by Parker Swift
But he just stood there, quiet, thoughtful. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all. Was my inexperience a turnoff? Was he now afraid that I couldn’t handle our casual fling? I was beginning to get that embarrassed pit in my stomach, which had the unfortunate side effect of pushing all the delectable turned-on feelings aside. The air between us suddenly felt cold and empty, where just a moment before it had been hot and thick with potential. I was getting ready to get up and admit this wasn’t going to happen when he leaned into me. He put his hands behind my back, skin on skin, and pulled me off the stool and into his arms.
“Well, baby,” he said, “don’t you think we should remedy that?”
The term of endearment put me over the edge into total comfort, and all the warmth seeped back into the moment. I completely relaxed into his arms. He had one hand wrapped firmly around my waist, holding me to him, and he moved the other to my hair, holding me in place completely. He pulled back so he could see my face. “God, I have to have you. I’ve wanted to get you under me from the moment I saw you in that bloody bikini.” He searched my eyes, looking for my answer. “Say you’ll stay.”
I could feel his possession already—it was bleeding into the air between us. I could feel myself bowing to his will, and there was nothing I wanted more. I didn’t care what he wanted from me ultimately, and I still had no idea how this whole secrecy thing would play out, but this I knew I wanted. I couldn’t take my eyes off of his, and for a moment it was almost too intense. I needed to regain at least a semblance of control.
“Meh.” I shrugged. “I was thinking I might actually go home now.” I faked a yawn and gently turned to walk away in jest, but he quickly and fiercely pulled me back to him.
“Not on your life.”
I smiled broadly at him, tight in his hold. His hands, which had been soft and tentative all night, became steady, fierce. I had officially given him the green light. His grip around my waist tightened, and he let his hands firmly roam over my dress. Any hesitancy about where they might tread was gone.
He reached down my sides, his hands taking in the shape of my hips, and he grabbed the hem of my dress, pulling it up to my waist. With one hand on my back holding my dress, he slid the other between my legs, starting at the top of my inner thigh, but quickly moving right to the dampness in the center.
“My god, Lydia, you’re soaked. I can even feel it over this thong. You’re so ready for me.”
He pushed the thin strip of underwear aside and sank his finger deep inside me. I gasped. I had my hands on his shoulders and was shivering with anticipation. I was in a pleasurable fog, not believing what was happening. I tried to bow backwards to absorb some of the raw pleasure, but he effectively held me in place. I started to quiver.
“Not yet,” he said. “Let’s get you upstairs and out of this dress.” He withdrew his finger and wiped my wetness on the inside of my thigh—the move was dirty and deliberate and crazy sexy. He reached down and grabbed me by my bare ass, lifting me. I swung my arms around his neck, so our faces were centimeters apart, and I wrapped my legs around him, kicking my shoes off and letting them drop to the floor.
He kissed me hard—not in a wild messy way, but with deep, strong, slow movements, his tongue sweeping into my mouth in a patient rhythm. He carried me upstairs and into his vast white bedroom. The lights were off, but the streetlights below flooded the room and cast the perfect glow onto his low bed. He sat down in an overstuffed sunken chair in the darkened corner, continuing to hold me to him, so I was straddling him. He grabbed the zipper of my dress, and began to slide it down.
The blue fabric pooled between us, still wrapped around my waist, and he buried his face between my breasts, stroking my nipple through the fabric of my thin bra with his nose. “You smell incredible.” His words shook me—this was really happening. He reached behind me and unclasped my bra, slowly pulling it forward down my arms and dropping it to the floor by the chair. His finger traced the fading tan lines at my shoulders, and down to my pale breasts. He leaned in, laying soft kisses to where my bikini top had left its marks, and palmed my breasts, letting them fill his hands. He thumbed my erect nipples, kneading them, lengthening them.
“Lydia, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, and he fell forward and licked both of my nipples, watching them pucker under his attention.
