To Be Your Only

by Rae Kennedy

  “Since?”

  “Since that night I fell asleep on your couch after we watched Cabin Fever. I got up to go to the bathroom and I heard you, in your room. I couldn’t really see anything through the crack in the door, and you were under the covers. But I knew what you were doing.”

  “Oh.” His neck flushes red.

  “It’s all right. I liked it. It turned me on.”

  “Yeah?” He rubs his hand possessively up my thigh. “You should have joined me.”

  “Would you have liked that?”

  “You know I would have.” He shifts next to me, pressing his palm against the clearly defined ridge in his sweatpants.

  “Were you”—I can’t take my eyes off the outline of his cock—“were you thinking about me, while you were—” For some reason I’m out of breath.

  I look up at him. His eyes are dark and hooded, his tongue wetting his lips as he gazes back at me.

  “I thought I heard you say my name, but that’s when I left.”

  “Of course I was thinking about you. I always think about you.”

  I run my hand up his front, under his shirt, his hard chest and stomach hot under my fingertips. I press myself against him and kiss the underside of his jaw. “Tell me what you were imagining.”

  He closes his eyes and the soft vibration of his contented hum rumbles from his throat against my lips. “Mm. The one where you push me down. You sit on my face and make me eat you out for hours.”

  My heart is racing and heat spreads to my core as the throbbing starts between my legs. “Do you want that?”

  He swallows as he nods. “You have me so hard just thinking about it.”

  “Good.”

  With a groan, he twists his fingers in my hair and covers my mouth with his. He kisses me deep but it’s not enough. I lean into him, sucking and biting his lip as I rake my hands down the soft trail of hair down the center of his stomach and to the drawstring of his pants. I sink my hand in, immediately grasping the hot, hard length of him. I give a little squeeze and tug then rub the silky tip with my thumb. Eric moans into my mouth as his hips start to thrust.

  I break the kiss to pull off his shirt. He helps me get it over his head, panting, and then reaches for me. But I stand before he can and step back from the couch. His bare chest is broad and smooth with a light spattering of dark red-brown hair. It’s heaving with the force of his breath and he’s looking at me with dilated eyes.

  Come back over here, Rosenbaum, I want you.

  I follow the lines of his stomach down to where his cock is tenting his sweatpants.

  “Lie down,” I say. “I want to see it this time, when you touch yourself, thinking about me.”

  He goes to his back immediately and pushes down his sweats, past his angular hip bones, down farther, exposing his thick patch of hair, and then down so that his cock is free of its confinement.

  His pants are halfway down his ass, just low enough so that he can grab his cock. He strokes it, pulling it, elongating it. It grows bigger and harder in his hand, the tip getting darker and redder each time it emerges from his tight fist. It’s an average length, but fuck, it’s thick. My mouth is going to have to stretch so wide to take in his girth. And I’m dying to take him in. I’m salivating at the same time the inside of my thighs tingle and my core softens and wets for him.

  His head is turned to the side, eyes wide on me as he strokes himself. I slowly undress, and he groans with each piece of clothing I remove. First my shirt. He licks his lips when I drop my bra to the floor and touch my breasts. They’re heavy and achy. I play with my nipples and he pumps his dick faster.

  Then I slide my shorts and panties down my legs, never breaking eye contact. His mouth is open, face flushed. His breathing is loud and uneven with his jerking motions.

  I walk right up to where his head is lying on the couch. He swallows and watches as I lift one leg and place my knee next to his face.

  “Yes,” he pants. “Yes.”

  I barely have my other knee up before he’s grabbing my hips with both hands and pulling me down.

  “Fuck, Ky.”

  He holds me down so my pussy is on his mouth and he licks me with his broad, hot tongue. His fingers dig into my hips as he moves me, making me grind against his face. I grip the back of the couch, my nails making indents in the fabric as he goes wild on my pussy. He moves his head up and down then side to side, licking, sucking, flicking, and swallowing all of my juices. He thrust me forward to fuck me with his tongue, his nose pressed to my clit, and then moves back to suckle on it. I can feel it pulsing in his mouth, hard and swollen. His face is wet, covered in me and his eyes roll back in his head each time I rock my hips, each time I force my pussy harder against his tongue. He loves it.

