by Sara Ney
Stiff—get it?
Wait…she couldn’t possibly be trollied, could she? I think I would smell the alcohol on her if she were.
Nah, we spent the evening together—I would have seen her drinking, but she could have snuck off into the kitchen to have a beer when the storm started.
Liquid courage anyone?
As quickly as Eliza strokes my legs, she flops down beside me, as I was worried she would do. Hey, I’m a warm-blooded guy; sue me for wanting a woman’s hands on my body getting it all hot and bothered. Except she doesn’t stop touching me as I thought she would when she moved away—she kisses me on the cheek, chaste and sweet.
Snogs me on the bridge of my nose, tits brushing my arm as she leans in to get good and close.
What is she doing? I thought she wanted nothing to do with me physically. Friends only and all that shite. I’m so confused right now.
“Honestly, so am I,” Eliza mutters, and I was unaware I’d spoken the words out loud. “But it’s late and apparently when it’s storming out and I’m scared out of my wits, I don’t care about rules.”
“Then maybe we should get naked to pass the time, yeah? Rain doesn’t seem to be letting up.”
As if on cue, a thunderbolt flashes and thunder booms.
“I’m not scared, I’m not scared, I’m not scared,” Eliza chants, eyes squeezing shut.
“Come here.” I pull her over until she’s on top of me and she’s arranging herself nicely over my body, finally face to face. Eliza gives me a peck on the lips.
Once.
Then again.
Soon we’re kissing, mouths open. Soon my hands are in her hair. Soon my dick is fully hard and my hips begin rolling beneath her.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to apologize for my woody, but I can’t speak with her tongue in my mouth.
Ha!
With Eliza on top of me, I’m powerless against her; my hands have no choice but to feel for her bum and squeeze. She lets out a little giggle in her throat as I massage her derrière, having a bit of fun despite the circumstances outside the windows that have brought her into my room.
Thank God for rain. Thank God for lightning. Thank God for thunder. Hallelujah, praise the Lord.
It was somewhat devastating the night she crushed my hopes and ego with her roommate rules, and she’s finally letting her hair down about it. Finally being honest with herself.
I know Eliza likes me as much as I like her, and there’s no doubt in my mind that at some point we would have begun a courtship—dating as they say here in the States. Granted, her roommate Kaylee did present something of a roadblock and a challenge, but my instincts tell me that eventually we would’ve found a way around it to make a relationship work.
Now, it’s been forced on us with this close proximity.
If only she would bend a little and admit to herself that it’s okay to date your roommate—we just need a new set of rules to follow instead of the ones laid down and written on the sheet of paper that’s hanging in the kitchen.
New set of rules.
I shall propose that in the morning.
Good idea, chap. You’re onto something with that idea…
Eliza is still only wearing a T-shirt and underpants, and with my hands on her arse, it feels like I’m rubbing bare flesh.
Bare skin.
Bare butt cheek.
I should ransack her closet and toss out each and every pair of her pants, leggings, and sweats—this arse is smooth and fits perfectly in my hands.
I sigh into her mouth contently as we snog horizontally, my cock nestled into the valley between her warm thighs; it’s snug and cozy in there, my dick feeling quite at home. Wants to erect a sign by her pussy that says No Trespassing.
Mine.
We snog some more.
Tongue, teeth, lips.
It’s wet and hot.
Still unsure about Eliza’s intentions, I let her lead the way, lying beneath her patiently as she rubs up on me. She must be aware of my throbbing hard-on, but she hasn’t mentioned it, hasn’t reached between our bodies to stroke it or given it a squeeze with her thighs.
To be fair, I don’t know a whole helluva lot about what we’re doing; sure, I had sex with my ex-girlfriend, but toward the end, the occurrences were few and far between. Caroline had no interest in it, always leaning on the usual excuses: too tired, had a headache, had her period. Hated oral—giving and receiving.
Hated cuddling.
Probably hated me, too.
And so, despite my gender and despite the fact that I am certainly no virgin, I don’t profess to have a blasted clue what I’m doing with someone new.
Eliza’s kisses are tentative but passionate, her full lips wreaking havoc on my lower half, sending every nerve in my body into orbit. My brain cells leave, too, therefore no one is driving this plane.
I am putty in her hands.
Our lower halves are a perfect fit, our best bits lining up just so, penis and vagina and legs and toes rubbing so brilliantly I moan into Eliza’s mouth.
She moans back.
My fingers sift through her hair, pulling her in closer. Heads tilt, tongues clash, teeth gnash.
She wants me as badly as I want her, and now neither of us are pretending we just want to be friends, thank God.
Don’t start praying now, you wanker.
Or do.
Shite. What if I stop praying and she stops rubbing her pussy against my dick and decides I’m shite in the sack and goes back to her room?
You are shite in the sack—who are you kidding?
Now is not the time to be a pessimist.
I sit here arguing with myself so long that I barely notice Eliza sitting up, straddling my thighs, pulling her T-shirt over her body, and tossing it to the floor. Holy hell, now she’s got nothing on but her panties—she’s practically naked and I’m practically naked and we’re lying in bed practically naked.