His hands gripped my ribcage, and he lifted me to standing. No one had ever moved me around so effortlessly—it was intoxicating. He hadn’t exerted himself at all, and I could feel the hard tight muscle beneath his shirt. The dress fell to my feet, and I was left standing in the moonlight before him in just my panties. He reached through the space between us and drifted the back of his hand from my neck, down between my breasts, and settled at the top of my low-slung thong. He dragged his palm across my lower belly, his fingers just inside my underwear. I felt his other hand’s fingers wrapping around my hips, and he pulled me against him, letting me feel the expanse of his warm chest against my breasts.
I arched my eyebrow up at him. “Surely, you’re going to have to take some clothes off too. I mean, I know it’s been a while, but I’m pretty sure we’re both supposed to be naked,” I said, trying to keep any lingering fears of embarrassing myself at bay. He unbuttoned his shirt, and I reached forward to pull it away from his chest. He was perfect. His pecs were exquisitely outlined above his six-pack. “It’s too bad you’re so out of shape, though, Dylan. I can only imagine—”
He put a finger over my lips and gently shook his head before I could crack a joke, as if somehow he knew I was trying to create distance. He wasn’t going to let me deflect—he was going to make sure I experienced every second of this. I sighed, trying to fully relax, and I let myself slide back into the moment.
His chest had a smattering of dark hair, and unable to help myself, I ran my fingers through it. He sucked in his breath in response. I realized that no other guy I’d ever been with could correctly be described as a man. This godlike creature in front of me was a man. He bypassed my slow moves and made quick work of his belt, pants, shoes, and socks, leaving us both in our underwear.
I hooked my thumbs into my panties, but he reached out and grabbed my wrists. “Let me. I’ve been thinking about this for two weeks, and I want to do it my way.”
I smiled, and I dropped my arms to my sides. He slowly dropped to his knees before me and spread kisses along my hip, moving his face to the gap between my thighs. My breathing hitched. This felt so much more intimate than any sexual encounter I’d ever had before.
“I’m going to savor every minute of this, and I’m going to drive you wild before I let you come.”
“I’m practically there,” I whispered. I could barely get the words out. My breathing had bottomed out, and I was arching my back, pushing my hips towards him, absorbing every ounce of him I could. My hands went to his hair, and I wrapped my fingers around his nape and dragged my fingernails through the short hair.
“Can’t wait to be inside you,” he hissed. His crude words fueled the fire he was building. He brought his hand between my legs, first palming my ass, then dragging his fingers forward to my dripping entrance. He snapped the lace of my panties at my hip, and I jumped at the slight sting of the elastic against my skin. His fingers hooked into each edge of my underwear and slowly dragged them down my legs.
He picked me up as he stood and laid me down on the bed, my back suddenly cool against the sheets, and he hovered above me, looking down at me, into me. Putting his weight on one arm, he began caressing his other hand back and forth up my side, leaving an echo of feathery touches in his wake. His fingertips alerted every cell in my body, setting each one on fire, and I shivered, ripe with anticipation. When he leaned down to kiss me, I hooked my arms over his shoulders, pulling his face to mine. I needed to kiss him, taste him. As I tentatively bit his lip, he let out an exhale, and his hands drifted south. I instinctively spread my legs a little wider and lifted my hips into his touch. I wanted him to start, to get there, b
ut he pushed my hips back to the mattress.
“Don’t rush me, Lydia.”
I gave him an exasperated grunt, and he smirked back at me as he reached between my legs. His fingers found the hair between my thighs and gave it a gentle tug, causing me to buck into his hand. “Hmmm. We’ll see about this.”
I gave him an “oh will we?” look, and he tugged harder, inciting a shriek from me, followed by a groan. How could he do this? It was like he knew what my body wanted before I did.