  “You’re so good at this,” I rasp. “Fuck. So. Good.”

  The pressure inside me is mounting, a swirl of delicious tightness that grows and then ebbs as he changes his rhythm. He’s hard and fast, then soft and slow.

  One of his hands goes back to his cock and I feel the tremble in his moan between my thighs. Hearing his pleasure at the same time he goes after the underside of my clit sends me over.

  “Eric, I—”

  He clutches my ass, keeping me in place as I start to buck, and he continues his licking and tasting as I tense around him. My thighs are gripped so tightly to his ears my screams are probably muffled to him. Liquid floods through my body and my clit pulses hard against his tongue.

  He lifts my hips when I finally stop shaking and presses sweet kisses to my raw flesh, still oversensitive. He licks my wet thighs and smiles, his eyes meeting mine.

  “Can we do that again?” he asks.

  Fuck, my stomach is still a quivering mess. I look over my shoulder to where his cock is lying against his stomach, big and hard, a pearl of precum leaking from the tip.

  He tries to reach for me as I stand but I slip out of his grasp. His eyes are glazed over, his lips swollen and red. “Come back,” he says, both demanding and desperate for me.

  I smirk wickedly as I go back to him. “Don’t worry. I’m not done with you yet.”

  “I hope not.”

  I kneel back over him but face the other direction this time so that I can lick that drop of cum off him. I want to run my tongue all over his body and his cock and his balls and—I gasp when he grabs my ass cheeks, spreads them apart and starts going at me again with his mouth from behind.

  “Damn, Gallagher.” I’m already panting again.

  I lick just the tip of his hard cock and it jerks upward at the touch.

  I’m excited, too, buddy. We’re about to get very well acquainted.

  I drag my tongue up and down the length of his erection, pausing to suck hard on the head and lick along the underside. He whimpers against my pussy between licks. Then I continue down to gently suck each ball in my mouth.

  “Fuck, Ky. You’re so hot. I love this.”

  I take his whole cock in my mouth, relaxing my throat to take him as deep as I can.

  His hands are rough on my hips and he pushes me forward so that now instead of my pussy, his tongue is rimming my ass. It’s a new sensation, almost ticklish, but it feels good and extra naughty.

  “Is this okay? Are you enjoying this?” he asks quietly.

  I suck hard as I let his cock slide out of my mouth. “It feels good. Do you like it?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  He shows my just how much he likes it by pushing his tongue into my tightest opening at the same time he slides two fingers into my sopping pussy. Shit, he’s going to make me come again. And as he fucks my ass with his tongue I suck on him, alternating between long, cheek-hollowing pulls and hard, fast jacking with my lips and fist.

  Everything is hot and wet, sloppy with saliva and glistening with sweat. My nipples are hard little peaks pressed into his stomach and my toes curl with every thrust of his tongue. He rubs at my clit with his soaked fingers and everything spins as the tension in me breaks again, topplin
g me over into ecstasy.

  I go slack through my orgasm but he keeps thrusting his hips up, fucking into my mouth as I ride through my waves of pleasure.

  “Ky. I’m going to come.”

  He grunts, his movements becoming shaky as he tries to pull out but I clamp my mouth around him and urge him to stay. I want all of him. His cock swells and pulses against my tongue as warm liquid erupts into my mouth and I swallow it down. It’s almost sweet tasting and I continue to suck and lick the head of his cock until it stops twitching and he’s stopped gasping for air.

  And then he's reaching for me, maneuvering me around and pulling me down to his chest. Thick arms wrap around my waist and neck and he kisses my forehead as we lie on the couch to catch our breaths. His heart thumps hard against my cheek and I close my eyes and listen to its cadence as it slows.

  “You want to watch something?” he says against my hair.

  I’m really banking on the fact that Gracie is a deep sleeper. “Yeah.”