Fuck, even my thoughts are rambling.
The thunder agrees with my assessment, booming outside so ferociously that Eliza lowers herself quickly and buries her face in the crook of my neck; my hands go to her back, fingers pressing into her spine, sliding up and down to calm her.
She’s breathing heavy.
And just when I think she’s going to cower—roll into the comforter and hide under the covers—I feel the telltale sign of lips on my neck.
A hand on my waist.
Soft pressure of her mouth on my pulse.
Note to self: storms freak Eliza the fuck out, but they also make her horny.
Excellent.
I lie still, letting her lavish attention on my body, letting her lead the way; it’s not my style to make the first move anyway, unless I know someone is interested.
When she wiggles, her bare tits flatten against my chest, and my hands graze her smooth skin.
She feels so good.
Yes, she’s naked, but having her on top of me would feel good regardless if she donned a marmish nightgown or a sexy bra set or a raggedy T-shirt. I love it no matter what.
I find her incredibly sexy, this little pixie of a girl.
Her mouth moves from my neck to my lips, and when they meet, our tongues clash in the most delicious way. It’s wet and sexy and passionate, almost fervent and desperate on Eliza’s end, and I know it’s because she’s scared and nervous, mostly because of the weather outside this room.
I don’t want her making out with me because she’s afraid and this is taking her mind off it; I want her to want this with me because she likes me back.
“Are you sure about this?” I tear my mouth away for a brief second so I can ask.
“Sure about kissing you? Um, yes. Do you not want me to?”
“Of course I want you to.”
“Then why are you asking?”
Why the hell am I asking? I’m losing my mind, that’s why. Nothing has been normal since I moved to the States, and this evening is no exception.
I resume
kissing her, more passionately than before, letting my hands touch her everywhere so she knows I’m interested. They trail up her back, fingers brushing the side boob.
God I love side boob.
Wish I could see it.
“You should probably take my underwear off or something,” Eliza mutters close to my ear as her pussy rubs against my erection; it strains angrily in my cotton boxers, aching to get out.
She wants me to take her underpants off?
Sweet Jesus, then what?
Then what?
What the fuck am I talking about, then what. You’re not a bloody virgin, Jack—get your head in the game.
Then stop acting like one.
What if you blow your load before anything happens? What if she touches it and you jizz?
Stop thinking about it, for Christ’s sake.
Too late.
“Fine. I’ll do it.” Eliza is grumbling, lifting her arse off my pelvis and sliding her panties down her hips and legs, removing them herself since I’m lying here like a limp cock, letting my thoughts get the better of me.
She tosses her panties to the floor—at least, I assume that’s where she throws them, her mouth already back on mine. Kisses me a few times before rolling off, head hitting the pillow beside me, her hand reaching out for my arm, tugging.
“Come here,” she says, the little bossy pants, and now I’m wondering where this aggressive, assertive girl has been this whole time.
Little hellcat in the sack, apparently.
Who knew?
I certainly never would have guessed.
She seems so unassuming and sweet, and here she is, naked as the day she was born and pulling me on top of her.
My dick throbs, especially when Eliza weasels her fingers into the waistband of my briefs and slowly circles it with a gentle squeeze.
I moan into her mouth.
Rock back and forth, dry-humping from above, the tip of my dick teasing her pussy even though I’m not naked.
“We should play a game,” she says, wincing when the lightning outside flashes. “It’s called Just the Tip.”
“I’ve heard of that game.” I chuckle. “But explain the rules.”
“Well, you have to take off your underwear and then rub up and down my lady business without sliding in. Whoever starts begging for it loses.”
“Begging for what?” I ask for clarification.
“Full penetration.”
“Don’t say full penetration—you sound like a sex teacher.”
“A sex teacher?”
“You know—the teacher in school who teaches you about sex and relationship education.”
“I know what you mean.” She laughs. “We call that a health teacher here.”
Oh. “Well you sound like one when you say full penetration.” I press forward, teasing her again.
“Fine, I’ll stop saying it.” Eliza pouts. “To play the game, you have to take off your bottoms. We both have to be naked.”
She says naked like nekked, a teasing, playful tone.
She’s excited; I can see it in the way her eyes are getting glassy and the way she’s licking her lips.
Wildcat.
She-devil.
I shuck my boxers before she can tell me again, her breath catching when they land on the ground next to the bed.
I hope she’s not disappointed—I’m no porn star in the dick department, but I get by. Still, one never knows. Perhaps she’s one of those girls who like a giant, thick—
I gasp when her fingers stroke it.
“Stop, that’s cheating.”
“How is it cheating?”
“Coz I’ll be begging for it in the next few seconds.” Her groping of my member isn’t fair.
“Or maybe I’ll be the one begging—this dick is amazing.” She gives it another stroke for good measure, at the same time moaning beneath me.
“I could be shite in bed for all you know.”
“Guess we’ll see.”
Guess we’ll see…sounds like a sure bet if I do say so myself, but I guess we’ll see about that, too, eh?