He rolled to my side, keeping his fingers on me while propping himself up and sliding his knee beneath my thighs, spreading me. He looked down at me in appreciation, sighing as he sank into me with his deft fingers. He alternated between teasing my clit with his thumb and applying perfect pressure inside me. As soon as one move would have me trembling, about to come, he’d slow and shift his attentions. I gripped the sides of the pillow beneath my head and attempted to close my legs, trying to counter him and maintain control over the mounting pleasure, but he shook his head.
“Open, Lydia. I want to see you spread out for me,” he ordered, and my knees fell back down in compliance. I began to moan with pleasure and with frustration.
“Please. Oh god, please, Dylan,” I cried his name. He was making this all about me, and it was clear he could read my body like a book.
“Your body is incredible, Lydia. Look what I can do to you.” My moans reached a fever pitch in confirmation, and he took me all the way, my body crumbling under his touch. Sensation and pleasure convulsed and converged, radiating outward. His breathing was harsh and quick—making me come was turning him on. “Has anyone ever made you come like this, this hard, with their fingers, Lydia?” he whispered, almost grunting.
“Never. Not like this.” I groaned. The orgasm was still reverberating through my limbs, by far the most intense of my life, when I heard a drawer open and saw Dylan holding a condom. I closed my legs to gain some sense of relief and ran my sweaty palms down my still-shaking body, trying to both quell and savor the tingling sensitivity humming on my skin.
He quickly shed his briefs and sheathed himself out of my field of vision. He tented himself over me, perching himself on his forearms, and he used his knees to swiftly separate my legs again. I felt him position himself, parting me gently. He slowly fed his huge cock into me and easily slid through my wet folds. The fullness radiated through my every limb, and I bucked my hips, wanting to feel all of him.
“Slow, baby. I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. He was holding himself back, going at a glacial pace, and it was agonizing. “You ok?” he asked, pausing.
“Yes. God, yes. Please. More.” I could barely breathe. He remained still while I accepted him into me and adjusted to the intrusion.
“Fuck, Lydia. You’re so tight.” Once he was fully acclimated, he began to move slowly, thrusting carefully but purposefully. When he’d established his rhythm, he reached down and grabbed one of my legs behind the knee and pulled it up, deepening his place inside me. I winced—there was no way my body could accommodate another inch. I tucked my foot behind his back, and he nodded. “That’s right, baby.”
And slowly, I began to feel the build begin, my body tensing and releasing in quick succession. I couldn’t believe I was about to come again so soon. No orgasm had ever been like the one I’d just had, and my whole world was opening up.
My back was sliding against the sheets, catching as his thrusts pushed me back and into the mattress. These sensations I’d been imagining with him for the past two weeks were so much more potent, so much more complicated and rhythmic, than I ever could have conjured. He was both using me and attending to me with every move, and both were vital, both were making this so outrageously erotic.
“I want you to come again,” Dylan said, looking into my eyes with feverish determination but also with great care. “I can feel you. You’re close.”
“Please, Dylan.” I moaned and relaxed even more, allowing him in completely. He leaned down and kissed me hard as he shifted, angling himself perfectly. I felt entirely possessed. It felt in that moment that there was nothing of myself I wouldn’t give to this man. It was a flash of unguarded willingness that I’d allowed, for this moment.
“I’m letting go, baby, come with me.” He grunted through his movements. My body closed in around him, spiraling through the orgasm, closing out the world around us completely. He pumped into me, each thrust deeper and longer, each one penetrating me more wholly, energizing the continuing riot in my body.
He cried my name as he came, and as he stilled inside me, he raised his head. My eyes were closed, but I could feel the weight of his stare, his hands on my hips as he withdrew. He quickly rolled over to shed the condom, and returned to my side. My body was still tingling and alert, my breathing still deep and heavy, shaking. He leaned up on his side, one hand in my hair, the other resting low on my abdomen.
“So, is that what you had in mind when you said ‘just sex’?”
Chapter 10
I smiled, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak yet.
“Open your eyes, Lydia. Look at me.” I obeyed, turning my face to him. “Well? As good as you remembered?”