  Eric pulls a blanket down and covers us with it, pressing more kisses to my head, and puts on The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy. I think I could lie here cuddled with him under this blanket, on this couch, watching what-the-fuck-ever for pretty much the rest of my life and be happy. Also, we’re naked. So naked.

  I run my hand up his chest and down his ribs, enjoying the feel of his skin. His arm is slung across my back, his hand resting on the curve of my behind and it all feels so easy, so familiar. So right. My leg is bent over his hip, his muscular thigh between my legs is very close—I’d only have to move an inch to rub against it. And if I slid over a little more we’d be perfectly lined up...

  Fuck, just thinking about the way his cock throbbed in my mouth makes me want to feel him inside me. Normally I’d say that I’m just horny because it’s been so long since I’ve had sex, but it’s Eric. The idea of being with him... For some reason, I know it will mean more. To both of us. He’s never done that before. What did he say? He wants to wait for it to be special. He wants to wait for the right person.

  Am I the right person? What if he doesn’t think I’m special enough? What if he doesn’t want to do it with me? Stop being dramatic, Ky. Right. Chill the fuck out. He likes me. No, he adores me. Besides, he’s only had that one long-term girlfriend, and she was the one who wanted to wait. All the other girls were just dates, not girlfriends. He’ll want to do it with his girlfriend.

  “Wait.” I prop my chin on his chest to look at his face. “Am I your girlfriend?”

  He twists his neck to look at me, a slight furrow in his brow. Wait, am I not? I start backtracking before he can say anything.

  “I’m not saying that I need to be your girlfriend or we have to label anything. I was just thinking we hadn’t really established what this was. And I was wondering if we’re dating or just casual or exclusive or not. You know. Just wondering.”

  “Well, I’d like to be exclusive. I'm definitely not interested in seeing anyone else, but if you don’t want to—”

  “No. Exclusive please. I want to be your girlfriend.”

  He smiles—the beautiful one—the one that has no hint of mischief, the one that is pure and perfect. “Good.”

  CHAPTER 24

  So now I’m cuddling on the couch, naked under a blanket, with my boyfriend. I have a boyfriend now. No big deal. And he’s an adult. Not a teenager, not a boy, a man. A man who adores me and is amazingly adept with his tongue. I couldn’t ask for more.

  I’ve had lots of boyfriends. But this feels different. My previous relationships only lasted weeks to months, and none of the feelings ran deeper than a puddle. When I think about Eric, there’s an entire ocean.

  My stomach makes a high-pitched gurgling sound.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Um. I guess just a little.”

  He squeezes his arms around me and kisses my forehead before shifting under me. “I’ll make you something to eat. Can’t let my girl be hungry.”

  He stands, pulling his sweats back up and I watch as he goes to the kitchen. I sit, wrapped in the blanket as he gets out some cheese and a skillet. He’s turned away from me as he works, the wide planes of his back moving, his defined arms flexing, and damn, his ass looks amazing in those loose sweats—the way they hang from his narrow hips...

  “Here you go, beautiful.” He brings me a plate with a grilled quesadilla, perfectly golden-brown with bubbling cheese oozing out the sides, and it smells like heaven. Literally, right now I cannot be convinced that heaven is anything other than endless fields and mountains and rivers of melted, gooey cheese.

  “Wow, thanks.” I take the plate with wide eyes. He’s watching as I take the first bite and I let the blanket slip just a few inches so he can see a little more of my breasts. I like him seeing my body and I love the appreciation on his face.

  The first bite is amazing—a little hot, and I may have burned the roof of my mouth (worth it)—but definitely the second-best thing I’ve had in my mouth today.

  “Mm, this is so good. You want a bite?” I hold up a slice of the crispy, gooey goodness for him.

  He looks at it then to my plate and shakes his head, his lips curling back slightly. “I’m good. I made it for you, anyway.”

  “Really? You’ll eat my ass but still not share my food?”

  He raises his eyebrows, a shocked smile on his face.

  “You shared popcorn with Lucy on your date,” I mumble before taking a big bite of the quesadilla. And no, I’m not still salty about that.