“Tease me with the tip of it,” she tells me, fingers releasing my cock, leaving it like a sheet in the wind hanging between us, adrift.
It’s sad without her hand on it.
Bloke doesn’t know quite what to do with himself.
I reach over and grab a condom out of my bedside table, tearing the package open and quickly rolling it on my cock. Then finally…
I lower my pelvis so the head of my shaft meets the valley between her legs, Eliza’s hips rising a notch to greet me. Making it easier to rub her there.
Back and forth my cock goes, back and forth, sliding in and out of her pussy, just the tip. Just the tip. Just how she wanted it, the minx.
We moan at the same time, tortured. Breaths labored.
When I lower my head to look into her eyes, she’s already watching me, lips parted, eyes glazed from lust.
“This is hard,” she whispers.
“You want to say it, don’t you?”
She shakes her head, the little liar, biting down on her lower lip, not breaking eye contact. “I won’t.”
I won’t.
Well neither will I.
I push forward, but only a few centimeters, head of my cock barely entering her but still agonizing us both just the same.
“Why would you do that?” Eliza’s lower lip juts out in a near pout as I pull back out. Press in.
Pull out.
“This is how the game is played where I come from. I don’t just lie here and let it dangle.”
That makes her laugh, the giggle spouting from her mouth coupled with another moan.
We go on like this for what feels like hours when in actuality it’s probably only minutes, maybe even less. The blood coursing through my entire body makes me want to beg for mercy; this is worse torture than having to wait for Santa Claus and opening presents on Christmas morning because your mum and dad haven’t had their morning coffee and refuse to let you tear into the gifts.
That’s how hard this sucks, this not sliding inside Eliza.
“Oh my god, just say it—I know you’re thinking it,” she says at long last.
“No. You say it,” I counter, even though I want to fucking bury myself inside her; I can almost taste how wet she’ll be.
“I don’t want to say it.”
How did I not notice she was stubborn?
Because she hasn’t been. She’s been polite and cute and amenable, loving all the same shows on the telly and the same foods, operating on the same schedule. Eliza helps you and takes care of you.
It’s been easy and fun, but this isn’t fun or easy.
This is godawful.
Not a game.
Not cute.
“You want to slide inside me, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m not going to.” So much more fun when she’s the one begging, which is what she’s doing now but not admitting it. Sneaky devil, trying to manipulate me into groveling.
Ha!
I was once tied to a tree at boarding school, and my mates held hostage an entire cake I wanted, refused to give me a piece even after they cut me loose.
“If you want me to beg you so bad, why not just admit defeat and let me inside?”
“Coz,” she says, mimicking my British vocabulary. “What’s the fun in that?”
“Indeed.” I lean down to kiss her shoulder, lips a breathless whisper on her skin.
Kiss.
Kiss.
Kiss.
“Don’t do that, it’s driving me crazy.” Her hips gyrate on the mattress even as she turns her head, giving me better access.
I brush her hair away.
Kiss her some more, this time on the mouth.
Somehow that makes the entire situation worse, her tongue in my mouth creating mass chaos in my groin, in my loins, and with my blood pressure.
I press forward.
“Just the tip,” Eliz
a reminds me.
“I know, Eliza.”
I grind it out, sounding cross; drunk with desire is what I am.
Drunk with the idea of boning her, making love. Getting inside and dumping my load.
She’d hate if I said that. Doesn’t sound gentlemanly, does it?
“Maybe a bit more?” she suggests in a strangled gasp.
“I don’t think so, love.”
“That’s not cheating.” She says what I’m thinking. “I just want a bit more, don’t be mean.”
“It’s all or nothing.” Make your choice.
Choose.
Sure I’m manipulating the situation—I could easily slip a bit more inside…slide in and out, that lustful few centimeters…make both of us happy…it would feel so good—does feel good—that flirty…
…little
…tip.
“Fine,” she snaps, agitated, pouting without pouting, hips raised toward my cock, non-verbally begging.
“Fine what? Be specific. Fine, slide inside me, or fine, don’t?”
“Fine, don’t.”
“Really? You’re going to be that way?”
“I’m going to be that way.”
“But for how long exactly?”
Honestly, I’m in good shape but not in great shape, and my arms are beginning to feel like jelly. I’d rather be doing planks right now than hovering over Eliza with a stiff dick and nowhere to sink it.
“You’re not actually going to win anything by holding out on us.” This game isn’t a real game; it’s just foreplay shite talk. Does she not realize that? “Maybe you should join the rugby team. Bet you’d be crack on defense. Never quitting and all that crap.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Her back arches, tits pushing into the night air, nipples hard. I want to reach under her and pull her toward me, pull one into my mouth and suck on it.
Lovely.
Sexy.
Pouting nipple.
I want to taste it, and so I do, dick dragging south so my mouth can suckle on Eliza’s tit, tongue swirling, lips puckering around it. So good, so fucking delicious.
Where has this tit been all my life?
Not in my mouth, that’s for damn sure.
“Oh god, if you keep doing that, I might come.”