I wasn’t ready to talk. I was still feeling the reverberations of whatever he had done to me. I’d never had an orgasm—or orgasms—like that. My limbs were limp in utter relaxation. I turned to look at him, and replied, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” and brought my arm up to cover my eyes.
He chuckled. “I think I do know.” And he pulled my arm away to find the grin that I couldn’t sweep off my face.
“My fantasies may need some updating,” I conceded, and he gave a hearty approving laugh.
“You fantasize, do you? Get yourself off now and again?” he pried, teasing. I blushed. “Tell me, Lydia.” He was doing his best bossy tone, but he couldn’t hide his playfulness.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I don’t care about everyone at the moment. I care about you.” I knew those words were true and tried to ignore the at the moment part of that statement. “Have you fantasized about me?” His smile was wide, because he knew the answer.
“You know I have,” I said, pulling my arms back over my face. But he quickly removed them and pinned them on my belly. “Or maybe I’d just forgotten how good it could be.”
“Or maybe you’ve never had it that good,” he replied, seeing right through me. He paused for a moment. “How long had it been, exactly?”
I hesitated, not wanting to tell him. “A while.”
“Lydia.”
I shrugged and turned away from him, resting my head on the pillow. “Six years.”
He pulled me back around, turning me towards him. “You were eighteen years old the last time you had sex?” he asked, incredulous.
“I’d just turned nineteen,” I replied and silently pleaded with him not to dig any deeper.
“Well then,” he continued, and he pulled my body flush against his. “We’ll have to catch you up.”
“Pretty confident that there’ll be a repeat performance, aren’t you?”
“If you enjoyed what just happened half as much as I did, there would be no doubts about doing this again, and often.” He paused, drinking me in, looking at me as though he were searching for signs of injury. “I probably should have warned you: I’m terribly bossy in bed.”
I playfully guffawed. “Who? You?”
He laughed, clearly not feeling like he had to explain. Plus, I had been grateful that he had taken charge, not to mention completely turned on. “You know I’ll look after you, right?”
I smiled up at him, and he began strumming his fingers in the hair between my legs. I found my hips bucking up to urge his fingers down.
“I know,” I replied, hoping it was true. In spite of all of my doubts and his insistence on secrecy, I did believe that at least he wanted to be good to me. I closed my eyes and took in his movements, letting him play with me.
“So, really? None of your non
-flower-sending American boyfriends enticed you into bed?”
“They weren’t the enticing types.” He looked at me, waiting for more. “They were mostly sweet, but also…” I was searching for the right word and also trying to handle the returning ache between my legs. “Boys.”
“And I’m not? A boy?” He began skirting the edges of my entrance and I groaned in frustration.
“You…ah…oh god…You are most definitely not a boy.” I closed my eyes and took in his movements, letting him play with me. I moaned, suddenly ravenous for more of him. “Oh, Dylan. Touch me, please.”
“Again?” He smiled a huge grin, and I nodded. He rolled over on top of me, our faces nearly touching, and he dragged his knee up between my legs, spreading me. “God, Lydia…” He looked at me with a kind of reverence I almost found unnerving. “Hmm. What to do with you.” I could see his imagination running away with him, and he was scanning my face with his eyes.
“Shower.” He bounced up, energized, then leaned down to lift me.
I let out a laughing howl in revolt and rolled onto my stomach, burrowing my face into the covers. “What? But I’m so comfortable! A shower isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“Out. Up. Come on, damsel.” He grabbed my ankles and dragged me towards the edge of the bed. I squealed in fake protest, dragging the pillow behind me. He flipped me over and hovered, looking so sweetly at my face, and brushed my hair away from my eyes. “I’ll carry you, if you don’t behave.”
“Voting, working, walking, getting to and from the airport. All things women can do.”
“Incorrigible.” He swept down and picked me up, throwing me over his shoulder so my ass was in the air. I kicked in protest, and laughed into his back, as he carried me across the room to the master bath and stood me in front of the vanity.
