly. Then I lift her hand and kiss it. “We’re going to block everything out tonight but us.”

  She nods.

  “It’s our lucky day,” I tell her as I pull into a parking spot less than a block from Pastabilities. “I’ve heard of this place, but never been. Have you?”

  “No, but wow.” She looks out the window, smiling with all the excitement of a kid at a candy store. “Carbs.”

  I laugh out loud as I get out, walk around the vehicle, and open the door for her.

  “Miss Fields.” I hold my hand out for her, and she looks down.

  “Shit.” I laugh as I take her by the waist and lift her over the three inches of snow that would certainly get those shoes wet and make her feet cold.

  She giggles as I set her on her feet, which nearly pains me to do so. I would much rather carry her.

  “The line,” she points out the line of people waiting to get in.

  I take her hand and walk around them.

  “Logan, no cuting,” she whispers.

  I keep walking and open the door for her. “After you.”

  Inside, I give the hostess my last name.

  “Of course.” She smiles that kind of smile, and I look away, knowing if I were London, that would piss me off. Then I direct London in front of me, my hand on her hip as I follow her to the secluded room I reserved.

  “Your waitress will be with you shortly,” the hostess tells us with a smile.

  “Thanks.” I pull out a chair in the corner for London. “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you.” She shrugs off her coat and sits.

  I take it and hang it on a chair beside the one I will be sitting in, beside her.