  His shoulders shake with a silent laugh. I shoot him an exaggerated scowl.

  “Did that bother you?”

  I shrug, my mouth still full of yummy cheesy deliciousness.

  “Would it make you feel better to know that the fact I won’t share food with you actually proves I’m more comfortable around you?”

  I give him a sideways glance.

  “It’s true. Having this aversion to eating food off the same plate or out of the same container with someone is kind of strange. It’s not even about germs, it’s just, I don’t even know why. Most people think it’s weird, and so the fact that I’m letting you see just how weird I am and I feel comfortable being myself around you, it means a lot to me.”

  “Oh. So I should be flattered you’re disgusted by the thought of eating my food?”

  “Yes. Definitely. Also, honestly, you should know two things. One: I hardly ate any of that popcorn during the movie and I hated every second of it. And two: if there were ever anyone I’d share food with, it would be you.”

  He boops my nose and I stick my tongue out at him. He pushes play on another episode and the quesadilla is gone in minutes.

  “That was amazing and, frankly, I’m a little perturbed that it was so much better than my peanut butter and jelly sandwich go-to.” I set the plate down and he scoots closer.

  “Anytime.” He pulls me to his lap and I fix the blanket over us.

  He wraps his arms around me, his hands coming to rest on my stomach, his chin settling on my shoulder. He nuzzles along my neck, pressing little kisses there and giving me chills up my sides.

  “Hmm. Maybe I’ll just stay here when I’m homeless and you can feed me and cuddle me all the time. I can pay you in blowjobs.”

  “Homeless?”

  I shrug. “My mom’s kicking me out of the house.”

  “She’s kicking you out?”

  “Fine, she’s not really kicking me out. But she thinks it’s time for me to move on. She didn’t give me a timeline but I think she’d like it to be sooner than later.”

  “Move on? Huh. My mom has literally offered to add wings onto the house for my brothers and their families. She would have, too, if they’d taken her up on it. Renovating the shed into a house for me was her idea too.”

  I look at him over my shoulder. “So you admit, this is a shed.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “Well, your mom is actually the warm, motherly type, and none of her kids are huge
disappointments to her.”

  “What do you mean?” Eric turns me around on his lap to face him and tightens the blanket around my shoulders as he looks questioningly into my eyes.

  “I don’t know. Growing up it always felt like she had these great expectations for me. Like, I’d discover some great talent in something and get a full-ride scholarship, or qualify for the Olympics, or aspire to be a brain surgeon or something. Instead, she got a daughter who’s flaky with no real aspirations.”

  “That’s not true.”

  I shake my head. “She’s not wrong. I never tried something long enough to see if I was actually good at it. I always quit when it got hard or I got bored. I never committed to anything. It started with ballet. I quit because it was too strict. I quit tap dance because all the tapping was annoying. I quit gymnastics because the leotards gave me wedgies. I quit soccer because I hated running and I never got to score. I quit piano because the teacher was scary and her knuckles were so big I was convinced if I kept playing piano my hands would look like that when I was older.”

  Eric’s laughter makes me bounce in his lap.

  “I’m serious. All that was before I was ten. Then there was tennis, yearbook, cheerleading, my unfortunate stint in drama club, and that time I tried to teach myself how to play the harmonica. And I haven’t even mentioned the boyfriends.” I hadn’t realized I’d been raising my voice.

  Eric’s left eyebrow raises. “Boyfriends? Do tell.”

  “Um.” My pulse quickens. “I’ve had a lot of boyfriends, but none of them lasted long. I usually got bored and ended things after a few weeks, maybe a month or two. Even if I wasn’t the one doing the breaking-up, I always moved on pretty fast. I was never very committed. My longest relationship was with Brock Jones. It lasted three months but it doesn’t even count because it was in sixth grade and we spent the first two months we were dating”—I use air quotes when I say the word dating—“sitting sort of near each other in the hall between class and not talking. I finally got the nerve to hold his hand at one point. Then I broke up with him after our first kiss because his breath smelled like powdered milk.”